DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter is not mine, sadly.

HighElvenWizard

Story Description: Completely AU. The product of a genetic and biochemical experiment, Harry Potter is a highly-trained elite assassin who is working for a secretive organization known to some as the Order of the Phoenix. Led by an experienced and brilliant leader named Albus Dumbledore, the Order is trying to destroy evil and darkness in the world. Using questionable methods, the Order, from its bases all over the world, seeks to eradicate all signs of evil through any means necessary, whether it be peacefully or violently. But with the sudden appearance of another organization striving for world dominance, and more genetically enhanced fighters, Harry struggles with himself as the world is plunged into world war, possibly the final one... (Harry/Hermione)

Fire and Brimstone

One
I am Harry Potter

My name is Harry. I don't have a last name, or at least a real one anyway. I guess you could call me Harry Potter. Harry James Potter.

You must be wondering why I said that I don't have a last name, but then I told you what it was. The fact of the matter is, I have no last name because I don't have any parents. You see, I was created from a test tube, a very special test tube. I am a biochemically and genetically created being, using the latest, and even the most secret, technology to make me. I was given no last name because they didn't think I'd make it, but here I am, sadly.

I'm not entirely sure what they put into me. The earliest memory I can recall is from when I was about eight years old, and even then I wasn't normal for an eight year old. I was bench pressing one-hundred and forty pounds, running miles in five minutes, and dunking on the basketball court, all while I was only about eighty pounds. They never told me what other genes besides human they put into me, or what other types of chemicals and gene manipulations they added, but suffice it to say that not all of me is human.

I believe there are some animal genes in me, plus manipulated and modified genes that made me faster, stronger, and, dare I say it, smarter than normal humans are. The only problem about all this, of course, is that I eat like I'm an animal. I'm never fully satisfied, though I can tell whether or not I have a lot of food in me, or whether its enough. I think it's a trait I inherited from some other animal, but the fact of the matter is that I need so much energy to fuel my body. Without it, I was told, I would probably go into shock and die in a matter of days.

This is, of course, why in every Order hideout, safehouse, and headquarter, there is a specific room storing food that is just for me. I also have numerous bank accounts at my disposal to buy food with, in the event that I am unable to get to any of my food stashes. I know you're wondering about what the Order is and what I'm doing with them. The story is long, and even I don't know all the details, but I'll give you the shortened version of what I know:

The Order was founded long ago by a young, extremely intelligent, and ambitious young man named Albus Dumbledore. That isn't even his whole name, which is Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore. If you ask me, his parents must have been hopped up on some kind of drug to name him that. Though I guess it doesn't have the same ring to it with just Albus Dumbledore in it.

Anyway, he was very bright, coming in at the top of his classes. He had moved around most of the Ivy League schools, never being fully satisfied with one of them for a long time. Around the time he was about to graduate, something terrible happened to his family. From what I've gathered, his family, consisting of his parents, his twin brother, and his younger sister, were killed in a bank robbery that turned into a nasty gunfight.

Devastated by this, he left school and vowed to use any means necessary to get back at all criminals around the world. His parents were wealthy, and the money he inherited with them he used to start a few companies, some of which flopped, but one of them eventually rose to dominate the globe. Phoenix Enterprises, he had named it, aptly so for he was rising from the ashes of his sorrow. Riding on the success of his company, he spread out his reach into every industry, gaining success after success. He was, very soon, almost as rich as the big man himself, Bill Gates. Almost.

But unlike Gates, who kept a lot of his money, Dumbledore spent much of it. He was young, at the time, and bought buildings, houses, and land anywhere he could. Not only did his umbrella company spread over the world, he also bought personal lands and holdings, most under different names. He had locations in London, Paris, Berlin, Moscow, Beijing, Hong Kong, Manila, Sydney, Rio de Janero, Mexico City, Toronto, Jerusalem, Cairo, and even in Antarctica! He had more, but of course I can't possibly list them all out here, plus I don't know all of them. I do know that he has places all over America.

Thinking about it is actually a little scary. If people knew the truth, they'd see the fingers of Phoenix Enterprises dug into everything, and that is a little frightening. Okay, maybe a lot. Some of the things they have in their pockets are shopping malls, oil companies, retail companies, clothing manufacturers, liquor companies, cigarette companies, and even defense contractors.

