Author's Note: Welcome to "Shadow of a Predator"! It's been too long since my last story, and I'm thrilled to be able to start getting this one out there! As this is the first chapter, I'd really love any critiques you lovely readers can give me as to what you think. Enjoy!

Warnings for the story (not necessarily this first chapter): Profanity, sex, and some violence will ensue.

Prologue

The night was dark and silent as the tall, willowy young man stood in his bedroom staring down at his sleeping wife. She was beautiful even in sleep. Deep red lips parted as she breathed slowly and evenly. Her long dark eyelashes fluttered as she sighed, giving him a glimpse of the blue eyes he'd fallen in love with the day he'd met her. There wasn't a single thing about her that he didn't truly adore.

If only the voices felt the same. For months they'd plagued him, attacking and receding, fight and retreat, a vicious pattern that took an enormous toll on his sanity. A strangled sob escaped him before he could control himself and do what must be done.

Elise's eyes opened at the sound. "Robert?" she murmured in a voice husky with sleep. "Sweetheart, what are you doing awake?"

"I love you," he told her.

Then he raised the wand he held clenched at his side and killed her with two words.

She was beautiful even in death, he noted. Tears streamed down his cheeks that he barely noticed through the clamor in his own head. The voices were happy now, sated, cheering in triumph.

Cold fury rushed through his body. She was dead, his Elise was dead, and all because of THEM.

He closed his eyes and found the willpower to aim his own wand next at himself. The elation of the voices turned to fury then, but he snarled in rebellion and used the strength of his anguish to grit out the same words that killed his wife.

After the second and final flash of green light, the night was silent once more.

Chapter One

"Harry, hurry or we'll miss the meeting," Hermione Granger called as she waited by the fireplace. She was completely ready to leave, robes fastened with her shiny badge over her heart, wand in an inside pocket, and a stack of files a foot tall tucked into her bag.

Harry Potter stumbled out of his bedroom of the apartment they shared in London, hopping on one foot as he tried to put on his socks and inhale the piece of toast in his left hand. "Go ahead," he mumbled through a mouthful of toast and marmalade. "They can't start without me, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The head Auror should set a good example for the rest of the Aurors," she reminded him. All the same, she reached for a handful of Floo powder. "Do hurry," she lectured as she stepped into the green flames. "Ministry of Magic!"

Flames roared and transported her through space to the nearly empty atrium of the Ministry of Magic. This early on a Sunday morning, the Ministry was all but deserted. Sunday morning meetings were miserable, but Harry had received some new information about one of their cases that he needed to share with the team of Aurors assigned to it. He'd showed Hermione already since they lived together, but she still had to attend the meeting as part of the team. She pulled out her wand as she approached the two guards in front of the hallway that led to the elevators.

"Auror Hermione Granger," she said to the older guard, an old man with a stooped back that she'd seen often enough before. She nodded politely to the younger one, a sandy-haired twenty-year-old named Ethan who worked more often than his older counterpart.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he greeted her, coughing into his hand as he handed her wand back.

"Good morning, Wemberly," she replied. "Pity you have to be here this early on a Sunday."

"Oh, I don't mind," he said with a weary smile. "Don't get much sleep nowadays anyway."

"How's Mary?" she asked kindly. Wemberly's wife was in the final stages of an aggressive form of cancer that even Healers couldn't cure.

"She's fighting," Wemberly replied, trying to smile.

"Did you see the article in the Daily Prophet the other day?" Ethan piped up enthusiastically. "It was about a case you solved, Hermione! It had your picture and everything!"

Hermione smiled, though she grimaced inwardly. She hated publicity. "No, I haven't had a chance to see it. How is your training going?"

Ethan's face fell. "I wasn't accepted for Healer training," he said miserably. "The other applicants all had E's or O's in Herbology and I only had an A. Maybe I'll try to get accepted as a mediwizard or something..."

Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, Ethan."

"Nah, it's not your fault," Ethan replied. "Shouldn't have spent all of my time trying to grow hallucinogenic asphodel, I guess—Oh hey, Mr. Potter!"

Harry came hurrying up to them, pulling out his wand to be identified.

"About time," Hermione said lightly, grinning at her friend.

