Sunlight streamed through the windows of Hermione's car, and Harry groaned, tuning the customary argument out as they drove to the police station. It wasn't like he was planning on being late, or anything, it was just that there was so much paperwork. He was eighteen, bright and happy to be an officer, and instead he had no action at all. He would consider quitting if it didn't go against everything Harry Potter was (stubborn).

They pulled up, and Harry shoved the door open and clambered out, readjusting his glasses. He might've slammed the door a little, but they'd been giving him a headache.

"Potter, Weasley," Kingsley, head of police, greeted them. "There's been a murder."

The haze of sleep was abruptly ripped away, and Harry tried to hide his excitement for the taste of action.

***

"Coven Way," Kingsley had said, which was right at the edge of Little Hangleton, which was chock full of low lives and drunkards, all swarming around a well-dressed man who looked like he spent more money on his appearance than he had brain cells to use.

Ron hopped out the car, intent on ending it, but Harry held him back.

"What-"

"Wait," he hissed, eyes on the man in the centre.

He was tall and thin, but not unattractively so, with sharp cheekbones and well-groomed hair. He had dark eyes that reminded Harry of melting chocolate, and a nonchalant tilt to his chin.

His eyes, however, said otherwise.

This rich idiot, whoever he was, was absolutely terrified.

Harry was transfixed.

This man seemed to be spellbinding in every movement of his body, cultured tones sliding from his mouth as he tried to reason with the angry mob, tongue pushing past his lips every few sentences.

The spell was broken by Ron.

"Harry! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry realised too late that Ron had pushed past him, towards the crowd.

"Everybody stand down!"

The man closest to him turned, shortly followed by everybody else.

"And who're you, then? His faggot boyfriend?"

Harry tuned out Ron's response, eyes already back on the man, who had already stopped showing the primal but well-hidden fear he'd shown before, and now merely studied the scene with a cold disinterest.

Odd for a man who seemed so scared before.

"P'rhaps we should gut you, too!" was what jerked Harry into acting.

"Police!" he called, holding up his badge, one that Ron had ever-so-conveniently forgotten before.

"Stand down or spend a night in a jail cell. Your choice."

"Bloody bobbies," someone swore, shoving their way through and stalking home. After that, it only took a few more minutes for everyone to disperse, and Harry approached the man who had been so scared yet so cold.

The man smiled, velvety lips curling upwards in a way that seemed almost inhuman, and surely had to be illegal. He was here on business duty, nothing else.

"Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet the man who saved my life, or at the very least my dignity."

He grasped his hand, warm skin against icily cold. How could someone with eyes like that have skin so cold?

"It's nothing, really. Just doing my job."

On second thoughts, perhaps he didn't throw around money for a lack of smarts. He seemed intelligent enough.

"Harry, mate! We gotta go! Can't be late to your first crime scene now, can we?"

Tom gave Ron a thin smile, one that suggested that maybe he should step back.

"If you ever need any help, I'll be in Riddle Manor. It's just up the way, you can't miss it."

Harry let Ron drag him away, sparing a glance over his shoulder to Tom, who has vanished. There's time to be gay later, Harry, and a murder to solve now.

***

Coven Way was a dark but not dank alleyway behind a pub, which was odd, all things considering. Surely there'd be some kind of mould or damp back here? It was almost like someone had scrubbed it clean in preparation for the murder.

The pub was a fairly popular one for such a small place, and Harry assumed there'd be a few witnesses, somebody hearing screaming, something.

But there was none. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

The forensics team led them into the centre of the alleyway, where a pale figure lay on the ground, a ragged smile cut into his face.

Dried blood caked through dark hair, silver-grey eyes staring vacantly ahead of him.

His skin was cold.

"How long has he been here?"

There was Ron, asking the rights questions, not eerily entranced by the crime scene, like Harry.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

The features, although marred by the killer's twisted sense of humour, were similar. The sharp nose, the arch of the eyebrows and the thin scar trailing down the side of his neck - his slit throat - belonged to one Regulus Arcturus Black.

Why was a man who never left home found dead in a backstreet so far away?

"Regulus Black," he interrupted, trying not to think of his godfather's brother lying there, dead for nearly twenty-four hours. "Why was he in Little Hangleton?"

Ron blinked, and the girl from forensics stared at him. "Who?"

"The body. It's Regulus Black."

"Right! I'll run some DNA tests, I'm sure we have enough Black family members on our records to find a match."

He watched her go, jaw set. "Regulus had no reason to be here. He wouldn't have left the townhouse in Central London if he didn't have to, let alone getting his throat slit and face mutilated in a back alley far out on the edge."

Harry let Ron's comforting hand on his shoulder relax him somewhat, but his mind was buzzing, and his eyes were darting across the scene.

"It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't, mate?"

Ron knew that Harry, whilst he didn't have the best vision, had an eye for crime scenes, murder ones specifically.

He also knew that Harry needed someone to talk to so he could figure it out himself.

"The way the blood is angled, it's done so very well, but it's... off, slightly. It's like someone dripped it onto the ground before bringing Reg- Black here. And nobody heard anything! Or saw anything! Somebody would have noticed a rich man like Black slipping into a grimy - or not so grimy, in this case, which it shouldn't be, because who has a cleaning service for an alleyway - alley, yet nobody did and it doesn't make any sense!"

He was a tad frustrated.

Crime scenes normally made sense to him, from the position of the body to the dirt on the walls. This one, however, did not, and it made him want to scream.

He took a breath.

"So, who would have the motive to kill our victim?"

He was Constable Harry Potter, and he would solve this case.

***

Four hours later, Constable Harry Potter could safely say that he did not think he could solve this case.

They had a list of possible suspects, but it took less than five minutes to give nearly all of them an alibi.

The first suggestion had, of course, been Sirius Black, Regulus Black's estranged brother, but seeing as he'd been having dinner with Inspector James Potter and his wife, Lily Potter, he was quickly ruled out, to Harry's relief. He did not want to think of his godfather as a killer.

The next one had been his cousins, Andromeda Tonks, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy.

Andromeda was a lovely woman, stunningly beautiful and kind all in one basket. She was the kind of person you would think would be the last to commit a murder, and her and her husband had been more than willing to cooperate with the police.

As it turned out, she was helping out at a local school, and they ruled her out, too.

Bellatrix had seemed promising, a budding young woman married off to a rich man and promptly not allowed outside, wanting revenge on her family for the cage she had been forced into.

However, upon arrival, it was blatantly clear as to why Bellatrix was not allowed outside.

She was insane.

She was also kept doped up on Lithium, and they dreaded what she'd be like off of it.

CCTV footage ruled her out quite quickly, although Ron gagged when Bellatrix started throwing up rather violently. It was a rather disgusting side effect of the drug, but a necessary one.

Narcissa was attending a high-profile society function with Lucius Malfoy, although their son, Draco Malfoy, the famous actor, bailed because 'he was sick'. However, he has been seen with his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, early the next morning, and he didn't look ill in the slightest.

"Guys," Harry called. "I think we've found a lead."