Griffin Lockhearst

“Yeah, see – that’d probably be more entertaining than watching me punch this thing until I get bored,” Rhys countered with a slight twitch of a smile, relaxing exponentially upon realising it was Griffin. “I – guess I didn’t sleep too well,” he said by way of an answer, fiddling with the side-stitching on the punching bag as he turned back to it, using his other hand to stop its sway.

Griffin leaned up against the cold cement wall of the training gymnasium and fought the urge to shiver as the chill seeped in through his jumper. “Probably,” he admitted, letting the ghost of a grin creep onto his mouth. “But much less productive, I’m sure. And anyway, my shoulder’s acting up, so my proficiency with the funky chicken is gonna be way off.”

It’s 7am, and the orange-luminescent glow of the lights in the gym are prickling at Rhys’ eyes. He huffs out a breath, shallow and wet with exertion – hands balling into identical fists, white and stubborn. A step creaks the floorboards behind him and he tenses, closing his left hand around the cool plastic of the training knife in his pocket; twisting it around his fingers as part of a perfunctory, archaic habit. His voice rumbles, filling the space.

“Yeah, I’m mostly just gonna stand here and stare, unless you want me to break out my dance moves.”

Yeah, yeah – suck it up, flyboy. Food’s on me tonight, alright?

Well I’m not gonna say no to that. I live for someone else footing the bill. 

Okay, you are – a thousand times worse than me. But, yeah, actually. Burgers and fries and three extra sides of everything for you so you don’t bloody faint on the way home, idiot.

Part of me wants to say no just out of pride, but the other part of me can’t imagine anything better than three extra sides. And a butterbeer. Godric I would kill a man for a strong butterbeer. 

Four hours? Merlin, Griffin, you’re becoming worse than me.

Yes, I definitely ate today. Or...was that yesterday? Maybe it was yesterday...no, wait, that kid ate my cronut yesterday...okay, okay, point taken. Wanna grab a burger with me? 

Alright. Good. It’s – not their style, anyway. Rearranging the entrails like that, it’s – they’re – geez, I guess – messier. If that makes any damn sense. But, yeah. Rest would be good. Rest which you also need, you know. 

Don’t worry, I’ll get my rest. I logged four hours last night. Aren’t you proud of your boy?

Yeah. ‘Course. Uh, as for the pattern … nothing I’ve seen. Nothing – well, Order related, as far as I know, anyway – if that was a line of questioning, at least. Whatever. I can take a look at a couple pattern recognition books, even dip into runes – see whatever the hell it could mean.

Not a serious line of questioning, in any case. Marian will do a full autopsy, then we’ll have some more information about the case. Until then, I think we can probably call it a day. I think we’ve been through enough to have earned a couple of hours’ rest, don’t you?

Yeah, yeah – that makes sense. Anybody got any kind of timeline going –? Say, brought to the clearing, attacked, tried to run – coat was grabbed, she fell, possibly broke the wand at this point with her own body-weight or on point of collision, and … then I guess the bastard killed her. Merlin. It – is unfortunately a little too late for that. But, sure. Water, coming right up.

We’ll have to talk to some of the witnesses before anything like that starts to take shape, probably. You’re probably not far off, though, if you’re off at all. What about the spiral pattern? Do you recognize it from anywhere? 

Lured away? Kidnapped? Drag marks from the clearing to the final resting place of the body; no sign of a struggle otherwise, so – knocked out before she got here, or came here willingly? Neither her money or valuables were taken, and any murderer worth half their salt would at least’ve taken what was there. But then again, it’s been obvious from the start this case isn’t anything close to average. As for the spells… I suppose it’s possible that the caster wasn’t her. Why break the wand if it wasn’t in an attempt to destroy evidence –? Not that it worked, mind.

It doesn’t look like a clean break, so maybe she or someone else fell on it. It’s my guess, anyway. What’s making me think she was conscious for most of this is the coat. Like whatever was going for her grabbed the coat and shrugged it off and tried to run. Didn’t make it far, obviously, but that’s my guess. 

“And that’s what rules out the creature, at least on their own.”

“Well, no I suppose not. She could have been side-along apparated. It doesn’t really jive with her wand and stuff being here, and the pouch of moonflower petals is definitely strange, too, but it’s possible. And here I was, lecturing Terranova on making assumptions.”

“And that’s what rules out the creature, at least on their own.”

“Well, no I suppose not. She could have been side-along apparated. It doesn’t really jive with her wand and stuff being here, and the pouch of moonflower petals is definitely strange, too, but it’s possible. And here I was, lecturing Terranova on making assumptions.”

“And that’s what rules out the creature, at least on their own.”

“Well, no I suppose not. She could have been side-along apparated. It doesn’t really jive with her wand and stuff being here, and the pouch of moonflower petals is definitely strange, too, but it’s possible. And here I was, lecturing Terranova on making assumptions.”

By “your day”, I obviously just meant when things were cooler, not that they aren’t cool now, because I’m sure anything you do is cool, half the department wants to be you and the other half wants to date you and it’s just… yeah. It is your day.

Cute. A for effort, Ashley. I’ll try to spend some time on Urban Dictionary in the meanwhile. 

Torn open. Merlin. I haven’t seen anything so barbaric in – … a long time. Right. Anyway. To, ah – to claw open another person’s stomach requires not only a vicious amount of strength and some tool – claws? Sharpened nails? – and a kind of animalistic intent – to dehumanise her in such a way … it’s difficult to imagine.

Yeah, and the questions just come right after each other. What was she doing out alone in the middle of the night without her security detail? Why were the last spells she used slinging spells instead of stunning spells?

“What stands out to me the most is obvious. The raggedness of being torn open shows me that this was either a magical creature, or someone very strong and angry. The fact that the sweater is torn and found so far away is intriguing as well, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but a creature that ended the night by casually tying her up like that?”

Willow crossed her arms over her chest and leaned as far over the Auror’s tape as she possible could, talking to the closest person to her. ”So it’s pretty damn obvious the murderer’s a show off, you don’t just split someone’s stomach open for shits and giggles, unless you’re doing some satanic ritual – actually, don’t write that off. But anyway, I’m not her to state the obvious – or sorry, should I say not not here to state the obvious, so I’ll get on with it. I’ll say that the murderer’s a bit of a goddamn attention seeker, probably something to do with a lack of thereof during their childhood or something, but once you get a suspect in, you’ll need me there for proper inspection of a reaction to what they’ve done, ‘cause to me it looks as though they’re quite proud of it, and if they were looking for attention, they damn well got it…”

“Can I help you?”

It’s…. oh, for the love of scarves, why do I do this to myself? 

In my day? How old do you think I am?