"Auror Harry Potter," Harry said, sounding just a bit winded. "Good morning, Wemberly, Ethan." Though all of the guards knew him by sight, he was still required to follow protocol and identify himself properly.

Wemberly ran Harry's wand through the same machine he'd put Hermione's through and handed it back. "Have a good day, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger."

"Bye, Hermione!" Ethan called after them.

The two Aurors made their way to the elevators.

"How did things go last night with Ginny?" she asked cautiously. Harry hadn't come home until well after midnight the night before so she had been unable to ask him.

Harry's face darkened, to Hermione dismay. "She still wants more time to 'find herself and figure things out'," he said bitterly. "Never mind the face that Seamus dropped by my office Friday to tell me he saw her at Fagon's Pub with some Quidditch player from the Chudley Cannons. I don't know what to do anymore," he confided to her with a twinge of desperation as they got off the elevator. The moment he stepped in the doorway of the Auror's wing, however, all traces of weakness disappeared from his face. He left the way with long, sure strides to the conference room where a low murmur of voices signaled that at least some of the other Aurors were already there.

They entered the conference room one after the other to join their sleepy comrades. Four of the six members of their team were there. Seamus Finnegan stifled a yawn as he waved to Harry. Hermione smiled at Seamus and sat between him and her partner. Harry sat at the head of the table and placed his stack of parchment on the table. "We'll wait one more minute for Chambers," he said, though it was already five minutes past eight.

"Good news or bad?" murmured Hermione's partner.

Hermione turned slightly in her chair to face Xander Loras. He was tall, fit, and 32 years old. He always dressed in black and wore a somber expression. No one had ever heard him speak about his personal life but the rumor was that he had joined the Aurors after a Dark wizard slaughtered his wife and two children, both little older than toddlers. Regardless of his silence and intense sense of privacy, Xander was a solid, reliable partner that Hermione trusted with her life.

"A little of both," she replied.

Xander nodded. Satisfied with Hermione's answer and being a man of few words, he turned back to the table and clasped his hands together patiently. His thick black hair was combed neatly and he looked relatively alert for this hour of the morning. Hermione took stock of the rest of the assembled Aurors.

She, Seamus, and Xander made up only half of the team. Also present were Asher and Osher Grey, brothers from a small town in the Scottish highlands. The identical twins were tall and brawny, with sandy brown hair and a light dusting of freckles on their faces. Osher had a small chip on one of his front teeth from a bar fight when he was younger, which made it easier to tell the two apart. Both were lighthearted and merry, though Osher had a tendency to be short-tempered. The final member of the team assigned to the current case was Bryan Chambers, a seasoned Auror of 42 years old. He had a wife and three children. Tardiness on weekends was not uncommon for him and Harry generally allowed him a bit of leeway because his daughter had recently been diagnosed with a rather serious case of dragon pox.

"I suppose we'll go ahead and—" Harry began, but Bryan Chambers pushed open the door and hurried inside, his face pale and drawn.

"Sorry I'm late," said Bryan, quickly sitting down beside Seamus, his partner.

"All right everyone, thank you for coming in on this early Sunday morning. I received some information that can't wait until Monday. As you all know, you six have been working every angle to try to locate the witch and wizard responsible for destroying that muggle orphanage last month and killing five children. I brought you all in today to let you know that we have indeed received confirmation that it was this same couple who raided the orphanage in Surrey last week and kidnapped nine children. We've also confirmed that the eight children missing from the wreckage of the muggle orphanage explosion have been taken by the couple as well."

Xander hissed between his teeth in anger. Hermione glanced at him, surprised. The man never showed emotion. No one else heard his soft sound of fury, however, and Harry continued. "It is our highest priority right now to find both the children and the murderers."

"Well, do we have any new leads?" Osher interrupted loudly.

Harry glanced at Osher, displeased. "I was attempting to get to that."

"Sorry, boss," Osher said ruefully.

Though at 26, Harry was the youngest Auror in the room besides Seamus, all of the Aurors present respected him and followed orders. At 24 years old when Harry's reputation, cool head, and obvious talent had won him the Head Auror position, he'd faced about six months of muttering and quiet disobedience before nearly everyone accepted his authority.

