Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter. All rights to the characters and universe the story belongs in belong to JK Rowling

Reviews welcome. Any advice to help me improve would be brilliant. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 2 - A New Assignment

The streets of London were packed as Harry made his way towards head office. The sky was dark, threatening the storm that was about to arrive. Harry pulled the zip of his coat to the top and buried the lower part of his face under it, whilst pulling his hood further over his head.

There was a loud roll of thunder which paved the way for a sudden down pour, the rain bounced off the pavement. As he picked up his pace, lightning flashed down from the sky, hitting the tall skyscrapers.

In his hurry, Harry missed the cracks of apparation amongst the storm and the flashes of green light that lit up the dark side streets. Those around him didn't see anything either, however, muggles had a habit of not seeing what was really there. That is no excuse for the exiled wizard.

Reaching the entrance to head office, he briskly walked through the revolving door to the security check point. He exchanged a professional nod with the man on duty before being patted down and walking through the X-Ray machine.

Once cleared, he boarded the elevator using his key card, then headed downwards into the bunker. It wouldn't be prudent for the public to know of this building, so the offices above proved the perfect camouflage for the real work that went on in the belly of the earth.

After exiting the lift, Harry walked down a long corridor towards the head of the English Secret Services office. Julia Clarke was as tough as they came, her ruthlessness was only matched by her effectiveness.

It was well known amongst the agents that if it was a choice between their life and the success of the mission, your next of kin would be choosing your coffin. The agents were fine with that, their success was vital for the safety of civilians, the cost of failure was greater than one life.

He reached her receptionist's desk where he was greeted by a plump friendly woman wearing a bland grey suit. 'Go in Agent Potter. She's expecting you.'

'Thank you, Miss Fulkrum.'

He entered the room without knocking and was greeted by an elderly woman with a face of steel. She had short white hair, cold blue eyes and wrinkled skin.

The room was large with barren walls. The only decoration was the ceramic fox on the desk next to her laptop. There were a couple of comfortable chairs for guests, both of which, not as grand as the full backed throne like chair Clarke sat on.

She gestured for Harry to sit which he immediately obeyed, sitting upright against the back of the seat waiting for her to begin.

'Potter.' She greeted, her voice like ice.

'Ma'am.' He replied inclining his head.

'How is your injury?'

'It's ok, I've had worse.'

She looked at him shrewdly 'You will need it get it tested before heading back out into the field.'

'Of course, Ma'am.'

'Then I'll arrange for you to take said tests once we are done.' His slight bow of the head was his only response. 'Right now we have a problem.' She pressed a button on the underside of her desk, a white screen unrolled itself down the wall and a projector started up.

The image it displayed was blinding despite only being black and white. All that could be seen was the back of a man who had his face slightly turned towards the camera. Before him was just white.

'What do you make of this?' Asked Clarke.

'I don't know, some kind of explosion? Is there a colour shot?'

'That is the colour shot. Here are the before and after images.'

Both were strangely in full colour. The one before showed two people in an alley, the same man had his backed turned to them and it looked like he was pointing something at the other. Harry would have assumed a gun, however, the look of amusement on the other man's face made him think again.

In the shot afterwards the man had the same amused expression on his face just now immortalised in death. Looking closely at the picture Harry noticed there wasn't a mark on the victim nor any signs of an explosion on the ground or walls of the alley they were in.

Bloody hell. He thought miserably. Here we go. 'What does the post-mortem say?'

'How astute Potter, you are correct he is dead. The post-mortem reports he just dropped dead of his own accord. Thirty-two in the prime of his life, one of the fittest men in the service…'

'He was one of ours?' Harry interrupted.

'Yes, and as I say, the experts think he just dropped dead of his own accord. No illness, no grievous injury hell he didn't even have a paper cut.' She eyed him sternly. 'What do you make of it?'

'Magic.' He admitted quietly. Clarke was one of the few people who knew who he was and what he was fully capable of. He had revealed himself as a wizard when saving another agent from certain death when they were caught in a fire.

