Title: Gen 13 3/4

Author: Joshua

Rating: NC-17 (Due to Language, Violence, Adult Content)

Disclaimer: JK Rowling has Harry, and whoever else from the books show up in these plots. Gen13 and all associated characters and events were created by Jim Lee and J. Scott Campbell, and the original comics/events this story covers distributed by Image Comics, though are now owned by DC Comics. I don't own either and I'm not making any money from all this, so don't bother suing me. No actual spoilers in this one, just character stea—borrowing and rewriting.

Summary: Harry is now a ICW Certified Hit-Wizard, and he's looking for his first job and to finish up some other business in the meantime.

Gen13 3/4 Continued:

New York City, NY

Harry looked around as he appeared from behind a tree in the dead center of Central Park. Thankfully he hadn't landed in the pond/lake, just on the edge instead. It was the middle of the afternoon, so there were plenty of people milling about and going about their business. No sign of anything magical, supernatural, or even illegal going on. At least nothing that a newly certified Hitwizard of the ICW should take care of.

First order of business, he decided, get the lay of the land, and then see about making some contacts. He still hadn't gotten a hold of anyone in the Order, let alone any of his friends from school. It'd been nearly a year already, seeing that it was still early spring, not yet May in fact. He was sure that everyone had moved on to more important matters and assumed the same about him.

Oh, if they only knew.

Harry stopped walking, one step off the grass, the thought circling around in his head.

OK, first order of business was still to get the lay of the land, but second order of business was to Floo the Order and see how everyone was doing. Then he could start working on building contacts. Fortunately, he already knew where to find the magical areas of the island city as he'd had to get to them first before walking into the ICW to request a Hit-Wizard License. Bit of a hint; the ICW is no where near the UN buildings.

Making sure that he was out of the line of sight of any nearby cameras, he tapped into his new GenActive power and started 'jogging' along the paved paths on his way toward Greenwich Village, specifically Bleecker Street, along which was the portal to the magical underground, commonly called by American Wizards as the Sanctum Forum. It was just as impressive as Diagon Alley back in London, just a bit more spacious. It was also home to more than just wizards, as he'd seen all sorts of magical creatures, many walking around as vendors and customers themselves. Something that he'd never seen in Diagon Alley before.

It drove home, yet again, just how insanely prejudiced his people were. He began to have second thoughts about contacting the Order.

Maybe just the Weasleys, check on Ron and Ginny and Hermione.

Walking through the barrier, a graffiti covered wall at the back of an old and clearly abandoned park, Harry finally 'slowed down' so he was back to walking at normal speed, instead of faster than the eye could follow. Moments later, he came out in the magical section of Greenwich Village, and proceeded 'down' a set of spiral stairs that were straight out of an Escher drawing. After a twisting, turning, and even briefly chasing himself, walk through the entrance that only a magical could successfully navigate, he came out in the thoroughly protected and warded from all non-magical detection, Sanctum Forum, or New York City's magic market place.

First time he'd seen it, he'd been caught staring and gaping like a tourist. Even after having spent a few days in New York and even renting a flat in the area, sometimes the amazement still got to him. At least he'd stopped staring at everything with a doe-eyed stare of awe. Mostly.

The buildings were the same as those you could find elsewhere in Greenwich village, but that is where the similarity ended, as the decorations, the signs, what was put in windows, outside windows, on doors, even in the streets, it was all magical and to describe it with mere words would be a disservice to the wonder and majesty of it all. But he was through with sightseeing, it was time to get to work.

He made his way for the local pub, going by the very original name (note the sarcasm) the Cabana Arcana. He stopped by the fireplace to set up a Floo call for later on. If he were to make the call now, it would be the middle of the night in England and chances are nobody would answer, so he'd have to wait until after dawn in the UK. But while he waited for that, he could go about his third objective of the day, which was to start building contacts and making a name for himself, as a Hit-Wizard. Rather than as the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Who are you?" a tough looking wizard with several scars on his face and arms demanded the moment Harry sat down at the bar. A number of other shady customers glanced in their direction, most of them wearing a smirk or look of anticipation, telling Harry all he needed to know about this particular loudmouth.