"I got an anonymous tip last night from someone claiming to have seen about twenty children congregating near the shipyard in Portsmouth. Wednesday we will be investigating."

"Three days?!" Asher burst out angrily. Hermione looked around the room. From the looks on the other Aurors' faces, they felt much the same. Only Xander kept his face completely blank. "The kids could be dead or moved by then! We need to strike now!"

"The shipyard is miles around," Harry said loudly, gesturing to Asher to sit down. "By Wednesday, we'll have assistance from the hitwizards of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad to help in the search."

There were a few groans at this; Aurors generally didn't get along with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and vice versa. The Auror viewed the hitwizards as inferior and inept, while the hitwizards had similarly prejudiced views of the Aurors.

"I know it's not ideal, but they're all we have. They have twenty times the manpower that we do. If we go in earlier than Wednesday, we simply won't have enough men. We don't want them to hear us coming and escape before we can contain the entire shipyard."

"In the meantime, what do we do?" Bryan asked. "My time off request wasn't approved for this week so I hope we're still going to be doing something important Monday and Tuesday."

Harry looked at the older man with a mix of pity and irritation at being questioned in public. "I still want you following any leads that you were looking into before. If the shipyard isn't an accurate lead, we don't want to have wasted this time."

Harry concluded the meeting with a brief recap of their individual assignments and the promise of more information as he received it before dismissing the group.

Osher and Asher were the first to leave after inviting the others to their place for dinner later that evening. Bryan and Seamus left next, Seamus talking animatedly about a tip he'd received from another orphanage and Bryan nodding dully, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"I finished checking up on that woman with all the cats," Hermione told Xander, her voice low so as not to bother Harry, who was writing something down on a piece of parchment. "Turns out she really is just a crazy woman with a lot of cats; none are transfigured children."

Xander nodded, the edges of his mouth curving up in what passed for his smile. "I must admit that I had expected as much," he allowed. His eyes, so dark that they were almost black, bored into her as he continued, "Next on the list was that wizard in Bristol who thinks his neighbors are the couple we're looking for. We should question them tomorrow."

Hermione nodded and agreed. The two made their goodbyes with little ado; Xander loathed small talk.

Harry was still writing down his meeting notes, but he finished just as Hermione came over. "Shall we go to lunch?" she asked brightly, knowing he was still upset about Ginny no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

"Sure," her friend said, trying (and failing) to match her enthusiasm. He smiled at her, but there was still loneliness in his eyes.

After the war, Harry and Ginny had returned to their relationship and gotten married a year later. Beginning soon after, Harry's Auror training had required him to be away from her more than he would have liked, as the training was long and intensive. He sometimes went weeks without getting to see her. The three-year-long Auror training was not a walk in the park. They spent days in the woods, learning survival spells and skills. Weeks were spent in foreign countries, solving faux cases and learning to blend in with strangers. Even after they completed training, Aurors worked long days and sometimes nights as well. Hermione had come home to her solo apartment many nights too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed. Harry had come home to Ginny in much the same state. Ginny had begun resenting Harry for being away from her so much, and it wasn't long before she sought comfort in the arms of another man.

Ginny had met Darren, a 28-year-old curse-breaker, in Diagon Alley while shopping for new robes. The two had struck it off immediately and began spending long hours talking in coffee shops and parks. Harry had been under the impression that Darren was a coworker of Ginny's that she was hanging out with every once in awhile. Then, he had come home from a two-week mission in Albania thwarting an attempt on the Minister of Magic's life to see the tall, muscular stranger sitting on his sofa with his arm around his wife as they laughed over a television show. It had been nearly three months since the day Harry had walked in on his wife and her "friend," and things hadn't been the same since. Ginny swore that nothing had happened between her and Darren, but that there were problems in her and Harry's marriage that needed to be thought about. She cited Harry's jealousy and long absences as the main problems. Harry had moved in with Hermione a week later, at Ginny's request.

