London, 2017.

Amfylo hunched down further into his trenchcoat. It was a cold night, with a fine mist of rain blowing around, and it was starting to penetrate into the material of the coat. It was about twelve at night, and there were very few other people out, and the ones that were out paid little attention to the man that was hurrying down the street.

Turning into an alley, he let his covering drop a bit, as the high walls shielded him from the rain. Sliding up against the wall, he slid a fresh clip into one of the pistols that he carried at his waist. Downtown London could be a very dangerous place late at night, he knew by experience.

Once he was armed to his liking, he strolled down the alley, jumping at every sound, and peering around the corners with paranoia that only belonged to the most hunted after and experienced criminals there were on the face of the planet.

Finally, Amfylo spotted a door that was barely noticeable on the grimy brick wall that expanded in front of him. He pushed it open.

Upon walking in, Amfylo was swamped by a visible cloud of cigarette smoke and water vapor, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Men sat on tipsy tables and dealt out cards, while women in tight dresses eyed them hungrily. Amfylo smiled wanly at one of the women that had taken up looking at him, and seated himself at a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the bar.

"May I help you, sir?" asked a pretty-looking waitress, in a short skirt and halter-top. Amfylo grunted briefly.

"Brandy. On the rocks," he said in a distorted voice. The woman nodded and disappeared back into the fog of cigarette smoke. There was a sudden noise to the left of him; Amfylo's hand was halfway to his pistols before he realized that it was only a brawl erupting in the bar. Amfylo looked at the scene amusedly. On a normal night, he might have joined in. But he was here tonight on business.

"Here you are, sir," the pretty waitress said, seemingly oblivious to the scene behind her. Amfylo grunted his thanks, before taking a sip of the slightly bitter liquid. The waitress sat in the chair across from him, smiling and twirling a finger in her hair. Behind his sunglasses, the girl couldn't see it, but Amfylo was looking at her in disgust.

"Are you here by yourself?" she asked flirtily. Amfylo raised the semi-clean glass again, and shook his head.

"For the time being, yes. I'm on business tonight, though."

"You busy later?"

Instead of answering that, Amfylo drained the rest of his brandy, and set the glass down with a loud clunk.

"More?" the waitress asked.

Amfylo nodded, and the girl got up, carrying the empty glass with her. He shook his head after her, and looked at the door expectantly.

"If they don't show up soon," he grumbled to himself, "I'm leaving."

As soon as he said that, the door opened again, this time revealing another figure, clad in a long trenchcoat like Amfylo himself, carrying a rather large, leather briefcase in his right hand, and looking about. Spotting Amfylo, the figure walked hastily over, and sat down, putting the briefcase beside him.

"Amfylo, right?" the figure asked in a dry, raspy voice.

"That's me."

"From what my boss hears, you're the best assassin this side of the equator, is that true?"

"I haven't failed on an assignment yet," Amfylo answered promptly.

The waitress stopped by, and set down another glass of brandy for Amfylo, then turned to the newcomer, who waved her away, saying he didn't want anything.

"So," Amfylo continued, raising the glass of alcohol, "who is it?"

The figure folded his hands on the table, exposing pale hands. "I'm sure you've heard of Shadow."

Amfylo's grip on the brandy glass tightened. "Yes," he drawled.

"Well," the figure said nonchalantly, "that's the assignment."

Amfylo drained the second glass of brandy. He was a smooth drunk, and the grotesque amounts of liquor that he downed frequently had ceased to impair his ability to do anything at all, including thinking. Amfylo licked his lips, making sure to get every last drop of drink off of them.

"What's he worth to you?" was his next question. From under the hat of the figure, there was a small smile.

"The boss is generous, when he gets what he wants," the person said, picking up the briefcase and sliding it across the table.

Even Amfylo's sunglasses couldn't contain his surprise when the top of the slick leather briefcase was flung up. There were maybe two million pounds in there.

"That's only half of it. If you complete the assignment, you get the other half."

Amfylo looked at the person oddly. "Why so much?"

The figure shook his head. "We've sent fifteen assassins after Shadow, and none of them have returned. It's hard to get anyone to keep on the job."

Amfylo shook his head. This wasn't making any sense. "What has this guy done? What does your boss want with him?"

"He's been meddling in the boss's plans."

"Why not include the authorities?"

"We have some... ah.... Operations that aren't exactly legal. Bringing in the authorities would be asking for unwanted trouble."

Amfylo leaned back in his chair and scratched his nose. So this was not only an illegal operation to begin with, it was for an illegal company. It wasn't the first time Amfylo had done such a thing, and it probably wouldn't be the last, either.