"Name's Harry," he gave a two-fingered salute from the frame of his glasses. "And I'm just here for a drink right now. Waiting to make an international call is all." He'd been working on his American accent pretty much since being recruited to Project Genesis, finally making some headway in recent weeks so that he didn't have to make it sound so forced.

"Oh, who ya gonna call?" another drunken lout asked with a loud laugh. This one looked a lot less... world-weary than the first tough guy.

Harry eyeballed the laughing wizard, and sighed resignedly. "Cute," he commented. "One of the house brew, and a list of your imports, please?" he asked the barkeep. He'd learned the hard way that not everybody carried butterbeer in the States.

"Who are you calling cute, kid?!" the drunkard was shouting at him.

Harry glanced at him briefly out of the side of his eye, and then dropped an extra galleon on to the bar, saying, "I'll try to keep the damages to a minimum."

"Not to worry," the bartender replied. "It comes out of his tab anyway, but I'll start you one, just to be safe, stranger." He picked up the extra galleon separate from the payment of his drinks and put the lot into an old-style cash register, one that dealt only in coins, not in paper notes.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" loudmouth made to grab Harry by the shoulder, but he'd already 'accelerated' himself and was already moving before the hand ever touched him. He yanked the drunk moron down by his grabbed arm, pulled him over the bar and slammed his forehead down on the edge as quickly and briefly as he could, using a hold at the nape of the troublemaker's neck to gain superior leverage. Then he let him go and allowed him to drop bonelessly to the floor. Probably a bit excessive, but he wasn't in the mood for a bar brawl.

"Ow... wha... who... huh...?" the guy moaned from the floor, but it was clear to everyone watching he was not going to be getting back up any time soon.

"So, who did I just knock unconscious, anyway?" Harry asked the bartender.

"Him? Oh, he's Billy, the first born of one of the local lords. By that I mean, lords of magic, one of the council members of the New York chapter of the International Confederation of Warlocks. He's apparently trying to burn through his inheritance by drinking it away, when he isn't spending it on frivolous thrills and occasional trouble making on the mortal side of things. See anything you like?" He gestured to the list of imports Harry was reading through.

"Hm, I'll try one finger of your Butter Scotch, a bottle of your Butter Beer, and another of the house brew for later. And if you don't mind, could you tell me what they're all looking at?"

"I think they're just curious to see why you'd knock a guy out just for saying hello," the bartender replied as he poured out the glass of magically altered scotch whiskey, and a bottle of butterbeer.

"He was actually trying to distract me from butterfingers here," he gestured to the scarred wizard that had first spoken to him, "trying to pickpocket my wallet. And he's not as drunk as he looked, seeing as how he was aiming for the back of my neck and had his wand palmed in his other hand to hit me with a stunning curse by all appearances. I've got things to do, and getting hustled is not one of them." He downed the scotch a sip at a time, allowing the flavor to wash over him before letting it burn its way down his esophagus. "Good stuff."

"You know what they say about assumptions," the guy he'd pointed to growled, wand in hand.

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, dismissing him.

The guy smirked at the back of Harry's head and then in a flash, literally, cast a curse at the available target, the magic creating a blinding flash of light as a side effect. When everyone could see again, however, Harry was still sitting at the bar, still nursing his scotch and not looking the least bit ruffled. His assailant, however, was on the ground, passed out, his wand—still in his hand—snapped clean in half, and a harsh looking bruise forming on his cheek. Everyone stared and the whispers started flying.

Nobody could even begin to explain how what they just witnessed could have happened, but the facts remained. This... Harry, was not someone to mess with. Word quickly began to spread.

Within fifteen minutes, enough time for him to finish his scotch and bottle of butterbeer, Harry had another stranger, in a dark full-bodied cloak with the hood up, sitting down beside him. Without a word being said, the bartender put a rather unique drink down in front of the cloaked figure, and everyone that had been staring at the new tough guy in town very quickly returned to their own business and avoided even glancing in the cloak's general direction.

The stranger was polite enough to allow Harry to finish his bottle before speaking.

"So, what can I do for you?" the new Hitwizard asked first.

"What makes you think that I need anything from you?" the man (definitely a man) replied in kind.

