First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters, I do own however any OC's.
"I profess to learn and to teach anatomy not from books but from dissections, not from the tenets of Philosopher's but from the fabric of nature."-William Harvey
Tonks considered herself an optimist, even if Mad-Eye thought that was naive. Sure the world was full of horrendous things, things she didn't like thinking about, but that didn't mean there wasn't good as well.
With every murdering rapist, there was a kindly old lady who handed out sweets.
So she reminded herself that while blood was splattered on every wall in the room, somewhere else a room was decorated with rainbows and unicorns….
But, even that wasn't enough to brighten her mood.
She stood next to her new partner, Benshaw. He was a decent bloke in his early thirties, with a square like face, warm ivory skin and black hair and he had a sort of brutish look about him. Other than the fact he was addicted to Coffee, she didn't know that much about him, but so far he'd been friendly enough to her.
They had five Hit-Wizards looking for evidence, carefully wondering around the house in-rarely used-protective suits.
It was not a pretty picture to behold, and if training hadn't desensitised her, she probably would have thrown up her peanut butter sandwich and strawberry yogurt.
The victim was a Half-Blood female in her mid thirties, who had been with an asthma condition, a Ms Ellen Davies. She was a single mother with a child at Hogwarts. She had been found by her (former) boyfriend James Moonwhip.
The body had been beheaded while the person was alive, arteries punctured—the blood pouring out like a fountain, spraying the walls—while the rest of the body had been held in place with metal rods.
But, that was the least disgusting bit.
The woman's chest had been opened up; blood, fat, muscles and sweat glands all neatly cleaned away, creating some sort of human diagram. It was like the sort you'd see in those Muggle biology labs, showing all the organs from neck to waist. Her Grandpa had shown her one once, an old plastic one he'd used when he taught science to primary school kids.
"She's skilled with a knife," Tonks commented, circling the display, her eyes narrowing. "What do you think?"
Benshaw gave her a wryly look. "That she's fucking demented."
She rolled her eyes, shooting him an impatient look. "Not helpful."
He just shook his head, coming to stand by her side. "Well I'm still trying to get my head around this…" Benshaw looked at the morbid display in front of him, staring intently at the exposed neck. "Why did she take the head?"
Tonks blinked, looking around the soiled living room.
Wait, why did she take the head?
"That's a good question…." Tonks stepped a little closer, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell. She examined the cut of the neck.
The cut was smooth and fast, but perfectly straight.
Muggle Beheadings + clean cut = sharp swords or guillotine.
She looked at the blood splattered on the walls, judging by the position, the victim had been sitting up when beheaded. She let her magic lick over the body, which is when she felt it, that tiny remnant of foreign magic that didn't belong to the victim.
The foreign magic was focused in a ring around the neck.
"Wait… she used magic on this one."
Benshaw frowned. "I thought you said that wasn't her style?" he argued, bending down to take a closer look. "You said she uses Muggle methods to send a message."
Tonks stepped back. Her stomach twisted, the murder was like the others, everything else fit. But Melanie Stone was obsessive; she didn't just change her behaviour suddenly….
Was this a copy cat killer?
"Are we still having her watched?" Tonks asked quietly.
Benshaw nodded. "Yes, quietly, but…" He grimaced.
Tonks closed her eyes and sighed. "Let me guess. No one saw her come to this residence. So, after this, she'll be taken off the suspect list?" Her hair changed to a dull brown.
She should have expected this. Melanie wasn't stupid; she was a highly intelligent psychopath who wouldn't risk getting caught twice.
But, are you sure she's the killer? A deceitful voice whispered.
Damn it! Fucking mermaid tits. Self doubt was a pain in the ass.
"You okay, rookie?" Benshaw looked at her in concern.
Tonks flashed him a smile, her hair changing back to pink. "Just knackered, it's all these late nights."
He seemed to accept the answer good enough, besides it wasn't like it was a lie.
Tonks tried to keep a level head as they wrapped things up at the scene.
She couldn't let doubt settle in. Melanie had more or less admitted to being the killer, she was a narcissist, she couldn't help but gloat.
But it hadn't been an outward plea.
Tonks sighed, her brow furrowing as she shook her head, Mad-Eye had warned her about criminals playing mind games with Aurors.
She had to stay focussed and she couldn't get sucked in by Melanie's psycho chess match.
…Even if it did feel a little exhilarating.
Before she went home Tonks stopped off at the shop nearby. It was still a bit tricky handling Muggle money, but she was confident she'd figured out the basics - though the cashier hadn't looked happy when she gave her £50 for £3.56 worth of goods…
Tonks carried the small plastic bag of shopping up the stairs. When she reached her flat door, she tried unlocking it with wandless magic instead of her keys. The lock clicked open, making her grin. The wards tickled her skin once she entered her home.
She kicked the door shut behind her, clicking the lock back into place. More of the boxes had been unpacked, making the place look less crowded. Tonks placed the bag on the table and started shifting through it.
She hadn't bought much, just some butter, bread, a bag of oven chips. She took the butter out and moved towards the fridge.
She screamed when she opened the fridge, the butter dropping to the floor.
There was a severed head on the first shelf; the other shelves had been moved further up.
Ms Davies' head was in her fridge.
Why the hell was Ms Davies' head. In. Her. Fridge?
Tonks' hands shook, when her eyes landed on the thin slip of paper neatly positioned next to the head.
She swallowed a dry lump down her throat and hesitantly picked up the slip of paper.
The writing was written in crisp typewriter ink:
She read the writing shakily."Do you want to play a game, Tonks?"