Message For Mr. Potter
Frank Harris reached up with two fingers and tipped the fedora back a couple inches so he could better survey the station. His wife complained it made him look like an accountant at a costume party dressed up as a detective from an old black-and-white 40's movie, but the hat was the only thing that went with the trench coat that didn't make him look like a complete fool. It still didn't improve things by much. His short, slight build and plain face shouted of anything but a rugged gumshoe saving dames and solving crimes from behind the barrel of a .38 special. He liked the coat though, it had a lot of pockets, and pockets were always useful.
He pulled a notebook from one of those handy pockets and flipped between pages of hasty handwriting until he found what he was looking for. Following the instructions from his client, he slunk through the station, being sure to draw no attention to himself that cool autumn morning, until he found the metal ticket box between platforms nine and ten. "Walk directly at ticket box," the note said. He scowled at the solid-looking metal. "What is it with you magic types? It's never easy with you people, is it?" This wasn't particularly unique, though—in his job he came across strange things like this on a regular basis. "Occupational oddities," he called them.
He started forward but noticed a guard sneaking looks at anybody who walked by the ticket box. Easily taken care of. Frank pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and rolled it in front of the guard as he started for the box. The guard turned to look at the coin and by the time he resumed his post, Frank was through and onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Past the magical barrier, he now looked for the family of redheads he was supposed to find. A whole herd of them shouldn't be too hard to find in England, should it? Is this even England, anymore? It didn't matter. All he needed to know was he'd been paid handsomely for this job, regardless of where it went. He promised his wife this would be the last one. After all, she wasn't fond of him messing about in mystical lands and being late for dinner. Frank promised he would quit, but with the market the way it was his wife should have known better than to expect him to keep that promise. Besides, he'd cornered the market with this job. His talents kept him and his wife in the well-to-do category, and, being the only one in his profession, he could afford to charge the moon if he wanted. Maybe he'd stop for a little while, just so she was happy. Maybe.
After a couple minutes, he spotted the flock of gingers and gave slow chase. He took a deep breath and reached one black-gloved hand into a pocket to grab the message he was supposed to deliver. They were all speaking quickly to each other in sharp tones and mostly whining, but he managed to catch a few snatches of conversation to confirm they were the ones he sought. He had just caught sight of a tangle of unruly black hair within the group when a shrill noise startled him and he ducked instinctively. The sound brought him back to a job just three weeks before. His nerves were still shot from visiting the frontlines of that alien war, dodging shrapnel and fragments of metal and slippery flesh. He half expected to find part of a tentacle nearby again.
Just the train whistle. Not strange shrapnel taking chunks of out even stranger flesh around him. Just an ordinary, mundane, everyday whistle. It was a train station after all. "Really, Frank, really?" he grumbled to himself.
His sudden movement had drawn a few curious looks, but he was quickly forgotten as parents said soppy goodbyes to their children boarding the train to school.
Frank focused on the conductor, busy herding students onto the train. He needed to get on without being noticed. He didn't exactly look like a student, unless that student had hair that was starting to gray and formed a widow's peak that looked more like it should be called a widow's dagger.
So, to better his chances, he pulled out his own whistle from one of his many pockets and strolled casually toward the train, following behind a student who seemed not to have any family watching after him. He mimed a conversation with the back of the child's head to avoid suspicion. When Frank got close enough, he blew the whistle with one quick blast and stuffed it back into his pocket. The noise didn't come from the device itself, but sounded off on the opposite side of the blue-uniformed man and caused him to quickly spin toward it with a tiny shocked cry. While his back was turned, Frank slipped onto the train and turned the corner into the narrow hallway. No problem.
He looked both ways and caught a serendipitous glimpse of a shock of muddy red hair disappearing into one of the compartments. As nonchalantly as he could, Frank walked along the carpeted hall until he reached the room he'd seen one of the intended recipients of his message enter into. He leaned in and listened as several voices chattered excitedly. He was listening for one name in particular. After a few seconds, he heard it, pulled out the sealed envelope, and stepped inside.
"You shoulda seen his face! It was all…Oy! Who're you?" one of the redheads asked.
Frank counted four of them as closed the door. Two gingers—the brother and sister—a brown-haired girl hidden under a pile of books, and a teenage boy with a funny zigzag scar partially hidden by an atrocious haircut.
Ignoring the question, Frank held out the envelope as if he were reading it for the first time, squinting at the bold, black name scrawled onto it. "I have a message for Harry…Potter? Is there a Mr. Potter here?"
The boy with the scar looked at him warily, but held out his hand for the message. "That's me. What's this about? Are you a Muggle?"
"No." Frank handed him the letter. "Just a messenger, sir."
The bookworm glared at him and clutched the mass of texts she held tight to her chest. "I don't think you're allowed on the train, you know," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that reminded him too much of his wife. "How did you get on?"
Frank simply smiled and slipped his hands beneath his coat.
"What's it say, Harry?" The ginger girl kept one eye locked on Frank as she pestered the recipient with playful affection. "Come on, open it up! Let's see!"
Everyone looked at each other and then at Harry as the teenager tore open the envelope and read the brief note inside. "Avada Kedavra, Harry. Sincerely, Voldemort." A noticeable shudder rippled through the group. "What kind of a sick joke is this?" Harry thrust the paper at the stoic messenger.
"No joke," Frank stated evenly and pulled a pair silenced pistols from their holsters. He casually pointed them at the two redheads sitting closest to him and pulled the triggers. Two freckled heads snapped back with matching shocked expressions. The remaining two had no time to react before Frank took aim with a flick of his wrists at the girl with the books and a stunned Harry Potter and drilled one round apiece neatly through their heads. The bullets thudded with a slick smack into all four targets, now slumped back in their seats with their heads against the bloodied walls as if they were taking a nap. A very long, permanent nap.
The character assassin settled his weapons back into their holsters and carefully extracted the note from the clenched hand of the Boy Who Just Died. It didn't sit well with him, killing teenagers, but it paid the bills. Sure, every once in a while he and Linda would have an argument about why he couldn't find a "respectable job," but bringing back expensive and exotic gifts usually muted her admonishment for a few days.
Nobody outside seemed to be panicking, that was good. He opened up the door and stepped back into the hall, where he came face to face with a startled woman pushing a trolley stuffed with treats. "Excuse me! Parents aren't allowed on the Hogwarts Express! Please step off, I'm not even sure how you got on. I know this is a hard time for…well, I never!"
Frank didn't bother to listen to the rest of the lecture. He tipped his fedora as a token of respect and slid past, stepping out just as the conductor called "All aboard!" A few seconds later, the train gave a lurch and started the slow pull away from the station.
With a satisfied half-smile—after all, what character assassin wasn't pleased with a perfectly executed hit?—Frank watched amongst the waving parents as the bright-red engine pulled the almost exclusively living students away toward another bright year at wizarding school.
As soon as it was out of sight, he let out a long sigh. That's when he noticed a little girl looking at him with a great big frown. Did she know? Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. Either way, easy enough to buy her silence. He reached into his coat, producing a sweet he'd lifted off the cart on his way off the train. The girl's parents were too busy waving to notice, even when the kid squealed with delight and snatched the candy from Frank's hand.
He put a finger to his lips, and disappeared without a trace from the station, leaving the little girl holding a large piece of chocolate staring in amazement at nothing in particular.