To Catch a Killer

To Catch a Killer

Harry drained his third glass of Firewhiskey, vaguely aware that the once burning sensation of the whiskey no longer caused him to cringe. He wasn't a drunk by any means, but the effects of the liquid helped to dull both his mind and nerves.

His home office, in Grimmauld Place, was overly warm, and smelled as though it'd been locked up for weeks. Harry shut his eyes visiting his day once more. He'd been called to London yet again, Diagon Alley to be precise. Another body had been dropped off the night before; number nine. A boy, just out of school, was staked to a wall at the edge of Knockturn Alley, wearing only his pants, and his bollocks cut off. It was the same M.O., as the Muggles say.

The only thing different from the other victims was this boy was not a wizard but a Muggle. This was the first change in the killer's routine since the third killing. The first two boys had been merely fifteen years old, the same age as his youngest son, and they'd been taken during a Hogsmeade weekend last year. The other victims were all just out of school. Additional Aurors were placed in and around Hogwarts, the owl post was checked entering and leaving the castle. Being summer holiday, they were anticipating an upturn in the number of bodies; however, it stayed steady with the killer's usual time frame.

But now with a Muggle? Was the killer trying to throw them off his trail? Was Harry actually getting close to catching him or her for that matter? The only connection between them were the W-chips or P-chips, a creation of Harry's partners Fred and George Weasley. They really were a brilliant piece of magic for sure, no one could deny that. A pensieve memory hidden inside a coin. You break it open and you're instantly inside someone’s fantasy or play time. W-chip was the more common name for them and they were short for 'Wank chip', and obviously a popular item among school kids. It was also where Harry's other problem came to the surface and ended his marriage.

After they'd found the chips, Harry had taken the two they'd found at the third victim's room, to his office, or rather a broom cupboard. Cormack had a dismal sense of humour.

Harry found out quickly the rainbow coloured chips were the samples; you only got a look. If you wanted to see the end result, you had to buy the full version. The second chip was a full version, and he knew the two participants, Lysander and Lorcan. Harry had gone to Wheezes to have a talk with Fred and George. Unfortunately Fred and George weren't making wank chips with school kids. It appeared there was a black market for them. If Harry could just figure out who was making the coins with the black thestral, he might find the killer.

Filling his glass halfway again, Harry downed the liquid in one slow, even motion, still lost in his thoughts of the day’s events. Cormack had once again shouted at and belittled Harry for a good half an hour in front of his squad. Cormack himself wasn't smart enough to feed a flobber worm, let alone be head of the Aurors Department at the Ministry. The latest rumour was that he was polishing the minister's wand. That rumour seemed to be the closest to reality as no one in their right mind would have given him the job. Hermione, yes. But Cormack? What the bloody hell was Percy thinking? Harry groaned, set his glass on his desk, and refilled it. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Dad?” a surprised Albus entered the room. “I didn't know you were home.”

Harry jumped, knocking over his glass. “Damn it, Al!” he snapped, instantly feeling guilty for it.

Albus laughed at him. “Sorry, Dad. When did you get home?”

Harry opened the top drawer of his desk, took his wand out and cleaned up the spill. He looked up and his breathing stopped. Al was reaching for the top shelf of Harry's bookcase for a book. He was basically starkers, wearing only a tight pair of y-fronts which were too small for him and didn't hide anything. The kid seemed to be forever in a state of near arousal.

“Dad?” Albus asked, looking concerned.

Harry quickly composed himself, anger rising up in his chest. “Ah, sorry, it's just been a shite day. I got back about an hour ago. I thought you were sleeping,” he said, corking the bottle of whiskey and setting it in the top drawer among a dozen or so used and unused W-chips. He closed the drawer, locking it with his wand.

“Where are your clothes?” Harry asked, giving Albus a stern look and walking to the door.

Albus shrugged. “I didn't feel like it and no one was home.”

“Al, if your mum comes over and sees you strutting around in nothing...”

“Blah blah blah, I know, Dad,” Albus said, rolling his eyes. “If she did I'da gotten dressed. We're both blokes. What does it matter?” Albus padded up the stairs to his room, still grumbling. He never did like wearing his clothes.

Harry watched carefully as each buttock lifted and dropped. Albus' buttocks could hypnotise with just a slight movement, almost as if they were giving you a seductive wink. He loved the way his thighs flexed and unflexed as Al mounted the stairs. “Are you hungry?” Harry asked from the bottom of the steps, his heart racing in his chest and trying to keep his voice as normal as possible.

“I don't know,” Al said from the top of the stairs as he turned and entered his room.

Harry groaned. “When will you know?” Al could be infuriating at times. He never knew if he was hungry but he could raid the sweets jar and completely finish it in less time than it took to simply answer a question.

“I don't know?” Al said, stepping out of his room, now completely starkers, his cock moving from side to side as he stopped at the top of the stairs. With one hand on each of the banisters, Al leaned over the stairs, scratching his right ankle with his left big toe. “Do you know where my blue pants are?”

Harry swallowed hard, his cock growing rapidly in his trousers and stared at Al's cock. “Do I look like a wardrobe?” he managed to say. “If you put them away like I ask,” Harry said, forcing himself to tear his eyes from the sight above him and walk down to the kitchen. "Then you'd know where they were." His body was screaming for him to take the steps in one leap and relieve his tension by shagging his son on the top step.

