AN: Hello everyone, this is a NON Magical AU, Inspired by NBC's Hannibal.

To anyone who enjoyed reading Daughter of the Devil, I'm sorry. I deleted it due to some hateful messages I received and I don't know if I will ever post it again, because this is exactly what I was afraid of. I was told that I stole someone else's work and that I should kill myself, among a variety of other things.

I just want to say that; everything I write comes from my own mind, NOT anyone else's. If you take a look at any of my stories, you will not see an ounce of someone else's work. I would never do that, and due to those accusations as well as people wishing ill on me, that story is gone, never to return. It'll stay in the archieves with the rest of my writing and I'll just read it for my own enjoyment (many of my stories are in fact written by me for my own personal enjoyment, I only share them because I think someone else might enjoy them as well).

I do hope you all enjoy this story, however.

Summary: When Tom Riddle— a former surgeon turned psychiatrist and cannibalistic serial killer— is asked to aid the FBI in creating a psychological profile to help catch the cannibalistic serial killer "The Harrier", he jumps at the opportunity. After seizing this once in a lifetime chance to hide in plain sight while gaining insight on how the FBI investigates their cases, he's struck with an unexpected attraction to the case's Special Investigator, Hermione Granger. It's not long before Tom can feel himself being irrevocably drawn to the darkness hiding within her. And sets out on a mission to capture her affections and lure out the monster within her.

***Dark! Non Magical AU***

~ Fan-cast: Richard Madden as Tom Riddle (you can fan-cast someone else if Richard isn't to your liking) ~

Tom Riddle sat in the arm chair of his office, with an inscrutable expression on his face as he continued to observe the man seated before him for an uncomfortably long amount of time; watching him, studying him, as the sound of his quiet sobbing filled the room. The sobbing man, Peter Pettigrew, tried piteously to reign in his tears as he choked down another sob before reaching out, awkwardly gesturing towards the box of tissues located next to Tom on his left side table.

"Please..." his broken voice said, as he looked up into the intense maroon colored eyes of his psychiatrist. Tom, while keeping his eyes trained on the sobbing man, grabbed the box of tissues from the table beside him and handed the box back over to the disheveled man seated across from him.

"I hate being so damned neurotic." Peter said forlornly as he proceeded to feverishly wipe at his eyes and nose.

"If you weren't neurotic, Peter, you would be something much worse." Tom said as he watched his patient try to gather his emotions while glancing appreciatively around his office. Watching as his eyes took in the immaculate space surrounding him. His office, a space that he'd personally designed in the fashion of Sir John Soane, had been filled with carefully chosen antiques, artifacts and a gallery of books.

"Our brains are designed to experience anxiety in short bursts, not the prolonged foamy lathers of duress your neuroses seem to enjoy. It's why you feel as though an anaconda were on the verge of coiling around you in order to suffocate and devour you." Tom continued as he watched the man thoughtlessly toss his tissue onto the table beside him. He turned his attention to the tissue wad for a moment, eyeing it in disgust before pivoting his eyes back up to his patient. "Peter, all you have to do, is convince yourself the anaconda is not in the room. Because when it is, I can assure you, that you will know it."

The session continued for another thirty-five minutes before it was finally done. Tom, being the gracious man that he was, stood from his seat in order to walk Peter out to the door, and as he opened it in order to usher him out, he found a weathered, austere, strongly built looking man standing there, waiting patiently on his doorstep. Upon closer inspection, Tom guessed that the man had to be in his mid to late 60s, regardless of his seemingly solid build.

"Hello. Would you happen to be Doctor Riddle?" the man asked with a polite smile.

"I hate to be discourteous sir, but this is a private exit for my patients, Mister...?"

"Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore. I'm a Special Agent with the F.B.I. May I come in?" he said before presenting his credentials.

"If you would like to talk, you may wait in the waiting room for me." Tom said while eyeing his credentials warily before handing them back and turning to dismiss Peter. "I'll see you next week, Peter."

As Peter exited his office, Tom turned to the agent before him and jokingly said, "Unless of course this meeting is about him."

"Oh no, Doctor Riddle, this is all about you." Dumbledore said to Tom just as he turned to go back into his office, leaving Dumbledore to cool his heels in his waiting room.

After closing the door, Tom made a mad dash through his office, hiding anything that could potentially be viewed as evidence of his crimes. Hiding the sketches of his past "designs", as well as hiding his most recent sketch, this one for sure, was destined to be a masterpiece and it would be a cold day in hell before he let that old bastard in his waiting area stop him. Once his office was clear of any visible evidence of his crimes, he moved to the door and opened it wide to stand in the doorway.

