A/N: Hello everybody! This is the first fic I've created for three years… my other fics listed under my name were creating long time ago and probably don't have very proper grammar.

This is a Red Eye-Harry Potter cross over. I do not own Harry Potter or Red Eye.

In Red Eye, Charles Keefe was the primary target while Lisa Reisert was the "secondary" target. Jackson Rippner was therefore assigned to a secondary target. Secondary targets are usually not meant to die unless plans go haywire. The actions or presence of a secondary target are often made to trigger the primary target's death. In Red Eye, Charles Keefe's death depended on the action (phone call) of the secondary target. The new girl that Jackson is assigned to his next case is also a secondary target)

POINT OF VIEW: JACKSON RIPPNER

Jackson Rippner raised his eyebrows and exhaled softly. He drained his coffee quickly and glanced at the electrical clock on display. He would have to enter the gate in fifteen minutes. He attempted to ignore the woman sitting next to him, whose blonde hair and tacky scarf were almost as unappealing as her unsubtle remarks. Jackson gave her a quick transparent smile, and she was satisfied. Yet the reason behind Jackson's annoyance over the woman's hair and scarf were far more complex. She, along with many minute aspects of this flight and its passengers, reminded him of a similar flight that had occurred two years ago. He had been twenty three years old then, but nonetheless very attractive, charming, and deadly.

He had made a mistake and he had paid dearly for it. Jackson had not put any effort in planning revenge; he still faithfully believed in his male fact-based logic, and he was very convinced that the most practical decision would be to move on.

But it had hurt. It had hurt like hell: both physically and emotionally. A hole on his thigh, three bullets in his stomach, his vocal cords had been virtually destroyed, and he had been a witness to excruciating pain. It had all been temporary of course; it had taken a year to recover – eight months of which were spent in the hospital. The Miami Local Prison had been almost too easy to escape from, and Jackson's company had long before infiltrated the police force. And now, Jackson Rippner was back, his appearance unchanged from three years before.

The emotional wound had been the hardest to heal. Jackson, like many young assassins, had a vast ego and a little hotel clerk had mortally ruined his pride. Although his voice was now restored to its previous tone and pitch, the scar on his pale neck itched slightly whenever he recalled that particular woman. It had been a job that was supposed to be easy. Jackson had not seen Lisa Reisert since he had blackened out on her hardwood floor, and for that he was grateful. He did not need any reminding of that particular incident.

His company associates had tried to tease Rippner of the failed flight several times. But time was passing; jokes got old. And the assassin, not quite forgiven for his inexcusable blunder, was back to work. As of three months ago.

Finally.

Those three months had been spent in careful examination of his new target. He was not eager to make a mistake again. When the assassin had first looked at his own assigned prey in the plan, he had wondered why the company had to choose another pretty young woman as a secondary target.

The girl did not necessarily look like Lisa Reisert. Her smile was warmer, her skin was less pale, and her hair was a dark brown instead of a red colour. The hair was long and wavy, not at all like Lisa's short red curls. She strode more confidently, yet there was also an air of sadness in her walk. Just like Lisa. The girl read Dickens instead of Dr. Phil, had dentists for parents instead of retired businessmen, and drank apple juice instead of seabreezes. She was also a history student teacher.

She was single. It was obvious, the lone apartment having no photos/mementos or anything of the sort. For the three months that he had followed her, there was no change in routine, no family, and no boyfriends. She was hiding. A death had occurred in her close circle of friends almost a year ago and she had withdrawn in the shadows, sticking to routine. Just like Lisa. She loved no one and kept away from men. But one man loved her. Out of all the letters she had received (Jackson had gone over each one: opening the mailbox, reading the letters, and sealing them into new identical envelopes before returning the mail) there had been many from one particular young man.

The boy had enclosed his picture in one of the letters; light eyes, dark hair, charming smile and a black suit – almost similar to Jackson himself. But there the similarities ended. The smile was charming, but unlike Jackson's own cold baby- blues, the green eyes were filled with sorrow. The letters were never replied. Jackson could often see the girl incinerating them. And so, as Jackson Rippner looked at the photograph of the pretty brown-haired woman, he marveled of how alike she was to Lisa Reisert. She was returning home from a holiday to New York. The assassin would sit next to her. He would not make the same mistake again. For there was a very large change to the plan of action.