"So, do we have a deal?" asked the figure, seemingly impatient. Amfylo sighed and adjusted his sunglasses. The liquor was starting to get to him, and he wanted to go back to his room and crash, so he nodded.

"Yeah. I'll try and get this Shadow character."

"Good," the figure said, pushing the briefcase across the table. "Don't fail us."

Amfylo grunted in reply. Fishing around in his pocket, he flung a few coins on the table, to pay for the brandy and the tip. He then got up and left.

The figure watched Amfylo disappear in the smog, and sighed. Taking off the large hat, he revealed a rather startling shock of flame red hair. Taking off his dark pair of sunglasses, they concealed a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. If one looked closely at his neck, they could see a sort of metal collar about an inch thick spanning it. Fred Weasley rubbed under the collar, as it was beginning to chafe his skin again.

"3484," a mechanical, cold voice said. "Location, 3484?"

"The Mudee Waters bar," Fred spoke tiredly, barely a trace of his old, happy-go-lucky self.

"Return to your bunker, 3484," the voice commanded, as if speaking to a dog.

"Yes, my lord," Fred whispered, putting his hat and sunglasses back on, and disappeared into thin air on the spot.

# # #

Amfylo had many 'connections' all over town, and after a few days of research, he was able to figure out all sorts of information about Shadow, like where he normally was, what he had done, and what his specialties were as a criminal. It turned out that Shadow was an expert hacker, and a genius at mechanics of all types.

Amfylo frowned at the sheets of printed sheets in front of him. There was a lot of missing information here. For one, it said nothing about Shadow's past. Everything had been deleted carefully from any databases Amfylo could get his hands on. Granted, Amfylo knew that he was a hacker, but a person he had taken out just two weeks before was a hacker too, and he had been able to find out everything about him. It had been in the government records. One of the many things Amfylo was accomplice at was hacking into databases of all kinds. This made him a wanted man. Amfylo always laughed at the composite sketches made of him. They made him look darker and scarier than he actually was.

Another thing strange about this Shadow character was that Amfylo couldn't find his true identity. Shadow wasn't exactly a real name, but more of an alias. In fact, Amfylo couldn't think of a single person in the world in their right minds that would name their kid Shadow.

He looked at the battered analog clock than hung disheveled on the wall. It read two-thirty. Amfylo walked over to his bed, hearing the thin mattress on the metal bedstead creak as his weight settled onto it. Removing his sunglasses, which he had worn so much during the day it had become unnatural not to, he rubbed at his eyes. Leaning back on the bed, he felt blindly for the bottle of gin he kept at his bedside. Finding it empty, he grunted his contempt and hurled it against the wall.

Amfylo knew he had a drinking problem, he knew very well that he was probably an alcoholic in the worst degree there was. It had gotten to the point that he felt he couldn't function properly without the stimulant running through his veins. Often, his conscious would get the better of him, as it did now.

"What have I done?" he moaned, rolling over. His nightmares from the past often haunted him, which was why he never slept for more than three hours a night, if he was lucky. For the first part, being an assassin always gives you a feeling that somebody's after you, and in Amfylo's case, somebody normally was.

Curling into a tight ball, Amfylo fell into a fitful doze for the remainder of the night.

# # #

"What is going on?" I indignantly ask. I don't like being thrown out of my house like this. Why doesn't this person understand that I don't want to be with other people right now? I've spent forever with people. God, how I hate people.

"It's just for a while..." he explains. I see his lips move, but I don't hear my name. My God. Have I really gone so far as to forget my name? Who is this person, anyway? Is he my father? My uncle? Who? Why can't I think?!

"I don't want to go," I proclaim angrily. The only response that gets me is an incensed movement from the blob, and more voices.

"What is going on?" I ask again. I ask the question again and again. It sounds like a record stuck in a crack. 'What is going on? What is going on?' Who am I asking? This man? Another person? Am I asking this question to myself? What does it mean? I don't know what is going on! Somebody help! Anybody! God... What is going on?

It was here that Amfylo woke up, in a cold sweat. He couldn't remember the dream, or who it was in the dream, but he really didn't want to remember in the first place.

# # #

"Mr. Green!" came the harried female voice. "Mr. Green, you haven't paid your rent for three months. Mr. Green, I'm not joking!"

Amfylo rolled over and stuffed his fingers in his ears. While it was true he hadn't paid his rent in almost forever, he didn't care to have it flung in his face at six in the morning. It wasn't exactly his fault that business had been slow for the last couple of months.

"Mr. Green! I'm going to kick you out soon, you leave me no choice," the female landlord went on. Amfylo groaned, smacking himself over the fact that his alias was so... stupidly bland. Gregory Green. It looked like something that would be found randomly in a phone book; who would imagine that a man named Gregory Green could be the most wanted hitman in London?

"Gretchen, I swear," he moaned, rolling back over again, feeling for the leather briefcase that was under his bed. Flipping it open, he grabbed a handful of bills and stormed at the door, banging it open.

The lady that owned the apartments where Amfylo lived was not a beautiful woman. She was missing her two front teeth, and the ones that she did have left were frightfully crooked and yellowed. Her head took on the appearance of a gigantic balloon, worse so when she was angry. Her gray hair always hung down in lank strands, and just the sight of her made Amfylo want to hurl up his last meal. It was worse at six in the morning.

"Here. Now, leave a man to sleep in peace," he demanded, throwing the handful of pounds out the door. "That should cover the last three months, with your stupid ten percent interest, and payment for the next month!" it was here that he slammed the door in the woman's face.

"Thank you, Mr. Green," Gretchen said sweetly. Amfylo could hear her sweeping around, picking up every last pound that her beady little eyes could see. He shook his head and flopped back on the bed, even though he knew it was futile to go to sleep. After a few minutes, he got back up and put on his trenchcoat again, along with his glasses. Lacing up his boots, he grabbed a handful of bills and left the room.

London at sunrise could be a very beautiful place, but Amfylo couldn't see the sky. Instead, he focused on his destination: Eure's Warehouse, on the edge of town. It was here that Shadow would be, he had gathered. Stepping up on the curb, he carefully waved a taxicab down, and got in.

"Where to?" the taxi man asked. He was a rather large, short, Italian man, with a thick accent. Amfylo raised the collar on his coat before replying.

"Varry's Jewelers," he said in his thick, raspy whisper that he used with most other folk. The Italian man smiled, before setting the cabby fare box up and pressing the gas petal down.

"Need ta' get sumthin for the missus?" the man asked, turning a corner sharply. Amfylo grunted in response.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to spark too much conversation.

"Well, you might want to start by changing yer getup. The durk and stermy look yee got pro'bly 'taint helpin much," the man laughed.

"Look, don't question me, just drive," Amfylo snapped. If it was one thing he hated, it was nosey people. He was always afraid of giving too much information away.

"Ay! Don' get sherp with me, sun."

They drove in silence for the rest of the way. Amfylo stared outside at the passing landscape. He really hated taxis, but the bus took too long, and he didn't have a driver's license. Besides, he didn't think that he could keep a car in proper working order.

"'Ere you are, sun," the cabby said gruffly. "That'll be 'bout twenty-five-fifta'," he finished, holding his hand over the side of the seat. Amfylo quickly counted out three bills into his hand.

"Keep the change," he snapped, stepping out of the smelly car. The cabman tipped his hat slightly as Amfylo slammed the door shut.

Varry's Jeweler's was an out-of-the way shop, with a torn maroon awning, and dusty windows, where 'pearls' were displayed.

Along with an accomplished businessman, Varry was also a very slick con artist. Most of the 'jewels' he sold in his store were genuine fakes. Of course, everyone who found out that the jewels that they bought were fake knew that had gotten them from Varry. He was so slippery, however, that he was able to worm his way out of all of his fixes, reputation untarnished.

Amfylo pushed his way into the store, and saw a young, nervous looking young man dusting off display cases as if his life depended upon it. He looked up when Amfylo entered the room, and scuttled over to him.

"Hello, sir. How may I help you today?" he asked in an overly fawning voice. Amfylo rolled his eyes in the back of his head and pushed the kid over to the side.

"I want to see the other merchandise," he said. The kid scampered off the floor and looked at Amfylo nervously.

"What other merchandise?" he asked. Amfylo sighed, and reached out, grabbed the kid's shirt, and lifted him up onto his tiptoes.

"S-s-sir, if you don't-t-t s-s-stop, I-I-I-I'm g-g-going to have to ask-k-k you to l-l-leave," he said as bravely as he could. Amfylo dropped his grip on the shirt, and the boy fell in a heap on the ground.

"VARRY!" he called in the small, one-room shop.

A short, fat man appeared from a doorway in the back, looking alarmed. His hired help jumped off the floor and ran over to Varry.

"He's causing a disturbance, sir!" he whined pitifully. Varry looked at Amfylo oddly before smiling.

"Gregory Green! Or, shall I say, Amfylo?" he asked pleasantly. The color in the kid's face drained until he was paper-white.

"A-A-A-mfylo?" he asked. "The serial killer?"

"Not quite," Amfylo replied off-handedly. "Assassin."

Varry laughed. "Carlos, go back to your dusting. It's okay; he only kills when he gets paid to do so. Amfylo grunted and looked in the direction of the now-quaking-in-fear Carlos.

"Or, if someone alerts the cops about me," he said warningly. Carlos's eyes got so big, they nearly bulged out of his head.

"Stop it, Amfylo," Varry warned, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You'll scare away the hired help."

Varry led Amfylo into the backroom, where assorted clusters of boxes were heaped up to the ceiling of the room. He pushed some of the plain cardboard boxes out of the way before revealing a small, polished box, about the size of a box of dominoes. Varry handed it to Amfylo, who inspected it thoroughly.

Inside was a small, handsome silver pistol. There was a groove in the top that was empty; obviously meant for oil. Soft velvet scraps were in a compartment towards the back, and two clips of silver bullets fit into slots on the side.

"Very powerful, she is," Varry remarked, breaking the silence in Amfylo's revelry. "Them bullets have diamond in them, the strongest material on earth, you know."

"And knowing you," Amfylo growled, "the diamonds are probably fake." Varry gave him a sugary smile.

"Would I do that to you?" he asked.

Preferring not to answer that question, Amfylo snapped the small, red leather case shut and looked at Varry. "How much 'she cost?" he asked.

"I'd give her five hundred pounds and one of your old guns," Varry said, after much consideration. "She's the only gun I have, and I can't leave me store unguarded."

Amfylo sighed, and pocketed the new gun. "Here," he said, handing Varry a wad of cash and a slightly tarnished, palm-sized pistol.

"Happy doing business with you," Varry said, taking the roll of bills. "By the way, I just got a shipment of 'genuine' Indian pearls in today. Would you be interested in buying any?"

"Not really," Amfylo said, distracted by his new gun.

"For free, then," Varry challenged. When Amfylo looked at him oddly, he sighed. "I have too many of the damn things. Bad for inventory. Take it!" he demanded, throwing a handful of 'pearl' necklaces at him. Amfylo sighed and shoved the glossy plastic beads into his pockets.

"Bye, Carlos," Amfylo said wickedly on his way out. Carlos squeaked like a squashed mouse and ducked behind a cabinet.

# # #

Eure's Warehouse was at the very outskirts of London, facing away from the city. It had actually been abandoned several years ago, thanks to recent fire code laws. It had never been torn down, because of the lazy government, and it had been silent for years anyhow.

"Shadows are silent," Amfylo whispered to himself, just to make sure that this was real. He tended to turn into a different person when he was on the hunt; more animal, less human. Having two pistols at the ready, he crept on the warehouse, which loomed before him like a gigantic black monster.

The large metal double doors were slightly open, but Amfylo knew better than to try and pry them open. Doing so would almost certainly make it squeak, and the sound would give away the precious element of surprise. Instead he rounded the building, until he found a pile of dumpsters and crates, which he used as stepping stones to climb onto the rusty, ridged metal roof.

Creeping carefully across the slates, he stopped when he saw a broken skylight. He peered in.

For a few moments, Amfylo couldn't see anything. There was a solitary lightbulb in one corner of the room, and a tiny flickering candle, but that was all for light. Squinting down into the darkness, he saw something move. Then something moved into the small point of fire.

It was a small, black blob, or so it appeared to be. From his high off vantagepoint, the figure seemed to be shorter that Amfylo himself, but of the same body build. The person settled down onto a pile of cloth, and grabbed a small metal can. Using a rather long dagger, he cut the top off and began to eat.

Amfylo's heartpace quickened and his muscles tensed. Shadow was unaware that he was near. This was the perfect time to strike.

Smash! Amfylo crashed through the small skylight, and landed on the ground, in pounce position.

Unluckily for Amfylo, however, Shadow was as quick and elusive as his namesake. For a split second he stared dumbly at Amfylo, but then he dropped the can and was of faster than a rocket into the darkness.

Cursing vividly, Amfylo was on his heels, until Shadow turned a sharp corner, and disappeared into the darkness. Biting his lip, Amfylo's eyes adjusted to the dark. It didn't help much, but he could now tell the difference between the black empty spaces, and the darker blotches, which were the boxes. All right, Amfylo thought, if you want to play hide and seek, that's fine with me. Sidling up against the wall, he carefully inched his way around the perimeter of the place.