"Please. Come in." Tom said before forcing a flat emotionless smile on his usually handsome face.

As they walked into Tom's office, Dumbledore surveyed the opulent space and immediately began admiring the beautiful works of art adorning the walls. Occasionally stopping to peruse the bookshelves, absentmindedly trailing his fingers over the immense collection of books and artifacts every now and again while Tom slowly followed him.

"May I ask how this is all about me?" Tom asked after closing and discreetly locking the door behind him.

"You can ask, doesn't mean I'll tell you." Dumbledore said jokingly, before continuing, "But I do need to ask you a few questions first... Are you going to be expecting another patient soon?"

"No, Agent Dumbledore. We're all alone." he said somewhat darkly, all the while trying to control the edge that made it's way into his voice.

"No secretary then?" Dumbledore asked, taking a look around the vast space.

"No." Tom admitted with a small frown, "She was pre-dispositioned to romantic whims and followed her heart to Australia. I was sad to see her go."

Tom continued to silently study Dumbledore as the latter quietly examined the framed pencil sketches of the Scottish and Parisian landscapes Tom had spent hours working on meticulously.

"Are these yours, Doctor?" Dumbledore queried, motioning to the frames in front of him, when he saw that the dark haired man had come to stand beside him. Tom nodded in response before turning and walking to another frame further down the wall.

"This," he said while gesturing to the wall where an elegant gilded frame sat, showcasing an immaculate rendering of a castle like structure, "Was among the firsts. My boarding school back in Scotland from when I was a boy."

"This is an incredible amount of detail." Dumbledore noted, still in awe of the drawing.

"The detail, Agent Dumbledore," Tom began as he picked up one of his graphite pencils along with a scalpel, "Comes from the point of the pencil." he continued as he repeatedly ran the blade of the scalpel over the pencil's tip in slow, methodical strokes. "And I learned very early, that a scalpel can cut better points than your basic pencil sharpener." Tom finished as he blew away the remaining shavings from the pencil and sat it back down on his desk while keeping the scalpel carefully tucked in his hand. His eyes darting back and forth between the F.B.I. Agent's face and jugular as he continued to watch the older man, while he scrutinized his office's decor.

"I understand your drawing got you an internship at Johns Hopkins." Dumbledore said conversationally, while still observing Tom's work, never noticing the flair of Tom's nostrils nor the dilation of his pupils, as he continued to look over his many artistic pieces. Inhaling and exhaling in eerily calm observation.

"I am beginning to suspect you are investigating me, Agent Dumbledore." And just as the words left his mouth, the room became thick with tension, almost as if the air around them was closing in on them in order to suffocate the both of them.

The older man laughed dryly before speaking, "Well, I suppose I should be addressing the reason why I'm here. You see Doctor Riddle, I'm in need of a psychiatrist. My first choice was Draco Malfoy from down in the psychology department in Georgetown, but he and my special investigator don't exactly get along. So when I brought this issue up with him, he referred me to you. He told me that you used to mentor him."

Tom's demeanor softened ever so slightly at this revelation, relieved by the knowledge that this man wasn't here in some half assed attempt at apprehending him.

"Most psychology departments are filled with ham radio enthusiasts and other personality-deficients. Dr. Malfoy on the other hand, would be the only exception I found there. He was one of the few students I had, that didn't make me want to throw my head into a wall."

"So, you mentored him during his residency at John Hopkins?" Dumbledore queried.

"I guess you could say that, though I believe that I learned just as much from him as he learned from me."

"He showed me your paper in The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry. The one you wrote on the Evolutionary Origins of Social Exclusion."

"And?"

Dumbledore shrugged before responding, "It was very interesting, even to a layman like myself."

"A layman?" Tom laughed, "So many learned fellows going about in the halls of Behavioral Science at the F.B.I. and you consider yourself a layman?"

"I do when I'm in your company, Doctor. But I must confess, I'm not here to discuss papers and art. I actually like to know if you would do me the immense honor of utilising your expertise in psychology to help me with a psychological profile, as well as keep an eye on my special investigator. You see, these cases that I have her working on, often leave her brain in dark places I would just like to have someone verify that she's okay." Tom tilted his head downward for a moment in order to hide his smirk from the elder man, but he couldn't deny, that this conversation had been a pleasant surprise for him, not to mention the dark places he alluded to, in regards to his Special Investigotor's mind, had definitely sparked his interest.