“Big help that,” Al yelled down the steps, obviously annoyed with Harry.

Harry tried to get his breathing to settle, he couldn't hyperventilate again. Pulling out his wand he waved it, igniting the lamps. Standing just inside the door he listened intently. True to form, Al was busy ransacking his room, swearing, banging and slamming things about to find his lost pants. Quickly setting his wand on the kitchen table Harry unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock from its tight confines. Toeing off his boots he quickly pulled off his trousers, and slowly and unwillingly pulled Al's favourite blue pants off. He lifted them to his face, relishing in the fabric, buried his nose in them and inhaled the combined scents of himself and his son together.

He stared at the undergarment for a moment longer, a mixture of emotions playing about in his mind. On one hand his entire being was telling him to act on his desire. On the other hand, Al was his son. His just barely sixteen year old son. The thoughts he'd been having since he first realised Al was the bloke in his favourite W-chip, nicked from the last two victims, were unnatural and sickening. He'd actually gotten sick that first night, and he still cursed the damned boy killer for ever getting him addicted to the coins.

Al was in the loo now looking for them. Harry grabbed his wand to use a re-freshening charm, then smiled wickedly. “I'm probably going to die a horrible death for this, but...” he set his wand back down on the table, picked up his trousers and walked to the other side of the kitchen were the laundry sat.

He pulled his trousers back on, calling up to Al. “They're down here, with the other dirty laundry.” He listened and sure enough he could hear the quick, soft foot falls on the stairs, Al was running down them. He burst into the kitchen, a look of pure delight on his face.

“You found them!” Al was still completely starkers, and his cock bobbed up and down, slightly larger than it was at the top of the stairs, as he moved across the kitchen to Harry. “But how'd they get down here? I just wore them yesterday!” he insisted, taking them and pulling them on.

Harry watched as Al turned and bent down to pull his pants on over his right leg, then his left. Just as they got to the edge of his arse, Harry's chest burst and he grabbed Al, turning him to lean over the table. He used his legs to force Al to spread his. Grabbing the olive oil off the table he poured it over Al's buttocks and his own cock. He'd worry about how he got starkers later. Right now he had a need and that need was Al's arse.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” Al said.

“Just relax, you'll enjoy this. You've been driving me crazy walking around the house starkers.” Harry positioned his cock at Al's entrance, pushing the head through the tight ring of muscle.

Al shouted in pain, then reached around with his right hand, pulling his buttocks apart for Harry. “Just push it in, I can take it.”

Harry slammed in his cock with one fast hard push. Al bucked and shouted louder. Harry grabbed Al's shoulder holding him in position, and eased his cock back slowly. His bollocks scraped over the elastic of Al's blue pants, which hurt slightly as he'd recently shaved them but it was a good pain. He quickly found a fast steady, needy pace and pummelled Al's body...

Al hit Harry's arm, abruptly pulling Harry from his day dream. “Thanks, Dad. I was going barmy looking for these. What you making for dinner?” he asked, standing centimetres from Harry and looking around him at the empty stove, completely unaware Harry was just somewhere else.

“Erm,” Harry said, turning to the stove and adjusting his painfully hard cock. “What do you say about some take away?” He turned his head smiling at Al, knowing Al would be all for that.

“As long as it's not from Gran's,” Al said, with a finger in his throat.

“That's not what I call take away,” Harry laughed, walking over to the fireplace.

Al turned and pulled out a chair sitting cross-legged on it, his bollocks in plain view. Harry could only dream of what they smelled like. Were they the scent of that flowery soap he liked so well? Did they smell like the laundry detergent they used? Or were they musky, from being cooped up all day in clothing and sweating until... a moan escaped Harry before he could stop it.

“What'd you say, Dad?” Al asked, now biting one of his fingernails.

“Nothing,” Harry said, pulling his wand out of his back pocket.

“Anyway that's what mum calls take away. Getting it flooed from Gran. And this is Tuesday, so it's meat surprise.”

Harry laughed. “What'll it be? Leakey Cauldron? Or that Italian place?”

“The surprise would be if there was actually meat in it. And it's completely vulgar. Killing a defenceless animal to satisfy a sick hunger. It's simply demeaning to us all as life forms.”

Harry again cringed at himself for his own, sick hunger which he could not ever satisfy. “So Italian then?” he asked impatiently.

“With sun dried tomatoes.”

“Right,” Harry said.

“And mushrooms.”

Harry was about to place the order through the floo, and stopped. “Okay.”

“Oh, and cherry blossoms. Those are so good,” Al said, biting a different fingernail.

Harry stopped again. With a sigh he looked back at his son gesturing to the fireplace. “Do you want to do the ordering?” Al had re-adjusted himself in the chair so one leg was draped over one of the chair arms.

“No, you can do it,” Al said nonchalantly, now picking at a gash in the top of the table, his left leg moving back and forth in a steady rhythm, unaware he was making the process take far longer than need be.

Harry finally placed the order, another 'Witch's D-lite' pie. All vegetables, and no cheese. Harry didn't mind that his son insisted on being a vegetarian, but there were times when he just needed to have a good double meat pie.

Al stretched his arms over his head, arching his back and thrusting his cock further in Harry's direction. Purely by accident.

Harry whimpered, standing behind a chair to cover his achingly hard cock. The kitchen was getting hotter by the second.

~ ~ tbc ~ ~