Hello again! Thank you so much for reading so far and reviewing and fav-ing and following. I appreciate every single thing...
Anyway, I've been really excited to write Ireland for some reason... I hope you guys like it XD ENJOY!
Oh, and sorry in advance. This chapter will be really really crappy. ;(
Throwing the snowball at the statue of a politician in the centre of the courtyard (and watching as the snowball landed just above where the heart was), Harry smirked slightly as he saw Holmes retreat back into the warmth of the hall. Northern Ireland, eh? National Security? MI5 then. Not bad. Not bad at all. Once he joined the IT department... Britain's database would be his. But more importantly... With all his contacts he'd managed to put together in his short time at Oxford and his financial status (which he was sure would soon bloom due to 'Apple), Britain would soon be his.
The PNSI headquarters were surprisingly small, Harry thought as he stared up at the glass building. Well, then again, Northern Ireland wasn't particularly big either.
He had moved up to Northern Ireland last week, on Christmas. And now a week later, he was already starting his new job. Apparently, the head superintendent didn't seem to think agents wanted to celebrate Christmas and New Year's with their families.
Well, it wasn't like Harry really had anyone to go to for the 'holidays'. As a small child, he had quickly become disillusioned by religious holidays, well, that and his birthday. The Dursley's never seemed to really care about him at all. Even at Christmas, they would ignore him. Granted, that seemed to be the only day in the whole year when they didn't threaten him with locking him in the cupboard under the stairs.
It had all changed though, when Harry had come to Hogwarts. Suddenly he'd had friends to celebrate with... Friends who cared about him... Gave him presents and cards. But... Obviously they didn't care anymore. A part of Harry had wanted to receive some sign from them, that they still cared. Perhaps that was why he had lowered the power of the wards around his new home (a small flat on the outskirts of Belfast).
The only cards and presents he had received had been from his court. From them he'd received a small jar of hair jell, to keep his 'fucked up hair' (as the card put it) under control. A second present he'd received had been a paid exam to become a mathematics professor, which he had instantly cashed in and was now waiting for the diploma to be sent to him as he had absolutely no doubts that he had passed.
In a way, that small part of him that had been awaiting some sort of contact from the wizarding community, was hurt. Hurt that no one had cared to even try to contact him. Did they think he was dead? If so, had they held a funeral? Closing his eyes briefly, Harry forced his mind to concentrate on the present. The past didn't matter now. He wasn't Harry Potter anymore.
And with those thoughts, he walked straight through the dirty glass doors of the Police Service of Northern Ireland headquarters.
...
The secretary at the lobby had greeted him warmly and had given him a badge with 'RB - IT Agent' printed on it. Then he had been sent up to the second floor to the investigative force where he had been assigned to a team.
As the doors of the lift opened at the second floor, Harry quickly stepped out, so as not to get squashed by the masses of people getting in and out. Standing in the corridor between the two lifts was a man.
In a way he was average in every sense. From his height to his appearance. It was like he had graduated from 'Average School' in 'Averagetown', 'Average-ania'. His hair was cropped short in a military style, shirt tucked into his trousers which were stuck into short leather-y boots. Perfect for the weather here.
Over his shirt he was wearing a wrinkled suit which Harry took as a sign of him being single. Either that - or his girlfriend didn't live with him yet. Tucked into his belt was a small badge which identified him as an agent. Possibly one of the team Harry would be joining.
Seeing Harry standing awkwardly next to the closing doors of the lift, the man examined him from head to toe until his eyes rested on the small name-tag on Harry's mammoth coat. His face broke out in a smile as he stepped forward, hand extended. Raising an eyebrow at the enthusiasm, Harry took the hand elegantly, shaking it as if he was royalty - something he had managed to perfect at Oxford.
"Hello!" The man exclaimed, eagerly shaking Harry's hand. "It's not often we get someone new here!"