I wouldn't be surprised if they even had a few tanks and fighter planes stored somewhere in the event that they would need to go to war. Though I haven't seen any, mind you. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. The Order.

Throughout all this, he had been waiting for the perfect moment to commence his crusade against evil. All that time he had spent building the foundation of his main goal, his main drive, which was to battle evil and eradicate it from the face of the earth. Talk about ambitious. He wanted to take on all the evil in the world. Hell, even I can't do that, and I'm genetically modified!

With billions in his pocket and with material and personnel that numbered in the millions, he could create his own personal army, and he did. Thus, the Order of the Phoenix was born. Not too creative with the name, especially since he already used it, but it got the job done. Using his many privately owned and some company owned locations around the world, he slowly built the Order.

He hired only the best of the best, though not all of them could be bought of course, so he had to settle for a little less, but still. Money was not an issue, results were, and he really wanted good results. The brightest scientists, technicians, engineers, architects, designers, strategists, leaders, lawyers, and pretty much every other profession out there excluding underwater basket-weavers.

It's been twenty years since it started, and they've actually done a lot. Dozens of dangerous terrorist groups were taken care of, groups that even government agencies like the CIA, MI6, or even GSG-9 could not handle. Thousands of murderers, large and small, were killed to ensure the safety of the many who would have died from their hands, and to avenge those who were already taken. Thieves, robbers, and other criminals were stopped and eradicated from the earth so that their genes would not "contaminate the gene pool," in Dumbledore's own words.

I was their superweapon, their number one experiment. I was the "One," they said, that would "save the world." Not that it really needed much saving. After all, it's survived without me interfering with it, why shouldn't it do so for the next million years? But according to them, something big was about to happen. Maybe an invasion of zombies or aliens, or perhaps World War III, but whatever is about to happen, they haven't told me yet. But from what I've been hearing, it doesn't look so good.

So here I am, Harry, a highly-trained, genetically altered, and biochemically engineered assassin. Yes. I was made to be a killing machine. Super fast, super strong, super smart, and super skilled. I can kill someone in hundreds, if not thousands, of ways, though I generally pick the simplest and most "normal" way possible. After all, I can't let on that there's some kind of major assassin out there now, can I?

I've gone after corrupt heads of state or even lower government officials, powerful drug lords both in England and elsewhere, mob bosses, evil scientists, terrorist leaders, rebel leaders, murderers, and even other assassins. I've seen them all, from abusive fathers to greedy politicians, and it actually makes me feel good that I am doing some good in the world. Sacrifice the few to save the many, right?

I'm in New York right now, on a mission for the Order. It's a Friday, and the UN Security Council is meeting to discuss plans about what to do in the Middle East. The situation has escalated there, to the point that the Israeli's and the Iranians are at each other's throats and about to unleash havoc in the region. Iraq was only recently stabilized and U.S. troops have already pulled out, but now it seems that they'll be needed again. But there is one dissenter among them. The Russian ambassador to the United Nations, Kazimir Pankrati.

According to the Order, he means to veto and block any attempts at ameliorating the situation over in the Mideast. The Russian president, Nikolai Vasiliev, has allowed him to decide the best course of action in the matter while the president tended to domestic matters. According to my superiors, the Order cannot control the situation in the Mideast, which the Order has been having trouble pacifying. Thus, UN intervention will be needed in order to avert war, but with the Russians holding a veto and stopping them UN from intervening, there were going to be problems.

So that's why I'm here. I was in an empty apartment, the occupants having left on vacation, just down 1st Avenue. According to my sources, the ambassador was to arrive via motorcade to the UN Headquarters, and to do would have to pass by the apartment complex that I was in. I was lying down on my belly on the cold, stone floor of the balcony. The wind was a little too strong, ruffling my clothes and my hair.

I moved to a slightly more comfortable position as I held up my binoculars. Instead of steel railing, stone surrounded the balcony, which provided me with ample cover. Small holes, big enough for the barrel of my sniper rifle to fit through, were cut clean through the stone to allow wind to come through. I sighted in on the highway, which had already been blocked off by police.