At a small café just inside Diagon Alley, the two ordered soup and sandwiches and sat down at a cozy booth in the corner. Harry was uncharacteristically silent, staring into space across the room. "You can't let this consume your life," Hermione finally said, breaking the silence between them. "You deserve better than what you're getting out of your marriage. You can't let this continue. It's like you're in limbo, waiting for her to make the decision for you so your marriage can either get back to normal or be over with. Give her an ultimatum, Harry. Make her choose. You've been separated for almost six months now."

Harry smiled sadly at her words, resignation written all across his features. "If you could get over a Weasley, I suppose I can, too," he said quietly. The pain brought by his well-meant comment knocked the breath out of her but she gritted her teeth and forced a smile. Harry continued, oblivious. "Honestly, it's not just Ginny that's upsetting me at the moment," he said unwillingly. "I...got a letter from Ron this morning."

Hermione's forced smile died on her lips. "What did he say?" she asked coldly, shutting down her emotions—pain, fear, heartbreak, and loss—with a practiced effort.

Harry winced at her chilly tone. "He wanted to get together sometime for lunch or something sometime. I guess he's back from Romania."

The nerve of him! Hermione felt her face flush, but she didn't say anything in response as the waitress returned with their food. She used the time while the food was being placed on the table to compose herself, though Harry's sympathetic look from across the table said that he knew exactly what this was doing to her.

"You can tell your precious friend that you'll throw a bloody banquet for him, but I certainly won't be there," she snapped, her tone much angrier than she meant it to be. She pushed her soup away. Suddenly she didn't feel much like eating.

Harry frowned. "Don't be like that," he said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her from rising to leave. "You're my best friend and you know it. I'll support you in anything. What Ron did was inexcusable and unforgivable. I just wanted to let you know that he was back in England."

Hermione relaxed slightly, her knee-jerk, angry reaction melting away. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just—"

"I know," he interrupted with a small smile. "Let's just forget about him and have a nice lunch today. It's not like we're likely to run into him anytime soon."

Hermione nodded, and the two ate with amiable conversation, though Hermione's chest still ached in that small place where Ron had destroyed her.

"Miss Granger? Mr. Harry Potter?" asked a small, childish voice as the waitress brought them their dessert.

Hermione looked down to see a frail child of about eight years old standing beside her, a small piece of parchment in her hands. "Yes?" she said kindly. The girl was fair and beautiful, with golden curls bound by a pink ribbon.

"May I please have your autographs?" the girl asked prettily, deep blue eyes gazing up pleadingly. "Thank you so much for defeating the bad Lord V—V—" Her courage seemed to desert her for a moment and she looked down at her feet, mumbling, "I want to be just like you when I grow up."

Hermione's heart melted at this, though the spot in her chest ached all the more. "Of course you may," she replied with a warm smile. "And what's your name?"

"Kylee," the girl replied shyly.

Hermione and Harry signed the paper for Kylee, who thanked them and gave Hermione a big hug before trotting back to her mother's table.

Once Kylee had left, Harry smiled at Hermione. "And to think, she probably wasn't even alive when Voldemort fell," he said wryly. "Makes me feel old."

Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "We're only 26—that's not old!"

Harry tried to smile, but it fell flat on his handsome face. He was still thinking about Ginny, Hermione could tell. "I have to go back to the office and write a few reports so I won't have to work so late tomorrow," he said as he pulled out money to pay his portion of the bill.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Hermione asked. Sunday nights they usually ordered pizza from a muggle pizza parlor down the street from their apartment.

"Probably," he replied, but they both knew that meant, Yes, unless Ginny owls me.

The two parted ways outside the café with a hug and a wave. Harry strode off towards the nearest Floo point and Hermione prepared to disapparate. She pulled out her wand and began turning on the spot...until a flash of red caught her eye.

"Hermione?" said the red-haired man who was much too familiar.

Hermione's concentration slipped and she halted mid-turn, nearly falling. She looked in front of her, hoping against hope that she was wrong, but... Ron Weasley stood there in the middle of Diagon Alley, flaming red hair blazing against the black t-shirt and jeans he wore. He'd become fond of muggle clothing while he and Hermione had been dating.

It had been three years since she'd seen him—three full years since he'd fled the country to escape the paparazzi that dogged his every step since the incident with Hermione. He was a little taller, more muscled, and had a long, shallow scar on one arm from the dragons he had been working with in Romania. His baby blue eyes were the same, however, as were his freckles and crooked smile. He stepped closer to her, his eyes looking her up and down. "You look great," he said quietly as he reached her.