Harry smiled politely, and released the man's hand after a moment. "Good morning. My name is Richard Brooke. Apparently, I'm your new IT agent?" The moment Harry had moved to Ireland, he had forged yet another identity for himself, this time giving himself the name Richard Brooke. Harry Potter would be for his affairs in the wizarding community. James Moriarty for anything illegal and Richard Brooke for all his legal matters.
"Yes, yes." The man paused as if suddenly realizing something, "I'm Greg Lestrade, and yeah, you'll be joining our team. Not that it's anything exciting." He started walking towards the doors, and gestured to Harry to follow him, "We're only three people on the team. Me, Dimmock and Jones - she's the head of the forensic force." He paused and glanced at Harry. "By the way, our team takes care of murders. Not that exciting... So I hope you can stomach some of the stuff.
Harry nodded along, mentally frowning in thought. Why had Mycroft stuck him here? After all, Belfast was the second largest city in the UK, and Harry really doubted that Holmes's power had already reached Northern Ireland. In a way, Holmes had given him the best hunting grounds. Perhaps the man had thought that isolating him from his court would hinder his power?
They entered one of the smallest rooms, which was only separated from the others by thin glass walls, through which Harry could clearly see people rushing about, getting different folders to their colleagues. In the room they were currently standing in though, there were four desks, three covered in papers, files and little bits of food. The fourth was completely clean, and resting right in the middle of it was a large apple computer.
"Jones and Dimmock are out getting coffee." Lestrade said, falling into his leather chair in a rather ungraceful manner. Harry, nodded once and chucked his backpack down on his desk. Walking around the desk, he sat down on the chair gracefully, ignoring Lestrade's stare and turned the computer on.
"So, how did you end up here? You're what... seventeen? Eighteen?" Lestrade asked suddenly, and when Harry glanced at him, he noticed the man was leaning on his elbow and had twisted his body to the side to look at Harry.
Harry raised his right shoulder for a few seconds, then let it drop. "Meh, I was at Oxford. The MI6 spotted me. I'm a genius, so they decided to put me to use as soon as possible."
There. He'd been arrogant. Well, in all fairness, he was allowed to. After all, how many other teens managed to catch up on seven years of education and then become the best in the country in mathematics and computer programming/hacking? ... And he had managed to create his own mind palace. Well, that could be his magic helping him - but still.
Lestrade's eyes had widened and was staring openly now.
"Really?" He mumbled more to himself than to Harry.
"And... You? How did you end up here? You're not Irish?" Harry asked, trying to keep up the friendly atmosphere in the room. Breaking the ice so to speak. Lestrade rolled his eyes and scrunched up his nose as he looked around. Sighing, he leaned back, folded his arms behind his back and stretched out his legs.
"Nah, I'm not Irish. I'm from Somerset." He sighed again and glared around the room again. "I want to become an inspector in Scotland Yard, down in London. They told me I need some experience first, so they sent me up here to work with Dimmock who's also gathering experience to work in Scotland Yard. Jones joined us a month or so ago. She moved up here with her autistic son."
Harry shifted his attention back to the screen of the computer as he saw the 'set up' box appear. Quickly creating an account and a complicated password, he pressed enter and waited the computer to sort itself out.
"Well... Good luck with that." In a way, Harry really wanted Lestrade to succeed, after all, if he became an inspector in Scotland Yard later on... As he was about to open his mouth and continue with the small talk, the glass door opened with a loud 'whoosh', revealing another average looking man and a medium height, young woman.
The thing however that caused him to stare, was the woman.
It wasn't like she was exceptionally beautiful or anything. It was her eyes. There was knowledge and intelligence behind those beautiful eyes, a sort of depth Harry hadn't encountered in anyone before. However the most beautiful thing about them though, was the spark. The spark of life, which shone through, making Harry's heart flutter and his legs turn to jelly.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he replayed every thing he had just thought. Since when did he look at women? Hadn't he already confirmed he was asexual?
Standing up, Harry reached out with his hand to the two people.