"Do you want me to actually list my observations and deductions, or should I reply with a vague spycraft response from a cheesy novel?" Harry shot back, reaching for his drink but not touching it just yet.

"Touché," the cloaked man said.

After a full minute of silence, Harry lost patience, and prompted, "So?"

"Impatient, are we?" came the amused query.

He briefly considered his response, before saying, "Hm... I'd say more anxious than anything. I do have some long distance calls to make later on, but until then, I'm just waiting. I'm hoping to do more than just drink and listen to whispered conversations while I'm waiting."

"Hence you're little... display earlier?" the cloaked man inquired.

"Well, I admit, that was part of my reason for doing it in such a public manner," Harry confessed. "Another part was to get the attention of people like you. But mostly it was because I was telling the truth. I'm not here to get hustled and I'd rather scare off pickpockets with a spot of violence than keep having to go to the bank because I got a bit careless."

"A spot of violence, eh?"

Harry hid the wince at his slip. Sure, he'd stuck to his American accent, but a bit of slang here and there occasionally slipped through and some times that could be more telling than the way one pronounced certain words via accents or dialects.

"A simple demonstration," he said.

"I know who you are," the man said, quieter, "Harry Potter."

"I would hope so," he said, maintaining his accent. "If you didn't, I would be forced to turn you down."

"You don't even know what it is that I am here to speak with you about."

"I'm a Hitwizard," he stated. "True, I'm new to the job, but we've all got to start somewhere. And if you hadn't known who I was before approaching me, I'd probably have to turn you in right after our conversation was over. Because you'd be wasting my time, and most likely would be a criminal."

"I still could be," the cloaked man pointed out.

"True," Harry admitted. "But a well-connected criminal. And that is what I'm after at the moment; connections. Contacts. And maybe a bit of a reputation beyond blind luck as a baby."

"Hm, fair point. And you're not officially a Hit-Wizard yet, by the way," he said. "Although it should come as no surprise to you, that you passed your exams with flying colors, your certification won't officially be valid for the next three to six weeks. Until your license comes through."

"I can't take any 'official' Hitwizard 'jobs'," Harry said, making air quotes with his fingers, "until my license comes through. But I'm still a Hitwizard now, and it doesn't require a license to make friends and earn a bit of a reputation, now does it?"

"True," he acknowledged. "And as it would just so happen, I think I can help you out with some of that."

"Oh?" Harry finally pulled the brew to him and took a sip.

"I... well, we," he said, "can help you out with getting your license and taking care of any remaining red tape to remove any lingering doubts as to your status. We just need your... help with something. Of course, it pays as well, in more than just favors."

"I'm listening," Harry said, taking another sip.

"We need someone... retrieved," the man finally took a swig of his own unique drink, careful not to allow any peek under the hood of his cloak. "Alive, of course. A simple bounty hunting job, as it were. His name is Jacen Borne. No, that really is his name. He's a fugitive, the bastard son of the Andrew Borne, the fifth lord of magic of New York. His crimes have mostly been trespass and thievery, seeing as he was never acknowledged by his father, but last year something changed. He started... killing. Non-humans at first. Then mortals. And then his father's mistress of the time. He avoided capture for months, until he killed the witch, and his father hired a whole team of Hit-Wizards to capture him. He escaped just this past week, and we think he's killing again. We want you to find him and bring him in, alive. If you do, you'll have your license before the end of the week and a substantial reward."

Harry was silent, listening and drinking. The silence slowly grew until he finished his drink. Putting it down, he allowed the bartender to collect the glass and walk away before stating, "You're his brother, aren't you?"

The startled shift beneath the cloak was enough to tell him that he was right, despite there being no verbal confirmation or denial.

"Well, Mister Borne," Harry sighed. "I'm going to need everything that you've got on your brother and his past actions. And whether your father knows about this or not, I want my license done regardless of the state your brother is in when I... retrieve him. If he's alive and you're satisfied with his condition, go ahead and pay me, deposit it into my account with the Gnomes, *not* the goblins. If not, feel free to keep your money, but this is a favor for a favor. I can find your brother, no problem. In exchange for that, you'll be getting me my license, yes? As a favor?"

"Of-of c-course," the son of the Borne Lord stammered. "It-it will be done."

"Good," Harry said. "Now get me that file and I'll have your brother in shackles at the local Arrow office soon after. Unless you'd like me to take him straight to your home?"

"No!" he quickly lowered his voice. "No. The, the local precinct is fine. Just, uh just be sure to hold on to him until someone from the lord's house comes to claim him. If left to the Arrows, he'll either escape or be killed before the sun sets."

"I surmise that all of your troubles would have been avoided if someone of the lord's house actually had claimed him," Harry offered as a parting shot as the lord's son got up and left.

"Do you know who that was?" the bartender asked in an overly hushed whisper as he came back with another of the house brew for Harry.

"Yes," he answered, despite only having a vague clue about his new employer's identity. "Someone who thinks he can swim with the sharks, after swimming with dolphins. Where is Borne's bastard hiding out?"

"Him? What do you want with that psycho?" the bartender actually shivered, much the same way the folks in England used to about Voldemort, just not as intense.

"I want to offer him my protection," Harry answered truthfully. "Apparently he's got an insane number of Hit-Wizards gunning for him, all hired by his quote/unquote 'father'. I'm looking to even up his chances."

"Heh, you'll need a few more fights on your hands before anybody will think you're tough enough to handle something like that," the Mystic Arcane bartender laughed.

"Well," he glanced at the clock, "I've got about six hours to kill before I can make my call anyway. Any suggestions as to where I might get in a fight?"

The bartender laughed again, but slowly trailed off when he realized, "Wait, you're serious?"

Harry just grinned at him.

A quarter of an hour later, the GenActive Speedster was standing just outside a ring, located in an underground section of the sewers below Greenwich Village. It was a fight club, of sorts. What made it magicals-only was because some of the opponents weren't exactly human standard. Trolls, part-giants, part-elves, goblins, and even a few mortals that were in the Know. Magical artifacts, like gloves, belts or boots were allowed, but no wands or other magic foci were. No 'obvious' weapons either.

This was Harry's first fight, and he'd only gotten to the place ten minutes ago!

He'd watched a couple, just to figure out what was going on. Then it was just a matter of finding the guys in charge and 'signing up' for a few fights, betting on himself of course. Next thing he knew, he had his shirt off and was being pushed to the edge of the ring while a lumbering troll approached from the other side.

Harry found himself suddenly grateful for the daily combat drills he'd done at Project Genesis.

At a signal from the wizard playing referee, both combatants stepped into the ring at the same time, and then the new Hit-Wizard felt the ward go up around them, keeping them from leaving until the fight was truly done and over with. The troll, named Stonecrusher, didn't hesitate and charged forward to begin the fight.

Unfortunately, Fairchild was the strong one, so Harry knew he wouldn't be using brute force in this. And Stonecrusher seemed to have forgotten his club, so levitating it over his head to knock him out wasn't going to work either. Not that he could anyway, seeing as he'd left all his wands outside the ring and he did not have any enchanted gear or anything of the like. Revealing his Gen Factor was not an option, period. Which left him with coming up with something... new.

"This ought to be fun," Harry sarcastically remarked to himself.

Stonecrusher reared back and struck with a surprisingly fast punch, aimed at Harry's torso. But then again, the troll being so big and him being so small, it may have been aiming at his head. He saw it coming, and for an instant it was like a strobe light, stopping and starting again, telling the GenActive that he was tapping into his Gen Factor, intentional or not. So, moving slow enough that he wouldn't vanish, but still as fast as necessary, Harry rolled forward and slid under the troll's legs. He got to his feet and danced back out of the larger being's range.

Between bounces, as he tried to stay light on his feet, he kept up the same strobe-burst of super speed. It wasn't so he could cheat, but so he could actually have enough time to think of something!

Threshold and training aside, most of the fights that Harry had gotten into over the years were resolved with wands and magic. Or through sheer dumb luck and good timing and the occasional burst of insight. As a matter of fact, of the three of them, only Hermione had ever thrown a punch!

No matter how much training he'd accomplished, not even Project Genesis could prepare someone for a cage match with a troll! Well, at least it wasn't a Mountain Troll. If it were, its stench alone probably could have won the fight for it, forcing Harry to either pass out, or try and Disapparate out of the ring to get away... Wait a minute! At no point did anybody tell him the rules forbid him from Apparating inside the ring!

