Warning for torture of a child and implied murders of others as this is a Serial Killer!AU.

as the seventh month dies...

"We've got a body, Bolt."

Kingsley looked up from his paperwork to meet the weary gaze of Chief Inspector Amelia Bones.

The dark shadows beneath her eyes spoke of the sleepless night they'd all been keeping. Her clothing, while still smart, was wrinkled, as they'd all been working non-stop for the last seventy-two hours.

"Fuck," he said, shoving the documents to the side. He'd been going over them again and again, hoping to find the one detail that would connect all three of their victims to the perpetrator.

"The cop that called it in says he'd put the child at the right age, ten or eleven. He's blond, Caucasian — looks to be Damian Green. We'll get forensics to confirm it, of course."

Kingsley rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. It was days like this that made it hard to continue working for the Major Crimes Unit in London's PD. Lately, it seemed that these days never ended.

In the last three months, three children had gone missing. Each of them had been born at the end of July 2008. It was a highly specific victimology.

"Seventy-two hours," Kingsley said. "He's sticking to his pattern, then?"

It was more of an observation than any great revelation. Their perp took the boys from high-risk areas, tortured them brutally for seventy-two hours, then dumped them in the Thames.

Kingsley hoped they'd get a chance to call in SWAT and put a bullet between this fucker's eyes.

Amelia didn't answer. Instead, she was staring at the pictures of the three boys.

"Same age as Susan," she whispered, then she shook her head. "Can't go around thinking like that, though, can we?"

"No, ma'am," Kingsley agreed.

Outside the meeting room they'd commandeered upon the disappearance of another boy, a fuss caught his attention. Lucius Malfoy, a member of the peerage, had entered the room beyond, leaning upon his ebony cane. He was eyeing the precinct with an air of bemusement, as if he had never seen such slums before.

With a quick glance at Amelia, Kingsley judged that she was unlikely to be in the right frame of mind to speak with Malfoy and his ilk.

He strode out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

"Lucius," Kingsley greeted him, smothering his turbulent emotions behind a glacier cool mask. "What a pleasure it is to see you."

"And you, Kingsley," Lucius said. With what was no doubt faux delight, Lucius offered his hand and smiled. Kingsley shook it. "Really, we must organise a little reunion for all of our year mates."

Kingsley didn't reply. He'd not seen eye to eye with those that he'd attended school with, as Lucius was well aware.

"I'm afraid that we're incredibly busy right now," he said, settling for a blunt approach. "I don't have time to chat."

Lucius inclined his head. His short, blond hair was perfectly coiffed and the gesture only served to make him seem reptilian.

"Indeed," he said. "I merely wished to stop by to check on your progress, or lack thereof."

"All open investigations are classified; you know that," Kingsley said, biting back his anger. "Shall I see you to the door?"

"No need; I can hardly get lost," Lucius said. His blue eyes gleamed with mirth. "Wonderful to see you, as always. Do give my regards to Chief Inspector Bones."

Kingsley plastered a smile upon his face that did not let up until Malfoy was out of his sight. When he was gone, he felt his whole body sag.

"Who let him in here?" he snapped. "He may be part of our judicial system, but that does not mean he can just waltz into our precinct whenever he likes."

Pettigrew raised a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry, Inspector Shacklebolt," he stuttered. "I, I didn't, uh, I didn't mean to."

"Don't do it again," Kingsley said, weary once more. Another child was dead and yet another would undoubtedly go missing next month.

He looked forward to the day the psychopath terrorising London was caught once and for all.

Harry awoke to a splitting headache and a sense that something was very, very wrong.

"Mum?" His throat was raw and all he managed was a squeak. He tried to sit up but found that he couldn't.

"Dad?" he said, squirming where he lay. His wrists and ankles were bound to the cold table beneath him and he couldn't see a single thing. It was dark, so dark, and his glasses were missing anyway.