A few minutes later, I spotted the motorcade. They were traveling pretty fast, so I quickly went through my routine one last time. I had special high-explosive, armor-piercing bullets, and I checked to make sure I had one in the rifle. The rifle was a single shot, but it was a powerful super-compression rifle that fired rounds at blazing speed. It reached targets a few milliseconds before other sniper rifles did, which is saying a lot about its increased firepower. Add that with high-explosive, armor-piercing rounds, and you've got a match made in heaven, for assassins who like big explosions, at least.

I looked over at the many flags that adorned the UN building, all of which were fluttering gloriously in the wind. I calculated the angle from the pole to the flag, divided it by the constant four, and got the rough estimate of the wind velocity. I was approximately a hundred meters away from my target and I adjusted my high-powered telescopic sight accordingly.

This was the exciting and nerve-wracking part of my job. Sure, the preparation and planning for it gave me some adrenaline too, but never as much as when I was actually doing the job. Once he was down, I'd have minutes to leave the area before the authorities came crashing down on me, but I was always good at that, so it didn't worry me. What worried me was that I'd fail to kill him, and it has happened sometimes. Even things I plan don't always go exactly as they should, but I always finish.

I've never failed a mission, and I wasn't about to start today.

"You got this," I told myself as I rested the gun against my shoulder, the shoulder pad pressing against my skin. I slowed my breathing, which was easily done with my genetically enhanced body, and soon I was looking through the scope.

The crosshair was digital and the range and wind readings were printed on there from a sensor at the tip of the gun barrel. Of course, I didn't have to calculate and adjust manually, but I did so anyway out of habit. You can never trust technology fully after all. The scope was designed to adjust automatically, but I had it on manual mode, so it didn't change any of the settings.

I zoomed in on the target, careful not to shoot too soon. I could hear a helicopter droning in the distance. It was probably the ambassador's air security team. I drowned out any sound as I began to get into the zone. The moment was coming, and fast, as the motorcade sped down 1st Avenue.

Little Russian flags fluttered on top of the limousine hood as I followed it. My right index finger wrapped around the trigger gently, as if caressing it, and I counted down.

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One..."

I snapped my finger back and the gun instantly recoiled, pushing back hard against my shoulder. I barely felt it due to my enhanced strength, but I knew it had kicked back hard. The other guys at the training camp were usually bruised after using it. Within a matter of seconds, I had reloaded the gun, ejecting the spent casing and grabbing a fresh one from the line of them that I had made on the floor.

I watched as the bullet impacted a little off from where I had been targeting. The front left wheel exploded in a shower of rubber as the bullet penetrated its thickened skin. The long, black vehicle vaulted into the air as a flaming ball exploded from underneath its left, front part, taking part of the forward half with it. It spun in the air, debris flying everywhere as parts of 1st Avenue showered the area.

In a crash that I heard just moments later, the limo landed on its side, underside exposed to me, and I smiled.

Perfect.

I squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was instantaneous as I watched some of the security team get flung back from the concussive blast as they tried to approach the limo. A great ball of fire engulfed the vehicle as a plume of black smoke began to rise up from the wreckage.

Satisfied that my target was eliminated, I quickly packed up, using my super speed to help me as I deconstructed my rifle and put it into the small suitcase that I was carrying. I carefully cleaned my spot, careful to stay hidden from sight from the street, and got out of there.

I could hear the police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances wailing in the distance as I walked calmly to my car. I greeted the old lady at the front desk, who smiled at me, and held the door open to three giggling kids who quickly ran to a running van. As they opened the door I caught a glimpse of a stern-looking father at the wheel, who began to talk a little angrily to the girls.

The adrenaline was still pumping in my blood, and my heart was beating faster than normal, but I kept my cool. If anyone noticed that I was trying to get away quickly, that would raise suspicion and would probably lead to an investigation. Even though my tracks were clean, that would be a nuisance, especially since there is always the chance that I left some clue behind.

I shook me head as I thought of that. I never have, and never will, or at least I liked to reassure myself like that. Besides, how would they trace me? I'm a ghost. I don't exist in any official records, except under my different aliases, of course.