By this point, Stonecrusher had recovered from its failed lunge and was charging again, this time leading with a kick. Harry danced and hopped a bit, faking going both ways before going on the troll's left side, narrowly ducking under its leg as it adjusted its front kick to a roundhouse. Unfortunately, it recovered much quicker this time and before the wizard could get away again, the troll came back with another punch, looking to drive him into the filthy pavement. Fortunately, he already had his plan and was ready to use it immediately.

Harry vanished with a soft crack, which was twinned from right behind and above Stonecrusher's head. Taking full advantage, he punched at the bald beast's crown as hard as he could, taking care not to injure himself in the process. It got the pale-gray-skinned fighter's attention, but apparently the teenager didn't weigh as much as a Mountain Troll's club, so that was pretty much all it did. He disapparated again, reappearing on the other side of the ring, but still inside its boundaries.

At this point, he was fairly certain that his tactic would continue to work, but not without a sound strategy. Getting around and attacking from the troll's blind spots was good and all, but it wouldn't do him a lick of good if he couldn't do lasting damage. He was the fast one, he reminded himself, not the strong one. So how does being faster give me an advantage?

Stonecrusher shook its head, feeling a very slight bruise from where it had been hit. Rubbing the spot, the troll turned to face its opponent, a rumbling growl erupting from deep within its chest. Clenching its fists tight, the troll unleashed an earth shaking roar and used its much longer arms to full effect, swinging both at Harry, despite still being a few feet away from even being close to hitting him. He used the extra time to his advantage, speeding up to the point where the beast was a virtual statue and the screaming crowd a still-life portrait in the background. He didn't move, still needing to keep his Gen Factor powers a secret. Instead, he thought and planned and tried to work out a way to win this fight.

First step in any fight, disorient or confuse the opponent while avoiding the same yourself. Then, limit the opponent's mobility, allowing for more openings and less attacks to avoid. After that, start cutting into their defenses and either do some real damage or knock them out. Past that comes the decision on how to end the fight. Before all that is the basics of any fight; doesn't matter how hard you hit, if you can't hit first, you can't win. Because if one hit won't do the trick then a dozen or more usually will.

He grinned, as the revelation filtered through his consciousness. That was how he'd win. He was the fastest there was, and yeah, maybe he couldn't hit the troll hard enough for it to feel it, but he could certainly hit fast enough that it eventually would! He slowed back down and finally moved from his 'corner' spot in the ring.

Turns out, he'd slowed down too much and Stonecrusher managed to wing him as he was streaking past, sending the young wizard cartwheeling end over end until he crashed—quite painfully—into the ward surrounding the ring. This was one of the shielding wards, which after a brief shock—the equivalent of a prank lightning spell—dropped him smoking to the floor of the ring. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, Stonecrusher raised both fists and made to smash the young human through the floor. Another twin crack echoed amidst the cheers of the crowd, signaling Harry's successful escape.

No longer underestimating this opponent, Harry went on the offensive.

Apparating above the troll, he punched its right ear before apparating to the other side and doing the same to the left ear and disapparating to the floor. Stonecrusher lashed out, but he managed to get away before getting hit. A couple more rounds of apparating punches and disapparating out of danger and the troll was suddenly feeling a bit dizzy, while Harry's fists were starting to feel a bit sore.

The troll's skin was just too thick. So, jumping back as he spun to apparate one more time, he tried a flying kick instead, this time to the back of the head rather than around the ears. Stonecrusher actually dropped to its knees and looked more than a bit punch-drunk by this point. Step one, accomplished. Now, on to step two; take out its mobility.

He rapidly apparated back and forth between up around Stonecrusher's head and its legs on both sides. Keeping in mind his revelation about hitting a lot rather than just hitting hard, he had no hesitation in utilizing his Gen Factor power to his full advantage. Apparating in a crouch down by the monster's left leg, Harry employed his super speed so that if he were to actually move from that spot, it would look as though he'd vanished, maybe with an afterimage that stuck on people's retinas for a few extra seconds. As it was, he stayed down in a crouch, moving only his leg as he did a full leg-sweep-kick straight to the back of the troll's shin. As soon as he hit the gastrocnemius muscle of the back shin, he wound back up and hit the exact same spot. It was like Stonecrusher the troll was his new training dummy that he spent hours practicing kicks with. He must've hit the spot on the back of the shin almost a hundred times before he saw the muscle finally clench up, a sign of it cramping and making it impossible to walk on.