The agent's memory had been modified, however, Clarke insisted on keeping the knowledge in case it was ever needed. It seems her instincts were spot on.

She nodded her head gravely, 'I know you don't wish to return to that world, but I fear you have no choice. You are the only one of my agents who can handle this.'

Harry was effectively trapped right where he didn't want to be. The trouble was there was no way around it, she was right, Clarke wouldn't want the Aurors to look into this. Especially after the death of one of their own and sending another agent would be their death sentence. Clarke may know when sacrificing a life is necessary, but she would still save one where she could.

'What do we know?' Asked Harry.

'Not much, the agent had just made contact when the incident occurred.'

'Makes sense they would know a muggle straight off.'

'Indeed, we need to know who the assassin is.'

'How did you find him?'

'We didn't, we just did some digging into a series of strange deaths across the country.'

'Strange in what way?' Asked Harry intrigued.

'They were all in their so called prime, each of them dead with no under lying health issues. We did spot something though, each of the victims were wealthy with no next of kin. They perished weeks after changing their will.'

'What a coincidence.' Said Harry sarcastically.

'Quite.'

'Who's the benefactor?'

'We don't know, they are all different accounts however we don't recognise the sort codes. No bank is able to tell us, even though the money has been transferred, the banks can't trace it. They don't know where it's gone.'

'I'm going to need access to the bank records.'

'Of course, you will be able to see them later today.' She looked him over sternly. 'After completing your medical of course.'

Noticing the dismissal Harry stood. 'Of course ma'am. Have a nice day.' Clarke didn't respond, just turned her attention back to her laptop.

Harry left the office and made his way to the medical centre. He was greeted by the on-duty doctor and put through an array of rigorous tests. He found the majority quite easy until it came upper body strength and firearms training.

His shoulder was giving him untold amounts of grief causing him to shake when it was under duress, making a push up almost impossible. When shooting, the pain was lessened but the shaking still made him far less accurate than normal.

'Sit on the bed and take off your shirt agent Potter.' The doctor told him bluntly once he was finished.

He complied awkwardly manoeuvring so he never had to raise his right arm above his head. Once he was done the doctor unwound his bandages to take a look at is shoulder. He tutted disdainfully 'This is nowhere near healed why didn't you tell me?'

'I have a job to do, my shoulder will just have to cope.' Harry replied blandly.

'I don't care' said the doctor heartily 'I am responsible for your safety I can't clear you for duty in this shape.'

'You're going to have to.' Said Harry in a bored voice, he knew the doctor wouldn't clear him, he also knew that Clarke would overrule the assessment.

'I'm sorry agent Potter I most certainly will not.' The doctor said staunchly.

Harry shrugged 'Take it up with Clarke.' He jumped off the bed and put his shirt back on. 'Good day doctor.' The Doctor stared after him as he made his way out of the door.

It was dark in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place later that evening. The only source of light coming from the laptop screen that Harry had now been staring at for the past few hours. He had delved into the file on the unknown assassin and his victims.

The victims were picked well, having no next of kin or close friends, meant there were no fights over the funds. Of course, the police wouldn't look into the matter further, how could someone of been murdered when they seemed to have dropped dead of their own accord?

It was almost the perfect crime, the police wouldn't investigate and the Aurors wouldn't bother looking into the death of a few muggles up and down the country. If Clarke hadn't known about magic even the agent's death would have had very little backlash.

'You look worried Evans.' Came the croak like tones of Kreacher from the kitchen doorway.

Harry smiled at him, ever since their argument Kreacher had been successfully avoiding him. 'Wizards are killing off wealthy muggles, I need to find out who.'

'I see, maybe you would be best speaking to Tonks. I'm sure she would be happy to take the case off you.'

'They killed one of our own. We're not just letting the case go now.'

'Does that mean you will be requiring your wand?' Asked the house elf retaining a small amount of hope in his voice.

'Not yet. Maybe soon though.' Admitted Harry tiredly.

'You can't fight them with Muggle means.' Warned Kreacher.

'I know Kreacher.' I just have to kill them.