"Of course I'll help you Agent Dumbledore," Tom said with a serious nod as he walked the elder man to the door. "I'd be more than happy to help you get a dangerous killer off the streets, anyway that I can."

F.B.I. Academy, Quantico, Virginia- 1 Week Later

Tom walked off the elevator and into the corridor of the B.A.U. with an undeniable air of self-satisfaction about him. He honestly felt quite smug as he began to walk through the hallway, that would lead him to the office of Albus Dumbledore. As he walked he took the time out to think about how fortunate he was to be granted with this opportunity to discover what exactly went on here at the F.B.I and whether or not they were any closer to catching him. He wondered idly if the case that he would be helping with was his very own, after all, the old fool did say that they were hunting for a cannibal. Smirking, Tom shook his head in order to clear it of these thoughts as he got closer to the room that he had been told to report to when he first arrived here ten minutes ago. Upon reaching the door, with the identifying plaque reading 'Albus Dumbledore', he lifted his hand and firmly knocked on the oak surface. He stood there stoically, as he waited to be let in.

When the door opened up, he was met with the warm brown cinnamon colored eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After looking over her face, he glanced over her shoulder to where Albus Dumbledore stood with a silent question in his eyes, and was met with a silent nod. So this was the special investigator he was asked to look over last week in his office? Tom raised a brow at this revelation, so she wasn't severe or bulky looking like he'd first imagined her, in fact, she was breathtakingly beautiful with skin as white as snow and soft feminine features. Honestly, if it weren't for the wild brown curls which sat atop her head, he would've almost mistaken her for being timid and innocent. But no, her wild mane of curls gave her a look of wild beauty, along with that unspoken glint of darkness she had in her eyes- almost as if she had seen far too much evil in her lifetime to ever be considered innocent again. He knew what that was like, having seen so much evil in his youth. He knew that in order to be innocent, it required naïvety, which was something that he was certain that she lacked. He was beyond pleased that this lovely little creature would be present for this meeting. If she was here, then that meant that she had to be intelligent.

She was the most radiant woman he had ever laid eyes on, standing before him in a silk woodgrain patterned turquoise and black wrap dress. And Tom took this moment to discreetly peruse her assets. He looked at her hungrily, as he continued to take in every single detail of the dress that she was wearing. The dress stopped just above her knees and the cuffs of the dress sleeves were elbow length. The line of the dress was complimented by a thin belt cinched around her tiny little waist. He recognized it immediately as a Diane von Furstenberg dress. The dress was wrapped tightly around her fit little body, allowing Tom to get a remarkable view of the delicious curves she kept hidden beneath the material. And if her face had been any indicator of how she felt, he knew that she was just as surprised to see him, as he had been to see her. This was bound to be an... interesting... experience.

"Hello, nice to meet you Miss?" Tom drawled in a honeyed tone, extending his hand to give her a formal handshake. With a soft undetectable inhalation, his nostrils were greeted with the delicious scent of black truffles, bergamot, black orchid, black plum, noir gourmand accord, and the mild unmistakable scent of patchouli. The heady scent drew him in like nothing he had ever experienced before. There was no doubt in his mind that the fragrance came from a Tom Ford perfume. Tom Ford and Diane von Furstenberg... Tom had to admit that this girl, no, this woman, certainly had taste.

"Granger." she said in response while looking down at his outstretched hand before shaking it. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I've gotten your name, Mister...?"

"Doctor Riddle." Tom replied unable to help himself from correcting her while he ran his thumb over the back of her hand lightly before releasing it. "Alright then, lets get this started then, shall we?" he asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"After you, Doctor Riddle," Hermione said condescendingly. Ah, so the wildcat is out to play Tom thought inwardly to himself with a smirk as she turned and led him over to one of the seats in front of Dumbledore's desk.

After sitting, Tom pushed his lustful thoughts to the back of his mind, and settled himself in to listen to the case he'd been invited to assist with. He listened to Agent Dumbledore and Hermione as they enlightened him on the case that they were working on. Apparently his little Hermione had figured out from the most recent body they found, that their suspect was a cannibal, and he wondered how she came to that conclusion.

"How do you figure the killer is a cannibal Miss Granger?" Tom inquired, eyeing Hermione with undisguised curiosity.

