The Murder of Miss Hermione Granger.
Title: The Murder of Miss Hermione Granger
Team: Death Eaters
Challenge: Hermione's Bad Day
Characters: Hermione, Severus. Will include Luna, and others, at a later date.
Word Count: 100 (x7)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to JKR. I make no money.
A/N:
This is a murder mystery story. I'm setting a challenge to all you clever GS100ers out there, in the spirit of christmas fun. Can you guess the murderer's identity before Severus does? I'm sure, given time and persuasion, I can think of an incentive. Severus (with very little else), perhaps?
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
In all of my life, however bizarre and unpredictable it has been, there has never been a more intriguing investigation than that of the murder of Miss Hermione Granger, or the Case of the Little Ghost Girl, as the media seem to have dubbed it. It was so wonderfully simple, whilst appearing so awfully complex that, had Lady Luck not entered the equation when she was required, it is doubtful that it would ever have been solved.
You see, I was the poor fool sent to investigate the crime, which is what, I think, the killer was counting on.
---
It was snowing the day I found the body. She was outside, on the muddied ground of the moor, her corkscrew curls trailing in a deepening puddle. Her clothes, damp and heavy, covered her motionless frame, leaving only her face exposed to the wintry weather. It was a dead face, devoid of all life and colour.
I remember feeling my heart lurch at the sight of her. Each body is as much of a tragedy as the one before, make no mistake, but to see someone I cared for so dearly dead before me sent a chill through my bones.
---
Perhaps it was a little foolish to refer to her as my beloved, even if only in my own head. Back then, when everything seemed so black and white, she had somehow become the object of my affection, filling my waking moments with hope, admittedly false, that she could, one day, be mine. If only I dared to tell her so.
If only… A phrase I so often use.
But there was no going back now. She was dead, gone, and though my heart ached, I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t compromise the investigation with all that tricky Time-Turner business.
---
No, there was only one thing left I could do for her. I could catch the criminal that took her from me; I could set him behind bars, as food for the Dementors.
I lent down, my breath catching as I did so. Snow had fallen upon her cheek, and I longed to brush the frozen flakes away, as though she could still feel. Instead, I picked up the wand that lay discarded at her side.
Ebony. Unicorn Hair. Nine inches.
Not her usual, but I remembered she had broken that only a few days before. This wand was new.
---
Dusting for fingerprints required rather more effort in the cold. I had to remove my gloves to grasp the brush, and the icy wind bit into my fingers with sharp teeth. They had turned a brilliant red by the time I finished, my search fruitless. Hermione had been wearing gloves, but I had hoped, perhaps depended on, looking back, that the killer hadn’t. Priori Incantatem had confirmed that her own wand was responsible for her death.
I considered suicide. But the angle wasn’t quite correct. Or the spell. Unforgivables were, by their design, useless for suicides. Malicious intent was needed.
---
There were no footprints around her body. The snow lay as flat and as crisp as it had before, only disturbed by my own boots and the boots of those who had found her. The killer had cleaned up. Or she died before the snow fell.
The wintry weather had lowered her core temperature far quicker than it should have done, leaving me without even a rough estimate of the time of death. The liver is such a useful organ, but its temperature more so.
The snow had begun to fall on Friday. It was Saturday when we found her.
---
Night had fallen by the time I finished, but I had precious little to show for my labours. A wand, a body. No hair, no fingerprints, no DNA. Everything I found belonged to Hermione, or could be traced back to her. The killer had simply vanished, leaving nothing but a dead woman behind as a gruesome calling card.
I was at a loose end.
I remember watching as the Aurors wheeled the body away. I have no idea how long I stood there after they had taken her. Or whether it was snow or tears I felt upon my face.
To be continued...
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Team: Death Eaters
Challenge: Hermione's Bad Day
Characters: Hermione, Severus. Will include Luna, and others, at a later date.
Word Count: 100 (x7)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to JKR. I make no money.
A/N:
This is a murder mystery story. I'm setting a challenge to all you clever GS100ers out there, in the spirit of christmas fun. Can you guess the murderer's identity before Severus does? I'm sure, given time and persuasion, I can think of an incentive. Severus (with very little else), perhaps?
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
In all of my life, however bizarre and unpredictable it has been, there has never been a more intriguing investigation than that of the murder of Miss Hermione Granger, or the Case of the Little Ghost Girl, as the media seem to have dubbed it. It was so wonderfully simple, whilst appearing so awfully complex that, had Lady Luck not entered the equation when she was required, it is doubtful that it would ever have been solved.
You see, I was the poor fool sent to investigate the crime, which is what, I think, the killer was counting on.
---
It was snowing the day I found the body. She was outside, on the muddied ground of the moor, her corkscrew curls trailing in a deepening puddle. Her clothes, damp and heavy, covered her motionless frame, leaving only her face exposed to the wintry weather. It was a dead face, devoid of all life and colour.
I remember feeling my heart lurch at the sight of her. Each body is as much of a tragedy as the one before, make no mistake, but to see someone I cared for so dearly dead before me sent a chill through my bones.
---
Perhaps it was a little foolish to refer to her as my beloved, even if only in my own head. Back then, when everything seemed so black and white, she had somehow become the object of my affection, filling my waking moments with hope, admittedly false, that she could, one day, be mine. If only I dared to tell her so.
If only… A phrase I so often use.
But there was no going back now. She was dead, gone, and though my heart ached, I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t compromise the investigation with all that tricky Time-Turner business.
---
No, there was only one thing left I could do for her. I could catch the criminal that took her from me; I could set him behind bars, as food for the Dementors.
I lent down, my breath catching as I did so. Snow had fallen upon her cheek, and I longed to brush the frozen flakes away, as though she could still feel. Instead, I picked up the wand that lay discarded at her side.
Ebony. Unicorn Hair. Nine inches.
Not her usual, but I remembered she had broken that only a few days before. This wand was new.
---
Dusting for fingerprints required rather more effort in the cold. I had to remove my gloves to grasp the brush, and the icy wind bit into my fingers with sharp teeth. They had turned a brilliant red by the time I finished, my search fruitless. Hermione had been wearing gloves, but I had hoped, perhaps depended on, looking back, that the killer hadn’t. Priori Incantatem had confirmed that her own wand was responsible for her death.
I considered suicide. But the angle wasn’t quite correct. Or the spell. Unforgivables were, by their design, useless for suicides. Malicious intent was needed.
---
There were no footprints around her body. The snow lay as flat and as crisp as it had before, only disturbed by my own boots and the boots of those who had found her. The killer had cleaned up. Or she died before the snow fell.
The wintry weather had lowered her core temperature far quicker than it should have done, leaving me without even a rough estimate of the time of death. The liver is such a useful organ, but its temperature more so.
The snow had begun to fall on Friday. It was Saturday when we found her.
---
Night had fallen by the time I finished, but I had precious little to show for my labours. A wand, a body. No hair, no fingerprints, no DNA. Everything I found belonged to Hermione, or could be traced back to her. The killer had simply vanished, leaving nothing but a dead woman behind as a gruesome calling card.
I was at a loose end.
I remember watching as the Aurors wheeled the body away. I have no idea how long I stood there after they had taken her. Or whether it was snow or tears I felt upon my face.
To be continued...
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI