Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, except my original characters. You'll know who they are. Everything else is JKR's. So please don't sue. If I forget to put a disclaimer in any future chapter, this one goes for them, too.

Summary: Harry, reeling in the wake of Dumbledore's death, resolves to finish the job once and for all. But in order to do so, he's going to have to get help from unlikely sources and, with the help of his friends, pull off the greatest con job the wizarding world has ever seen…

A/N: So, my first story. It will be darker than the 6th book as the war really gets underway. Romantic pairings will be the same as in HBP, but romance will play a very small part in this story, because frankly I don't want to write it. I'm not going to pretend it doesn't exist, but at the same time, it won't be a focus. I have a lot of OC bad guys, but no important OC good guys. Unless you count Aberforth Dumbledore (and Gawain Robards to some extent) as OCs, because they don't have any lines in the real books. Also, the chapters will be longer than Chapter 1. This intro's a little short.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Guest

The lavish penthouse apartment was one of the most expensive in New York City, but this did not trouble its lone inhabitant. After all, he was not the owner. He was an old man, with only the last vestiges of black still showing in his silvery hair, which hung down almost to his shoulders. Despite the length it was surprisingly neat, proof that the man cared greatly about its appearance. He felt that its silver sheen brought out the color in his eyes, making the blue-grey, icy irises look even more intimidating than they otherwise did. Said eyes were currently peering out of a tanned but aristocratic face as if staring through the door of the apartment. The long, dexterous fingers of his right hand were curled around a thin, wooden wand inside the pocket of his trademark white robes, while his left hand rested calmly on the armrest of the couch he was reclined in.

The man's brow was furrowed in concentration, and his eyes were following something outside of the room, for this man really could see through the walls. He drummed his fingers on the couch impatiently, as though he was waiting for something and could not be bothered to wait much longer. His eyes twitched towards the window, assuring him that there was another way to exit the apartment besides the door. However, after a couple of seconds, his eyes jerked back to the door, and his fingers resumed their impatient drumming.

Half a minute later, a faint beeping filled the apartment, alerting the man of a possible intruder. The beeping began to grow louder and more frequent, signifying the intruder's slow approach, but the old man made no move other than to grip his wand a little tighter. As the seconds crawled by, the beeps started running together into a high pitched squeal, alerting him in a rather annoying fashion that the intruder was on his doorstep. He silenced the alarm with an irritable twitch of his wand. He peered through the door, and just as the man outside raised his hand to knock, he opened it with another twitch of the wand.

Standing outside the door was a man with his hand still raised rather foolishly in a knocking motion. He quickly lowered it, but the damage to his dignity was done. His red eyes flashed in anger for a moment, but then dulled just as quickly. The man was hairless, but that was the least of his physical deformities. He had red, glowing eyes with cat-like slits for pupils, a snake-like nose, and a slightly forked tongue that would occasionally protrude from his lipless mouth. But if the handsome man who was reclining on the other side of the room was repulsed, he didn't show it.

Lord Voldemort, for that was the name of the man with the serpentine face, began to take a step in the room. However, before he could get all the way in, the man on the couch used his wand to slam the door in his face. Before the door reached him, Lord Voldemort drew his own wand with a snarl and blasted the door into sawdust.

"I am not in the mood for games, Antonio," he said abruptly. "I have crossed an ocean into a hostile country to talk to you, and you have proven difficult enough to find already. I will not tolerate these meaningless trifles."

"Difficult?" repeated Antonio with a sardonic smile. "I didn't think anything was difficult for the great and glorious Dark Lord."

Lord Voldemort's face curled into a sour sneer. "If nothing posed a challenge to me, then I would be in charge of every government in a world devoid of Muggles and Mudbloods. No one is omnipotent, as you are well aware. I am merely closer than others."

"Not all others," replied Antonio softly with a mocking smile.

"You refer to Dumbledore," said Voldemort with a smirk. "Never fear, Antonio, that particular difficulty has been overcome."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. This was news to him, and he did not like it when the Dark Lord knew things that he didn't. He liked to have every bit of leverage possible over Voldemort during their meetings. "Then who leads the resistance movement? Moody? Or perhaps Robards?"

"Neither," said Voldemort. "Rufus Scrimgeour and Harry Potter currently stand against me. Both are easily eliminated. Robards is the Auror Commander, and will undoubtedly put up fierce resistance, but he is still the only Englishman on S.N.O.W., giving him limited international leverage. And I need not tell you of Scrimgeour's ineptitude in that department."

"Intriguing," said Antonio, digesting the new information. "So have you come to brief me on current events, or is there an underlying purpose to this visit?"