"Well when the killer brought the body of Hannah Abbott back home, and we discovered her body, we noticed that there was a recently mended incision that had been made on her left side. So we had the coroner reopen the wound and she discovered that he had removed her pancreas and then replaced it." Hermione explained.

"Well Miss Granger, while I have admit that that is quite peculiar, it doesn't quite equate to cannibalism." Tom drawled, "Have you considered that your killer has been keeping mementos?" he suggested, wanting to see her brain in action.

"Of course I considered that," she said with an eyeroll. "In fact, up until now that had been my assumption. But with the discovery of this body, I've decided that that conclusion had been the wrong one."

"What about this body made you change your mind?" Tom asked, wanting to know what clues this body had given her, that made her believe the killer was a cannibal.

"Well, if he wanted to keep mementos, then he wouldn't have returned the pancreas to her body, and he certainly wouldn't have returned the victim's body to her apartment." Hermione drawled back in response. "She's the first victim of this killer that we've been able to recover the body of. All the rest of the victims from the board have yet to be recovered, and to be quite honest, at this point we're not even expecting to find their bodies. Especially if my suspicions about the killer are proven to be correct; I believe we should be preparing ourselves for the possibility that the most we'll ever be able to recover from our victims, are their bones Dr. Riddle."

"Why do you say that Miss Granger?"

"Because I'm certain that the unsub didn't return her body out of the kindness of his heart." She said with a sardonic laugh, "He did it because the meat was 'tainted'."

"Tainted?" Tom queried. "I don't believe I understand what you mean by that Miss Granger."

"Cancer, Doctor Riddle." Hermione all but growled out, "He returned her body because she had pancreatic cancer."

"Hmm" Tom said thoughtfully, before turning to look at Dumbledore. "You said you guys have been receiving confessions."

Dumbledore nodded in response as he began to scratch his fingers through his scruffy beard.

"So, tell me then. How many confessions have you received?" Tom asked, before looking over the victim's photos once more.

"Twelve dozen last time I checked." Dumbledore said with an angry sigh, before continuing, "None of them knew details. Until this morning. Then everyone knew details. Some genius down in the local PD, took a picture of Hannah Abbott's body with their phone and shared it with a few close friends. Rita Skeeter ran it on felony finder dot com."

"Absolutely tasteless." Hermione mumbled.

Hearing her whispered comment, Tom turned to Hermione and said, "Do you have trouble with taste, Miss Granger?

"My thoughts are often not tasty." She mumbled once more.

"Nor mine, Miss Granger. But this only means that you lack any effective barriers, to keep these thoughts away."

"Barriers?" she scoffed, "I make forts."

"Associations come quickly." Tom murmured in his own low tone

"So do forts." Hermione said curtly as she began to pick at her cuticles. Tom studied her for a moment, watching her as she picked away at the skin around each of her fingernails. She was avoiding eye contact and he wondered idly if she did it due to social anxiety or something deeper. Perhaps she was hiding something, Tom mused for a moment before shaking his head slightly. Whatever her reason for withholding those chocolaty brown eyes from him, he wanted to know. He secretly hoped that the reason why she didn't want to look any one in the eyes was because of that supposed darkness that old coot felt like she'd been exposing herself to.

"Are you not fond of eye contact, Miss Granger?" Tom asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Instead of acknowledging his question, Hermione just continued to sit there in silence for a few moments longer, completely unapologetic of the fact that she was blatantly avoiding eye contact with him. Just as the silence began reaching a level of uncomfortability, she finally spoke.

"Well if you must know Doctor Riddle, eyes are often too distracting for me. Sometimes I see entirely too much. Sometimes I don't see nearly enough. And besides it's hard to focus when you're thinking those whites are really white or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible." she said matter of factly.

Tom wasn't phased in the slightest by her lack of deflection from his observation of her, in fact it only served to intrigue him more. Tom looked at her for a moment, studying this girl- no this woman- while she was here in her element. He took in her pensive face, memorizing all of her features before speaking.

"I imagine," he began in a soft tone before continuing, "I imagine that what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, and appalled by your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."

Hermione finally snapped her eyes up to meet his, allowing him to see the undeniable fire within them as she opened her mouth to spit out the question, "Whose profile are you working on, exactly?" before turning her steely gaze on the other man in the room, with an accusing look in her eyes, "Whose profile is he working on?" she demanded

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. Observing is what I do- what we do." he said, trying to keep his smirk from creeping across his face, "I can't shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off."

From the look on her face, Tom knew that she didn't appreciate his accurate deduction of her psyche.