Hermione was frozen, helpless to move other than breathe shallowly. She wanted to scream out to Harry, but her friend was almost to the Floo point and besides, she couldn't make her voice work properly. Harry would know what to do, what to say, how to act towards Ron. It was he who had said earlier that they would be unlikely to encounter Ron in the near future. She had only just found out that he was in the same country as her, and now he'd practically materialized in front of her.

In the absence of her response, Ron said, "That sweater is pretty," seeming to think that the right tactic for the situation was to compliment her appearance.

Hermione looked down at herself. She had quite forgotten what she was even wearing. Oh yes, the pink v-neck Harry had gotten her for her birthday. With it she was wearing a black pencil skirt and black ballet flats. Her hair was in loose curls that fell around her face in an unruly yet becoming way. Yes, she looked good. She usually looked good. Why was Ron here and babbling about how she looked? The whole situation was dizzyingly surreal.

"Why are you here?" Hermione heard herself ask faintly. She applauded herself for being able to form words while the carefully-crafted wall that she'd built to keep her pain and loss at bay crumbled and fell at the sight of Ronald Weasley. She was 22 years old again, trembling in a hospital bed full of blood and fluids.

I'm so sorry, we couldn't save him.

Blood. Ruby, cherry, fire-engine-red blood.

We did everything we could.

Where's Ron? Where's my fiancé?

Part of her knew that she was standing in Diagon Alley on a warm, summer's afternoon, legs shaking, but the rest of her was in that horrible hospital room, full of death.

"I'm home for good," Ron said to the part of Hermione still in Diagon Alley. "I owled Harry about getting together for lunch sometime. I hope we can put the past behind us."

Under the circumstances, we would like to do an autopsy.

Of course.

Do you want him cremated or buried?

I want to hold him. Just once, before...

Hermione fell hard to her knee in the middle of the Alley, her trembling legs unable to support her any longer. Dimly she felt rocks and grit cutting into her bare knees, but the only part of her that mattered was in that hospital room.

Suddenly she felt Ron's hands on her—those strong, manly, familiar hands—trying to help her up as he frantically asked her if she was okay. He hauled her to her feet and his smell washed over her—manly, musky, that smell she had once associated with love, safety, and security—and revulsion swept over her in waves. "Get off of me!" she screamed, finding her voice at last and wrenching herself free from the horrendous flashback.

"Hermione, you're bleeding," Ron said in horror, staring at her knees.

Hermione didn't even register the pain from her gashed knees. "That'll be the second time then, won't it?!" Her voice held the edge of hysteria as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

Ron recoiled as if she'd slapped him, yet he still pulled out his wand to try to heal her knees.

Hermione tried to pull away from him, but her sense had completely left her. In a normal situation, her three years of intense Auror training would have made her more than a match for Ron in hand-to-hand combat. This situation was quite a different story. Her mind was fuzzy and she gave herself over completely to panic. She jerked free of Ron in a clumsy, primal move, viciously twisting an ankle as she did so.

Quite a crowd had begun to form around them, muttering and gawking, but no one made a move to help. Hermione pushed through the crowd as she stumbled away from Ron, unable to put any weight on her right ankle. Ron unwisely followed, yelling her name, and finally people started to recognize him because an angry rumble of "That's Ron Weasley" began sweeping through the crowd.

People were moving aside for Hermione and cursing at Ron as Hermione fled, head full of one thought—I need to get out of here!—until suddenly she heard the voice of an angel rise above the crowd like the crack of a whip. "Hermione!" shouted Harry.

Hermione stopped, her breathing rasping harshly in the sudden silence, to see her guardian angel running for her. Ron skidded to a halt as he saw his former best friend cut in front of him to reach Hermione first. Harry pulled her against him protectively, quieting her sudden sobs with a gentle hand on the back of her head.

"Harry!" cried Ron, his eyes lighting up.

Harry gave Ron a single look of disgust as he pulled Hermione into Side-Along Apparition, the sounds of the crowd disappearing behind them.