His chest tightened. Someone had taken him! The last thing he could remember was playing outside on the back lawn. His ball had gone over the fence, so he'd slipped into his neighbour's garden to get it back. Mr. and Mrs. Fennel were away for the week, so Harry didn't think he'd be in any trouble at all.

Now Harry was somewhere else, trapped in a dark room that smelled like bleach. He shivered, his stomach a heavy knot of terror. He thought he might be sick. Who had taken him? Why had they?

"Mum! Dad!" he cried, drawing ragged breaths that came faster and faster. He could taste the salt of his tears. "Help!"

Whatever bound him to the table dug into Harry's skin as he tried to break free. He screamed, hoping that someone, anyone, would come. He yanked at the bindings until he felt a sticky wetness trickle down his fingers; he was bleeding.

"Mummy?" he whispered, choking on a sob. "Mummy!"

Harry's breathing ratcheted up until he couldn't catch his breath. His head began to spin. Saliva caught at the back of his mouth and he spluttered. His lungs ached and his heart clenched. Stars flickered before his eyes and Harry squeezed them shut as the world faded away into blissful silence.

Lily Potter stood with her back straight, lips pressed together, and gaze fierce.

"Someone has taken my son," she hissed. "There is a murderer kidnapping young boys around the city and SOMEONE HAS TAKEN MY SON!"

James Potter looked shell-shocked. He'd not said a single word since the couple had entered the precinct.

Kingsley recognised the look on his face all too well. It was the look of someone so caught up in his perfect life that he couldn't even comprehend that something bad could happen to him. It was the look of a man devastated by reality crashing down upon his shoulders. It was the look of a father that had lost his child.

The entire precinct had spent the last month on edge, going over all the details of the precious three investigations, hoping to find one small clue that might help them. A piece of evidence overlooked, or a witness statement that made no sense, perhaps. They'd found nothing.

And now, another boy had been taken.

Amelia was standing before the Potters, ushering them into one of the side rooms for witness statements. Kingsley glanced around the ball pen before his gaze settled upon a young woman with vibrant pink hair.

"Tonks, go assist the Chief Inspector in taking their witness statements," he said. "We all know that this is very likely to be the perp we've been after these last three months, but we can't make that assumption."

"Yes, boss," Tonks said, looking subdued.

Kingsley began to give the rest of his employees their assignments; canvassing the area, speaking with the neighbours, and examining the Potter house. Once complete, he retreated to his office with a picture of Harry Potter in his hands and pinned it on the corkboard behind his door, next to the pictures of Neville Longbottom, Arnold Smith, and Damian Green.

"Hold on, Harry, we're doing the best we can," Kingsley said.

He was worried, however, that their best simply wasn't good enough.

Harry spluttered as a splash of cold water hit his face, startling him awake. He opened his eyes to the blurred image of a man. He was tall and slim, with brown hair. From where he stood at Harry's feet, his features were indistinct.

"Hello, Harry," the man said. His voice was high and rasped as if his throat was injured.

Harry whimpered and looked around his prison. He was in a room with no windows. It looked like a basement, with metal cabinets lining the walls and stairs going up to a door in the corner. He was on a metal table with white straps holding him down. They were stained a rusty brown at the edges, with the fresh scarlet of his own blood staining them further.

"What do you want?" Harry said, aiming for defiant. He tilted his head up and glared at the man.

The man chuckled, stepping closer. His features became sharper and Harry felt as if he could almost recognise him from somewhere. But surely that was impossible?

Then Harry noticed the knife. He shrunk away as best he could and his entire body began shaking. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to make a sound.

"Quivering like a rabbit in a snake's cool and deadly embrace," the man said. "As is fitting. Don't worry if you scream, Harry."

The man smiled and it was the most terrifying thing Harry had ever seen.

"There's no one around here to hear you cry."

Harry couldn't hold back a sob, his eyes fixed on the shine of the knife as it drew closer. The first slide of the blade against his forehead felt painless for a second before it burst into agony. He screwed shut his eyes and thought about Mum, Dad, his little sister Ana; anything to avoid thinking about the pain.