"Richard Brooke, pleasure to meet you." He said with a smile, although inwardly, he was frowning deeper than he had ever done. Dimmock, the average looking man, who's hands were free instantly reached out with his own.
"'Ello. I'm Tim Dimmock." He grinned and Harry inwardly winced. Right, this guy was the idiot of the team. He shook the woman's hand next and allowed himself to examine her, convincing himself quietly that it was purely to deduce stuff.
"I'm Jones, Jenny Jones," She smiled, and Harry noted her teeth were straight and white. Her hands were rough and calloused as if she wrote a lot. There was a smear of food on the sleeve of her white blouse - probably her autistic son.
"He's our new IT guy." Lestrade mumbled and stretched out his arms in front of him again as if to relive aching muscles and joints. Had he slept on the sofa? Ahhh, he had a girlfriend who was mad at him so he had slept on the sofa.
Jones stumbled towards her own desk, on the way setting a cup of coffee on everyone's desk.
Harry frowned as she deposited one on his own desk. He absolutely hated coffee. Apart from coffee and Voldemort, he didn't think there was anything else he hated as much. Well... Maybe dementors... And annoying people... and idiots... Someone back at Oxford (before he had become the leader) had started a joke, calling him Moriar - tea. Mostly because he couldn't function properly without at least one sip of the beverage every single morning.
Jones noticed his reaction and raised an eyebrow.
"Problem?" She asked with as smirk. Harry shot her a small glare, although out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lestrade rolling his eyes.
"Meh, coffee's boring. Not particularly my favourite beverage." He muttered, "Your son doesn't seem to like it much either. After all, he spilled it over you this morning." He paused, enjoying the shocked expression which flickered over her face for a few seconds, "How old is he? One? Two?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could now see Lestrade and Dimmock staring at him. Well, the latter was frowning confusedly.
"How d'you know that?" Lestrade exclaimed. Harry smirked and turned his attention back to the computer, which had by now loaded. After several minutes of debating with himself he had decided the 'food smudge' on her sleeve was some spilled coffee, her young son had managed to get over her that morning. He could tell the approximate age by the wrinkles on her blouse near her hip. She had been holding him in place around there... So according to the approximate weight a woman could carry and the area where the child had been resting - his age had to be around one to two.
"No, seriously, how did you know?" Dimmock echoed, a confused frown on his face. Rolling his eyes Harry gestured at the wrinkles and then at the smudge.
"Wrinkles - the child's been resting against he hip. Smudge - probably it was the child who spilled the coffee."
Dimmock blinked at him then looked at Jones, then turned to stare at Harry again. "But how did you know that the kid spilled the coffee?"
Harry let out a long-suffering sigh as he shot a glare at him. Jones though was grinning silently, nodding. Lestrade was blinking in surprise.
"Well. Lestrade said earlier that Jones and her son moved up here. Husband? Boyfriend? A man wasn't mentioned. Thus, she lives alone with her son. If she had been living with someone - that someone would have probably held the child while she got herself a cup of coffee." It was far-fetched, Harry knew. But in his opinion, deduction to him was guessing most of the time. He knew many people would disagree with him. But that was what a person basically did - found the facts and then guessed several theories. While not foolproof - it was still a good tactic, and less time-consuming.
Dimmock seemed to considering it silently to himself. Lestrade though, clasped his hands together and let out a bark of laughter. "Guess we know now why the MI6 chose you to work for them!"
Well... Harry's being nostalgic now. ;(
Anyway, I'm not sure where I'm taking the story right now - although... I DO have a plot. Sort of. Anyway, next chapter will be a time-jump. Perhaps... six months or a year... I'm not sure yet.
Ok, sorry for that really crappy chapter. I promise to redeem it in the next one. XD Hopefully. Oh, and I hope you liked the 'Richard Brooke' thing. XD
Thanks for reading! (please leave a review and tell me what you think, It'll be greatly appreciated XD)
So yeah, sorry for the crappy chapter and the crappy deductions :3