Once he saw that sign, he slowed back down to normal speed and unleashed one final kick, this one to the back of the thigh, just above the knee. It gave the illusion of one super hard hit from him to the crowd, one that successfully swept out the troll's leg. Another twin-crack of apparition and he was on Stonecrusher's other side, speeding up and repeating with the other leg, only slowing down to hit the thigh at normal speed when he saw the gastrocnemius muscle clench.

With both legs crippled, all Stonecrusher the troll could do was cry out in pain as it toppled to its knees. Step two, done. Now came the extremely hard part.

Harry appeared amidst a resounding crack of displaced air above the troll's head. He did a quick spin kick, breaking the beast's nose. He then disappeared and reappeared half a foot further up and to the right, already in the midst of another roundhouse kick to its temple. An eye blink later, he was on the other side and kicking the troll's head back the other way around. Another twin crack after that had him above and behind the inhuman skull, driving the full force of his weight into the nape of Stonecrusher's neck with his knee. In a blurring move, made so mostly because he was actively using his super speed at this point, he drove his knee repeatedly into the back of his opponent's head, having to scramble up and hold on after each blow was delivered, but he wasn't going to stop until the thing finally went down for the count. Which it finally did, after the twentieth or so knee to the back of the head.

Step three, and fight, finished.

Stonecrusher started to fall forward, already unconscious, outside of the ring given that the wards went down the same moment one of the fighters did. Not about to ride this troll down, and grateful that at least this time he didn't have to wipe troll bogeys off his wand, Harry disapparated from the creature's back and half an instant later, there was a resounding explosion of sound as he reappeared in the exact center of the ring, a rush of air flowing out from that point. A thunder clap that was loud enough to drown out even the crowd of the fight club. Once most of them got over the surprise, the cheers went up again, mixed amidst chants for 'Thunder Crack' Harry.

He participated in another two fights, both of them human fortunately. One a newcomer like him, the other an experienced fighter with pretty decent skills. It was fairly close, that second fight, but he still lost. But only because he couldn't risk revealing his power, and that guy had enough experience fighting that he knew what was and wasn't within the realm of human possibility when it came to speed. So he threw the last part of that fight, but in the end he got what he needed out of the whole endeavor. A reputation not based on the Boy-Who-Lived legend. After that, he dropped out, collected his winnings and went back to the bar to rest.

Fortunately, for the rest of the evening Harry was left alone to mind his own business. When the time came, he went ahead and made his Floo Call. Deciding to bite the bullet, he decided to start with the Order, which meant calling the Weasley's, seeing as he didn't have the Floo address for anyone else in the Order, and hopefully they could tell him how Hermione and his other friends were doing in the near-year since they'd last seen each other.

When his head finally stopped spinning (literally since the Floo sent whatever was being Floo'ed through a non-space of fireplaces like a bullet out a long-barrel) he found himself (or rather just his head) in the Weasley kitchen. The empty Weasley kitchen. The empty Weasley kitchen with absolutely no sounds or signs of occupation anywhere within sight despite the morning light shining in through the windows.

He shouted out "Hello!" a few times, calling out as loud as he could, but nobody came running, or made any indication of hearing him at all. More than a little concerned about this, he pulled his head back and made another quick call to Hogwarts. It was during the school year, still in the midst of spring. It wasn't even close to time for Final Exams, so somebody should be available.

To his pleasant surprise, he found himself (his head actually) appearing in the Headmaster's office. A Headmaster's office that just so happened to contain Professor McGonagall sitting behind the large desk as the acting (or actual, he couldn't be sure) Headmistress of the school, and a large collection of wizards and witches that he recognized as the Order of the Phoenix. The current collection just so happened to include the very people he'd been calling; the Weasley's. Or... what was left of them.

"Hey everybody!" he called out when the current conversation reached a lull point. "Miss me?"

To Be Continued…?