"A good start," the man mused. Harry bit his lip and began to cry, tears hot against his cheeks. He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up from this horrible dream. He wanted this man to get as far away from him as possible. He wanted his mum.

The jarring sound of a ringtone seemed to startle them both, if the man's growl of annoyance was anything to judge by. Harry's eyes snapped open.

With a frown, the man set the knife on the table by Harry's head and stepped away to pick up the phone.

"Yes," he hissed. The room seemed to echo with the sound of his displeasure.

Harry didn't waste a second. He turned his head to the side and wriggled as much as his bonds allowed. He placed his cheek against the cool steel of the knife and swallowed down the feeling of revulsion in his stomach at touching the weapon. He shuffled, keeping an eye on the man that had captured him, twisting his body as he pulled the knife underneath him. He could feel it slicing his shirt to pieces and cutting up his skin. He gritted his teeth and kept going, ignoring the sensation of hot blood pooling beneath him. The handle of the knife dug into the back of his neck, but it was hidden — or so he hoped.

"Incompetents!" the man yelled. He threw his phone across the room. It shattered upon hitting the wall.

Harry froze, unwilling to draw his attention.

The man began to pace. "Why do I have to do everything myself?" His hands balled into fists.

Suddenly, he turned to glare at Harry. He strode forward and tore Harry's t-shirt apart with his bare hands and scratched lines down Harry's chest with his fingernails.

Harry moaned as the cuts on his back were pressed into the metal table. He didn't know what hurt more; that or his forehead.

"I'll be back for you," the man said, a manic expression in his eyes.

Harry couldn't believe his luck when the man stormed up the stairs, leaving Harry behind. He couldn't control the way his body shook at his fright at the whole situation, but it didn't stop him from doing what he needed to do.

Using that same shuffling method, dragging the knife along the metal table with his body, then squirming back and doing it all over again, was a slow and painful process. The knife bit into his skin and it felt like all the blood in his body was trickling into his clothes and on the table below. He was crying and trying not to make a single sound as the knife moved closer and closer toward his hand.

At one point, it spun away from him, the metal tip just within his reach.

Harry shuddered with exhaustion and almost considered giving up.

The image of his mum popped into his head and Harry steeled himself. She was the strongest person he knew and didn't even cry when she broke her finger.

He could do this.

Finally, the knife came within touching distance. His fingers scrambled at the hand, slick with blood. It fitted into the palm of his hand and he began to saw at the bonds that held his wrist down. It was slow, but it was working.

He gritted his teeth and kept going, no matter how much it hurt. He was going to escape.

"Inspector Bolt!"

Kingsley wrenched the door to his office open. Milton had burst into the ballpen outside, white as a sheet.

"There's a boy on a triple nine call claiming to be Harry Potter!" he exclaimed.

There was a beat of silence before everyone began shouting at once, people surging to their feet, smiles breaking out across their faces. Kingsley glanced toward the side room in which Lily Potter had been raging for the last several hours; she was standing at the window, watching the carnage with wide eyes. The rooms were soundproofed, but their reactions were far from discreet.

They'd not rescued Potter yet.

"Comport yourselves!" Kingsley bellowed. "Pettigrew, Moody, Milton, with me!"

He strode toward the response room, where handlers accepted incoming emergency calls. Three women were gathered around a fourth, who was wearing a headset and rapidly typing into the computer before her.

"Take a deep breath, Harry. That's it; you've done really well. Now, look out a window — what can you see?"

Data was rapidly flashing across the woman's screen. It pinpointed the nearest mobile tower: Kensington.

"Red brick houses, tall chimneys," the woman repeated. "Keep going, Harry; you're doing great. Can you see any street signs?"

"Milton, keep relaying information. Get a rapid response team to his location as soon as possible," Kingsley said, leading the way to the lockers. He made sure that Moody and Pettigrew had their radios, batons, and hand-held tasers as they scrambled into full uniforms. He wasn't going to take any chances.

"Ready?" he asked them. "Let's catch this bastard." He turned to face the door. Amelia was standing by the exit, wearing full blues.