When they reappeared in their apartment, Harry didn't ask a single question. He immediately led her to the bathroom and had her sit down on the edge of the bathtub to examine her knees.

"You said we wouldn't see him," Hermione gritted out in a broken voice as Harry grabbed an antiseptic potion from the cabinet. Her mind grappled for someone to blame, even though she knew it wasn't really her friend's fault.

"I had no idea," Harry replied fervently. "Out of all the wizarding places in London, I had no idea he would be in Diagon Alley at the exact same time as us. Of all the luck..."

Hermione winced as Harry dabbed the antiseptic potion on her knees.

"There's dirt and rocks in there. I'll have to get them out before healing the cuts," Harry told her as she looked down to see what he was doing.

Hermione nodded dully. "Seeing him again...it's like I reverted back to...who I was back then. I'm so weak. Such a victim."

Harry gazed up at her as he knelt between her legs with a pair of tweezers. "You are not weak," he stated. "You came back strong from something that would have broken most people. Ron caught you by surprise today. Next time, you'll be better prepared."

"If there is a next time," Hermione grumbled. "I plan to stay far away from him by any means necessary." As Harry painstakingly picked the debris from Diagon Alley out of her knees, Hermione's mind wandered. Humiliation at how she had acted made her pride ache, but another part of her was confused by how Ron had been acting. She kept replaying his hopeful expression in her mind. He had clearly thought that three years would have mellowed her feelings about the incident between them enough for her to forgive him and move on. But nothing would ever change her feelings for him, as she had told him before he left for Romania. They were utterly and irrevocably finished as friends, lovers, and even acquaintances.

She'd had a few boyfriends in the three years since Ron, but none that she had let get close enough to have a long-lasting presence in her life. What had happened between her and Ron had deadened whatever part of her had wanted a long-term, serious relationship that would eventually lead to marriage. Her life was too busy to have time for men and relationships, anyway. She didn't need them, and she certainly didn't need Ron.

"There," said Harry, casting healing spells on her knees. The cuts closed up immediately. He finished by casting a spell to reduce the swelling in her ankle, which she'd twisted in the scuffle with Ron.

Hermione smiled down at Harry as she took an experimental step, feeling no pain whatsoever. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Harry looked up at her, relieved that she was coming out of the near-catatonic state in which he had found her. "I had a good teacher," he replied, getting to his feet with a grin.

Hermione smirked despite herself, remembering Auror training. Harry hadn't been able to pass the medical tests no matter how much he practiced until she'd helped tutor him late into the nights.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, more seriously. They walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room while Hermione considered how to put her feelings into words.

"I'm okay," she answered as she put a kettle on the stove for tea. Though she was a witch, she lived in a muggle apartment building with electricity, gas, and conventional plumbing because muggle apartments were cheaper than trying to rent a wizard house by herself. "It was just such a complete shock to see him again after so long. I won't react like that if I see him again," she promised both herself and her friend.

"Perhaps—" Harry hesitated, looking unsure as he leaned against the counter. He pinched the bridge of his nose awkwardly as he debated whether to continue.

Hermione turned to face him, hearing the hitch in his voice.

"Perhaps you should send him a letter letting him know you're not interested in talking with him or seeing him again," he said apprehensively, likely remembering how she'd reacted the last time he'd brought up communicating with Ron. "Just so he knows for sure."

Hermione didn't snap at him like she did the previous time, however. She nodded, realizing the sense in what he had said. A cool, calm, collected letter informing Ronald Weasley that she was not interested in reconnecting with him or communicating with him in any way ever again would both help her regain the composure she had lost in Diagon Alley and reiterate to Ron that she did not want him to have any part in her life.

"Maybe you're right," she mused, taking the tea kettle off of the stove and pouring boiling water into a teacup. "Do you want some?"

"No, thank you," replied Harry. "I really do have to get to the office to fill out those reports."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for coming back to get me," she said with a small smile. "If you hadn't been there, I might've splinched myself trying to disapparate..."

Harry hugged her tightly. "Whatever happens with Ron, I'm here for you. I always will be."

"Same here," Hermione reminded him. "We're in this together when it comes to the Weasley family."