She kept her eyes pinned on Dumbledore, as she opened her mouth to speak, "Please don't psychoanalyze me. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed," she said angrily before scooting out of her chair, to stand up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture to my students on psychoanalyzing." she continued as she turned on her heel and marched out, hips swaying seductively with every step, and leaving Tom and Dumbledore alone in the office.

"Maybe we shouldn't poke her like that doctor. Don't get me wrong, she's brilliant, absolutely brilliant. But she needs a lighter touch. I suggest that maybe we use a less direct approach." Dumbledore said with a firm nod of his head.

Tom turned his attention from the closed office door, and back to the aged man sitting before him, "What she has is one of a kind Agent Dumbledore. What she has is pure empathy. And projection. She has the ability to assume your point of view, or mine - and maybe even some other points of view that scare her. It's an uncomfortable gift, Albus. Perception's a tool that's pointed on both ends." he said before looking back at the evidence board on the far side of the room, studying each and every one of the photos of the Virginia murder victims— taking in all of their dirty blonde heads, and delicate fae-like features, before turning back to face Dumbledore.

"Albus," he said seriously as he turned his eyes back to the man in question, "This cannibal that you have her getting to know... I think I can help get Hermione to see his face." an idea already forming in his mind.

Three days later

Tom smiled quietly to himself as he reached into his cooler to remove his recently acquired liver- glad to have finally found the time to get this small bit of work done. This was his favorite part to his acquisitions. Preparing his meat for storage. It was during this time that he would usually decide what dish he wanted to use the meat in. He already had his mind set on a scrumptious foie gras au torchon recipe with perhaps a late harvest Vidal sauce and figs, as he slid his knife over the organ to remove the nerves and veins that he found along the way. He was happy to be au fait with the process of making foie gras well enough to know that the unhealthy lifestyle this woman was living, would ultimately make her liver the perfect organ for the recipe he had in mind. Yes, he thought with a happy smile, foie gras would definitely be the best way to utilize this particular bit of meat. Heaven knows it had been ages since he made one. He had to admit that he was definitely risking quite a lot, with his decision to go after this victim in particular, but she was the only one that met the criteria of the other victims of this case. He thought about how happy she would've been before she died, if she had known that she would finally be worthy of something, even if it was just ending up on his dinner plate. He couldn't help but to chuckle at that thought. With any luck, he thought with a deviant smirk, he could convince Hermione to join him with this particular meal. He couldn't help but to think of how easily he had been able to accomplish this particular murder, but he suspected that it more than likely wouldn't have been so easy, had he not already known his victim. The poor thing.

He idly wondered when they would find the body - the poor girl had been out there for well over a day now - and if they would like the display he had placed her in. Just as he finished vacuum sealing his meat and popping it into his basement freezer, he felt his cellphone begin to vibrate in his pocket. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small device and let a devilish smile cross his face when he read the caller I.D.

Albus Dumbledore

He picked it up and kept his voice in an even tone as he answered.

"Hello? Albus?" Tom asked, feigning ignorance.

"Yes, its me Tom. I'm sorry to call you so late," he said in a tired tone.

"Its fine Albus, you know I'm always happy to help." he said with a brief pause before continuing, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, yes. That. Tom, I need you to go and check up on Miss Granger. We found another body today, and she was rather shaken up about it."

This was interesting, was Albus talking about the same person he left out in that field?

"Is there any reason in particular that she was shaken up?" Tom asked making sure his voice sounded convincingly concerned before he continued, "I would like to know how I should approach her."

"Well, the woman that was found this morning is a girl by the name of Lavender Brown. And apparently Miss Granger and Miss Brown attended the same college. I don't know if they were close. But she definitely seemed pretty banged up by this victim, more so than any others. I just would like to make sure her head is still in the game, you know?" Dumbledore said with an audible sigh.

"Will you be accompanying me on this journey to check on her?" Tom asked, not willing to let his excitement get the best of him until he knew for sure that this interaction would be private.

At this question, Dumbledore let out an anxious laugh. "Well yes, that's the thing, Tom my boy, I'm going to need you to go see her on your own. Because I have to be in court all day tomorrow. I know you two didn't get on well in our last meeting, but I think that if you two had a conversation without an outside party being present, she'll find that the two of you have a lot in common."

"Yes, I do think she would." Tom said with a smirk, before saying his farewells and hanging up the phone.

If you made it to this point thank you for reading. Let me know if you guys would be interested in reading chapter 2.