Instead of the girl's actions, the girl's very presence would itself be the determining aspect to the success of the plan.

Hermione Granger would not have to call anyone. She was bait.

And in twenty four hours, Harry Potter would be dead.

POINT OF VIEW: HERMIONE GRANGER

Hermione Granger double checked her purse and suitcase before seating herself in the old haggard taxi. The vacation had certainly been pleasurable. She had entranced herself with the history of the city, specifically the Statue of Liberty and the World Trade Centre Ground Zone. Her aunt and uncle lived in Ottawa; so she had taken the tour of the Canadian parliament buildings, had rode in the boats on the canal, had seen the CN Tower in Toronto and had been to Wonderland. Her vacation had been distracting – but not quite distracting enough.

There were too many memories. And Hermione Granger was emotionally drained.

The colour red, once her favourite as a young Gryffindor classmate, was now her worst. Red reminded the twenty four year old of blood, of Voldemort's eyes, of Ginny's hair, and most of all… of Ronald Weasley.

Ron and Ginny had died together. Voldemort had killed them in Riddle Manor himself. They had been tortured with Bellatrix's Cruciatus curse, with Avery's knife curse, with Dolohov's slashes and with fifteen pain-causing potions created by Severus Snape.

Red also reminded her of love, of the passion she had shared with Ron at the Burrow, and then at the Horocrux adventures.

Harry Potter had learned about the two deaths only after defeating Tom Riddle. When he finally understood, Harry had suddenly acquired his selfish fifteen-year-old temper tantrum persona. He had sworn at her, screaming that she was a know-it-all, a stupid girl who should have been there for his friends. He claimed that her life was perfect compared to his. And that she couldn't possibly understand what he was going through, losing his best friend and love of his life at once. He had slammed a door in her face, even after knowing that her face was covered with tears.

Not understand, indeed.

Harry had come to apologize a few days later, and she had been about to relent until the emotionally troubled boy kissed her.

She understood that his emotions were vulnerable, but that did not stop her from slapping her best friend on the cheek, breaking her wand, and moving to an apartment in London.

She had received letters from many acquaintances by owl, many of them, each of which she politely replied back and declared that if they were not going to send the letter the Muggle way… she would move to some unknown location. She was kind enough to add a postscript mentioning that if they thought she couldn't detect a simple tracking charm, they were sorely mistaken. She had moved a couple of times, but all of her friends needed no second warning. That had been at the beginning. Now, within the past six months, even her letters didn't mention any magic. She kept in touch with each of them by the post, and convinced herself that she was much happier this way.

After all, her Hogwarts friends had always said that Hermione Granger's determination was even more prolonging than Ron Weasley's own stubbornness.

She had read each of Harry's letters, but each seemed to disappoint her. Sometimes he was too caring, therefore over-stepping the lines and being ignorant of Ron's role in her life. Ron was deceased, but she was indignant that Harry should not take his role. And sometimes, he was too scolding.

"I've been writing you for months Hermione, are you that stubborn not to even answer a letter? We are all living in these times but everyone else has stayed. Voldemort is gone and everyone is dealing with this…"

And now she had finally settled herself into a comforting thoroughly Muggle routine, completely oblivious to the simple reality that she had overestimated her safety in the Muggle World. She forgot that Muggles could be bad too.

And so, Hermione Granger loaded her luggage onto the carrier, not knowing that a charming blue eyed stranger was eying her intently.

A/N:

Okay, I was smiling a bit when I wrote the last sentences. So sue me. :P. I'd like to clear up a few things before I continue.

1. First of all, I promise you that I will be updating quite frequently… I'll aim for an entry every four days. I'm on summer holidays, and I'm bored.

2. I want reviews. Badly. Please? If it makes you feel any better, I think this is the first time anyone's tried a Red Eye/Harry Potter crossover. It should be good, but I'm not saying who I'm crossing with who. Or who died/dies. Sorry

3. I need grammar help. I think I've been using too many commas. If somebody is willing to be a volunteer editor for my fics, please leave a review with your contact information.

4. The other entries will be longer.