"Rest assured, there is a purpose," responded Voldemort in a soft but menacing tone. "You are the last of the strike team to have eluded me. I have spent the better part of two years tracking all of you down from across the globe. I was forced to break Zhang and Asagai from prison, among others, but I finally have all of you assembled. S.N.O.W. will be no match for us this time."

"All of us? Have you made the mistake of recruiting Müller again? I thought you would have learned your lesson last time."

"Müller is second only to you among the world's assassins," said Voldemort impatiently. "If you two would learn to work together, you would be formidable."

"I refuse to believe Müller is one of the best assassins in the world," said Antonio indignantly. "The man has the stealth of a rhinoceros and the reflexes of a three-toed sloth."

"It matters little what you believe," said Voldemort dismissively. "I have come a long way, and I must have your answer at the end of this meeting."

"And if I answer no?"

"Then I shall be forced to kill you, despite the great void your death will create in my team."

Antonio merely smirked. "You tried to kill me once before."

"I was young and inexperienced. I assure you that I could slaughter you where you lie."

"You are not a fighter, my Lord," said Antonio, using the title mockingly. "You have never been. But this discussion is pointless. You owe me fifty million Galleons."

"I do," admitted Voldemort. "And you will find that half of that sum has already been transferred to your Gringotts account."

"Not enough," said Antonio grimly. "You will pay me the full fifty before I even consider rejoining, with an additional twenty-five to prove your continued interest."

Voldemort's eyes flashed red in anger. "Our original agreement was for fifty. It will remain at fifty."

"Seventy-five, or I will send you running from the room like a dog."

"Empty threat, Antonio," sneered Voldemort. "You cannot touch me anymore."

"Then draw your wand," challenged Antonio, his icy eyes flashing with anger.

The two stared at each other, glaring daggers into each other's skulls. For minutes, neither looked away. Finally, Voldemort's eyes flashed again, and he snorted angrily.

"Sixty-five."

"Seventy-five," repeated Antonio adamantly.

"I shall make a compromise with you, Antonio," said Voldemort, nostrils flared in suppressed fury. "Fifty million as soon as I return to Britain, if you come with me. Twenty-five more will be paid once Harry Potter is dead and S.N.O.W. has been eliminated."

"Then you wish me to kill Harry Potter as well?"

"No. Your task, along with Müller, will be to eliminate S.N.O.W. Potter is my personal prey. When both jobs have been completed, you will receive your twenty-five."

"After which our contract will be renegotiated," said Antonio. "Very well, I accept the terms. You may return to Britain. I will arrive tomorrow, at which time you will pay me twenty-five million Galleons."

"I will brief you on your exact missions at that time as well. I am bringing you back to do far more than just destroy S.N.O.W."

"I look forward to it," said Antonio with a decidedly evil grin that showed almost all of his gleaming white teeth. "I haven't killed a man in almost a month."

"You will get all the chances in the world before we are through, my old friend," said Voldemort with a smirk. "I will put your skills to the test this time."

With that, the monster standing across the room from Antonio spun around and vanished into thin air with total silence. Antonio waited thirty seconds before slowly letting go of his wand, which had been clenched in his right hand throughout the discussion. He let his mind think through the meeting again, and he determined that he had gotten the better end of the deal by far. Seventy-five million Galleons to kill twelve of the best fighters ever to wield a wand? He would have paid for that kind of opportunity.

Antonio packed up his effects, making sure that the apartment was completely cleared of all traces of him. Surprisingly for a man whose wealth was counted in millions, everything that he owned could be fit into one medium-sized trunk. But he was still missing his favorite knife. He racked his brain, trying to remember where he had put it, when his eyes fell on a small, insignificant rock sitting on his dresser.

"Ah, of course," he muttered, walking over to the rock. He held his wand over it and made a swirling motion. Instantly, the body of the man who owned the penthouse appeared, sprawled across the dresser. Antonio reached down, grasped the knife embedded in the man's chest, and tugged it loose. He siphoned the blood off with his wand and then carefully stowed the knife in the toe of his custom-made boots. He looked at the corpse, pondering whether to transfigure it back or not.

"Might as well let the police find it," he muttered. "This place has outlived its usefulness." At last, Antonio was ready to leave. He gave the room another once-over before walking to the center of the room. He tapped his trunk with his wand, muttering "Portus." The trunk glowed blue for a moment, before fading back to normal. Antonio reached down and grasped it tightly.

"Did you miss me, Europa?" he mumbled to himself, before disappearing in a confusing whirl of color and sound.

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A/N:

If you like it, leave a review! Questions, comments, and complaints are all welcome. What's S.N.O.W., you ask? Read on to find out!