"I'm coming," Amelia said.

"Chief Inspector," Kingsley began, then paused. The fierce look on Amelia's face told him all that he needed to know.

"There's no arguing with her, laddie," Moody said. He and Amelia had trained together, although Moody had refused any promotions that took him out of the field entirely. "Come on, lass."

"You're with me then, Pettigrew," Kingsley said. The other man looked vaguely ill. "We're going to get this son of a bitch," Kingsley reassured him.

Harry could hear the sounds of sirens. He clutched at the phone he'd found in his kidnapper's house and listened to the reassuring words of the lady on the other end.

"It's okay, Harry; the police are on their way," she said. Harry shook, curling up against the wall.

The house he was in was massive. An enormous chandelier graced the entrance hall he was standing in and it looked like marble pillars lined the walls. He'd already peered out the window and told the kind lady, Minnie, that he was in the house opposite number twenty-eight.

The sirens grew louder and Harry began to cry in earnest. He kept the phone jammed against his ear, but he couldn't reply to anything Minnie was saying, his voice was so choked.

"I want my mum and dad," he managed to sob.

"I know, sweetheart; it's going to be okay," she replied.

There was a loud crash as the front door suddenly burst open. Police swarmed into the building, making a beeline for him.

"They're here," he whispered to Minnie around hiccups.

"It's alright, Harry; you can trust them," she said. "Go on, now."

He dropped the phone, uncaring as it clattered to the floor.

"Harry Potter?" said one. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with kind eyes. "Come on, lad."

Harry was bundled into his arms. He turned his face into the man's side and cried. He knew he was probably getting snot and tears all over the man's uniform, but the policeman didn't seem to care.

"My name's Kingsley," the man said in a soothing voice. "We're getting your parents driven over here right now. They'll be with us soon."

Time seemed to pass in flashes of light and movement. One moment, he was wrapped in a silver foil blanket. Next, someone was patching up his cuts. Another, he was being coaxed into drinking a cup of water. All the while, Kingsley stayed with him.

It wasn't until he saw a flash of distinctive red hair that Harry began to react to his surroundings.

"Mum!" he cried, launching himself free from the ambulance.

"Harry!"

Mum wrapped herself around Harry and Dad joined them in a hug that held Harry between them.

"It's okay, darling, it's okay," Mum said.

"We're here, Harry, we've got you," Dad added.

Harry began to cry again, even though he'd thought he'd used up all his tears. It didn't matter. He clung to his parents, and for the first time since he'd woken in that dark and horrible basement, he felt safe.

Eccentric, reclusive, billionaire Tom Riddle Junior had fled the country. Kingsley glared at the picture of his smug face pinned up before him. Someone must have tipped him off; he'd made it to the airport before they'd even rescued Harry Potter.

No matter how far he ran, Kingsley was determined to find him.

He couldn't be allowed to start his murderous reign of terror again.

Word Count: 3026

QLFC Round 11 Keeper Prompt - The Orphanage (2007) - this is to be used as inspiration only. The key plot point I'm taking from this is missing children/orphans/death.

Assignment #6 Media Studies Task 4 - Serial Killer!AU

Character Appreciation 19. Cane

Disney Challenge 3. Write about someone being kidnapped

Cookie's Crafts 2. Write about someone being tied literally

Amber's Attic 4. (emotion) Obsessed

Buttons (AU) 1. Serial Killer (Objects) 1. Knife (Characters) 1. Tom Riddle

Lyric Alley 11. What the hell am I doing here?

Ami's Audio 13. Write about someone with an unhealthy obsession or habit

Angel's Arcade 10. (character) Lucius Malfoy, (theme) Betrayal, (location) Muggle London

Film Festival 27. (setting) Police Station

Gris Bag (character) Kingsley Shacklebolt

Gobstones - Bronze Stone - Escape: Accuracy 12. (genre) Horror, Power 8. (emotion) Pride, Technique 13. (action) Screaming