Researching the Question

London, August 30th, 1888

The dark, gas lit streets of the area were wreathed in a sparse fog, temporarily hiding the squalor and desperate populace. Recent immigrants from Ireland and Eastern Europe had added to the already overcrowded nature of that part of the city, driving many to do anything possible to make money.

A well-dressed man in a long coat, almost a robe, walked through the streets with purpose and a look of disdain on his face. To him the population of the area was less than human; they were inferiors with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. With his silver-tipped walking stick he made his way down the street, carefully navigating to the darker side whenever possible, seeking the shadows. He stepped over the drunken man sprawled out on the sidewalk, noticing that the man's head was bloody. He took his cane and waved it at the man, causing the prostrate form to slide off the sidewalk and land half-way into the street. The well-dressed man thought it too easy, and not exactly what he was looking for.

Rounding the corner he saw a policeman talking to a young woman. After retrieving a pocket out of his waistcoat the well-dressed man took notice of the time; it was far too late for a proper young lady to be outside, in this neighborhood, unescorted. She was slim, underfed, and her dress seemed coated with the grime that pervaded the entire area. The beefy policeman, with his large mustache, leered at the young lady. The young woman took the policeman's hand and they disappeared into an alley, leaving the streets silent except for the repeated clicking of the cane along with the well-dressed man's footsteps.

Muggles, the man thought, were horrible things. How did they survive without magic? What made them different from wizards and witches? He had thought over those very questions for years, and the unknowable answers tortured his intellect. There had to be a physical difference, as mentally wizarding folk and Muggles were so similar to be uncomfortably close. They were obviously inferior, but why? His previous attempts to ascertain the differences had led to distasteful failure, something that he, a very learned man, was not comfortable with. Success in his world had been easy to come by, and the resulting power intoxicated him. The Wizangamot valued his opinion, as he had been called upon to testify on several occasions, and the persuasiveness of his arguments never failed to carry the day.

The lights of the house indicated that it was, as he had observed first-hand, a place of business; a very old business, indeed. The young ladies stood outside on the stoop and called to him, but he refused their attempts. Too many witnesses for his experiments to be successful, and the resulting clamor after he'd conducted his research would attract far too much attention. He continued walking and was happy to see the dim illumination of the gas streetlights fail to cut the ever-growing fog. The conditions were almost perfect, now only a test subject would be required.

She stood outside of a shop that was closed, as no lights shone from the windows. He walked by at first and simply nodded, taking in as much as he could. Her dress was shabby, but she seemed to be wearing a new bonnet. She was not a young woman; he guessed her age around thirty or so, and he could smell the alcohol upon her as he passed. He took his pocket watch out and looked at the time. Three in the morning, perfect.

Turning around he walked back to the woman. "Good evening, or should I say good morning? If I may be so forward, I daresay that you look quite tired. Shouldn't you be going home to your husband and children?"

"Oh, I don't have no husband no more, sir. No children, either." She staggered a bit and quickly regained her balance, and then adjusted her bonnet. Her tone became suddenly brighter. "Just looking to have a bit of company."

The well-dressed man nodded and was silent. He thought about the time, the fog and his experiments. He would have his answers. "Well, I believe it is my duty as a gentleman to provide you some company. May I escort you, ma'am?"

She took his proffered arm and they walked into the darkness of the nearby alley. Twenty minutes later the well-dressed man emerged from the alley alone and wiped his cane with a handkerchief. He walked calmly down the street into the next alley and apparated into the night.

William Featherstick was bored. The night shift at the Auror's office was something that was to be endured, as everyone was obliged to take their turn. He turned the page of The Daily Prophet but it was futile, as he'd already read every single article including the adverts. William was halfway across the room, almost at the kettle when the door burst open and the newest Auror, Johnston Bramble ran to him. Bramble did not say a word, but clung to his arm like a vise.

"Bramble! What's the meaning of this? Get a hold of yourself and tell me why you're running in the halls like a schoolboy."

Johnston took a deep breath and released William's arm. "Murder, sir. A Muggle woman in Whitechapel."

"Well, I'm sure the Muggle constables will take care of it, none of our concern." William shook his head. "Don't need to be getting involved in Muggle affairs, boy."

"No sir, it's not a Muggle. Well, the victim is. Auror Kendricks saw a man use magic in the area about an hour or so earlier, he levitated a man off of the sidewalk and into the street."

"Merlin's pants! He just levitated a man walking down the street!" Now William's interest was aroused, as that was a severe breach of wizarding protocol when dealing with Muggles. "What did the man say?"

"Nothing, sir. The man was drunk and injured. Kendricks said he was passed out when he was levitated." Johnston took off his cap and sat down on the nearby desk. "But the Muggle woman…it sounds horrible, sir. Her throat was slashed and…the man did other horrible things. I can't talk about it or I believe I'll be ill."

The well-dressed man sat in his library with a glass of firewhiskey and stared at the fire. The Muggle woman was a complete liar; legilimens had proven that quite easily. No children…that had been a lie. Her children would obviously be better off without her. And if they weren't, it did not matter, as they were all Muggles. She was a horrid and insignificant thing, not worthy to look after a house elf. Mary Ann Nichols, he'd gained her name quite easily, but it was meaningless, as she was just one of the disgusting crowds of Muggles that was overtaking London. After initially being quite agreeable to their walk, she had resisted, but he had talked to her in soothing tones and shown her his pocketbook, and she did not refuse. Such things were not fit to live with wizards.

The experiments had been a total waste of the evening, as he hadn't learned anything new. Muggle physiology seemed exactly the same as his, which gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. After finishing the glass of firewhiskey he stood up, resolved to conduct more experiments. He had to know why there were so many similarities, but so many differences between Muggles and Wizarding folk. If he could just find the answer he could get rid of them once and for all.

Johnston Bramble looked at the large file on his desk. The clippings from several Muggle papers filled the file, and he flipped through absentmindedly. He'd read the articles many, many times, but they never changed. "The Leather Apron" one paper called the man, but the name that stuck in Johnston's mind was the other one, "Jack the Ripper." Five women, horribly murdered and mutilated, with no real clues. The other Aurors had been concerned but eventually came to the conclusion that a wizard might have been in the area at the time of the first murder, but there was no concrete evidence of Wizarding involvement. After much debate they had concluded it was completely a Muggle affair. Johnston wasn't so sure, as he looked through the clippings. Eventually he closed the file, walked to the large file cabinet on the other side of the office and placed the file in the "Unsolved – Muggle" section.