I popped the trunk to my Mercedes SLR McLaren, a pretty sweet ride if I do say so myself, and put my suitcase neatly into the back. With its nice, comfortable seats, supercharged 5.5 litre V8 engine, and its sleek look, its one of my favorite cars. The engine practically purred at me as it came to life, welcoming me back into the driver's seat.

Of course, this wasn't any ordinary McLaren. I had the boys over at the Order shop give it a few enhancements, as I liked to call them. Hydraulics, neon underglow that I could turn on if I wanted to show off, a pair of Nitrous Oxide canisters in case I ever needed to outrun someone, like say, the authorities. It was heavier too, even with the carbon fiber that I requested. Underneath the carbon fiber was a thin layer of armor, enough to stop most bullets, at least, especially since I didn't really plan on getting shot at. It was just a precaution.

I mean, after all, anything can happen. Look at me, for instance, I'm six-foot three inches of solid muscle. Genetically modified muscle, bioengineered to be the strongest and most effective muscles in the world. My bones are fused with a strange metallic substance that hasn't been classified yet because it's not supposed to exist, except with the Order. It reinforces my bones, allowing me to handle the pressure applied by my muscles without shattering any of my bones. My skin was genetically and biologically enhanced to handle different pressures better, so now when I go on planes my ears will never pop. I also can dive deeper than anyone else due to my ability to stay intact even with a large amount of pressure crushing down on me. I am super strong after all. I haven't tried it, but it must feel uncomfortable down there.

I turned on the computer that was attached to my dashboard and quickly opened up a program that allowed me to tap into any police radio frequencies I wanted with a touch of a button. So I touched the button.

"...sador is down, I repeat! His vehicle just blew up!" one man frantically yelled into the radio.

"We know already, stop clogging the line!" yelled another.

"All units this is dispatch. Just got word that the FBI are taking control. They're already en route, advise that you boys lock down the area and secure it, over," said a policewoman.

"Roger that, Sarah. This is unit five-six-nine, I'll assume temporary command until the feds get here... Damn, that's one helluva crash," a male voice came on.

"Understood captain, I'll inform the feds."

I turned the program off as the light turned green and I floored the accelerator. It was one of those rare moments in New York when the road was not blocked by cars, but as I turned two lights down, a sea of red filled my vision and I sighed. New York traffic was... well, unequaled.

The mission was a success, and I smiled because of that. My superiors would be happy and I helped ease the way for the UN to intercede in the Mideast. One life for that was a good trade-off in my opinion. I am a trained killer after all. That's what I do, that's what I'm here for.

So that's me, Harry. Super assassin, saver of the world, genetically-modified human, and badass, or at least I think of myself that way.

With nothing to do but wait as the slower-than-snail-pace traffic centimeter'd along, I turned on the radio. That's when I heard something that shocked me enough for my heart to skip a beat and for me to forget about breathing.

"...firmed reports that Iran has launched an invasion of Iraq. Iranian military forces are already nearing Baghdad, the new Iraqi army being blown wide open by the Iranians... Saudi Arabia has announced that it will stop oil shipments to anyone in league with the United States, and it appears that the Saudi Arabian military has gone on high alert. Iranian military personnel were seen, earlier this week, talking to the king of Saudi Arabia... Israel has mobilized all military forces and are sending them to their borders, but the Prime Minister has announced that he has no intentions of invading anyone... Syria has declared itself in support of Iran, as well as Pakistan, which has announced a military treaty between the two countries... "

More news about the situation followed, but the harsh reality of it all was hard to swallow, even for me. It had started. I was too late. Numerous if-statements followed my train of thought. What if I had killed him earlier? What if I had done this or done that... but it was no use, I realized. Even if I had killed him earlier, the UN would have actually postponed the meeting further, but now they must decide, without the Russian ambassador, which - I just realized - might complicate cooperation from Russia.

After all, the Russians had supported Iran's bid for nuclear power and had also given them military equipment as well as political support. The death of the ambassador here might send the wrong signal to the Russians and might actually get them to side with Iran against the United States. This logic quickly clicked in my mind and I sat, completely stunned and horrified, at what had just happened and what might happen because of what I had done.

What have I done?

Author's Notes: Tell me what you think.