There was no sound, other than Amfylo's loudly thumping heart, which was trying to get his brain to convey fear, but his brain wasn't listening. Instead, it sent jolts of excitement to the tips of his fingers. On the other side of the room, there was a slight scuffle of movement from Shadow. Overhead, an owl hooted.

Eventually, impatience took over common sense, and Amfylo strode into the center of the warehouse. There was a sound overhead. Amfylo looked up, to see Shadow standing on a pile of boxes, cloak swinging out behind, looking reminiscent of a demented Batman.

Shadow leaped, dagger pointed down. Amfylo dropped to the ground and rolled over to the side to avoid being speared. Amfylo was bigger, but Shadow was quick. Amfylo couldn't keep his hands on him, and he lost sight of him again.

He got to his feet, but as soon as he did so, something hit him hard in the back, and he fell to the ground, completely winded. He struggled to get to his feet, but Shadow had both of his arms pinned behind his back and the knife pointed at the back of his neck. Quickly, Shadow rolled him over, and then pressed both of his knees against Amfylo's stomach, pinning his arms between Amfylo's back and the floor.

After having felt safe in his presence, Shadow worked idly, stripping his foe of all weaponry. Amfylo watched as Shadow took off his gun-belt, looked at it carefully, and then tossed it aside. This silent arrangement went on for quite awhile, before Shadow spoke.

"So," he whispered. "Are you ready to tell me who sent you?" Amfylo, who was not willing to talk, spat in Shadow's face.

Shadow slowly wiped the slob off of his nose, before turning his head down to Amfylo's and slapping him. Amfylo winced in pain, before glaring back up at Shadow.

"Don't do that again," Shadow advised. Amfylo looked at Shadow carefully. He was a non-descriptive character. In fact, he looked a lot like he was wearing a Grim Reaper costume that little children wore for Halloween. A long black cloak with a hood reached down to his ankles, where a pair of black leather boots was tightly laced. Over his face was stretched a tight piece of black cloth, so you couldn't see the face of Shadow, but you could make out the two bumps of lips, the large curve of the nose, and the two cavities for eyes. Shadow was now reaching into Amfylo's pockets and slapping his chest harshly to check for knives.

When Shadow was sure his foe was unarmed, he leaned forward and pressed the long dagger against Amfylo's neck.

"Who sent you?" he breathed. Amfylo didn't answer. Instead, he took note of the fact that Shadow had let up on his arms, so he could wiggle free.

"Well, actually, It's a rather long story," Amfylo stalled, trying to buy time. Shadow pressed the blade harder against his neck. Amfylo could feel a small trickle of blood starting to run down his neck.

"I don't want a long story," Shadow rasped. "I want the facts. And I want them straight, if you're interested in living."

Amfylo sighed, but was able to wriggle one hand free. Wondering what he was going to do with that one hand, he slid it into one of the trenchcoat's many pockets, where it met the fake pearls that Varry had given him earlier.

Grasping the beads tightly, he reared his hand back and threw them across the room. Beads flew everywhere. The tinny noise was enough to make Shadow briefly turn. Amfylo took the opportunity. In one movement, he kicked Shadow away from him, knocked the blade away, and grabbed a pistol that was lying on the ground.

Grabbing Shadow roughly by the neck, he slammed him into the wall, and pressed the gun barrel on his forehead.

"Pity," Amfylo said. Shadow was silent.

When Amfylo pressed the gun barrel harder, he noticed something was leaking out of Shadow's head covering. Reaching up with his thumb, he wiped some of it off and looked at it. It was a peach-ish color, and had no odor. Tasting it, he found it had a bland taste, although it was slightly salty with sweat.

"Concealer?" asked Amfylo. "You wear makeup?!" Shadow still said nothing.

A sneaking suspicion hit Amfylo. Sliding the pistol down to Shadow's neck, he took his thumb and rubbed hard against Shadow's forehead. There was a slight groove below the black material.

Amfylo smirked, and brought the gun down. He couldn't see his face, but he knew that Shadow was looking at him confusedly.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" Shadow whispered. Amfylo just laughed, and pressed the gun back on Shadow's chest, so he couldn't go anywhere.

"Why would I kill the most famous wizard of all time, Harry Potter?"

With that statement, Amfylo reached up with his left hand and tore 'Shadow's' mask in two. Sure enough, unruly black hair and green eyes stared back at him, in bewilderment. The only difference between this and the old Harry Potter, was the fact that he had no scar. Amfylo reached up with his left hand, and wiped it across Harry's forehead. The layer of concealer came off, and the lightning shaped scar was still there.

"How....?" Harry asked, seemingly obvilous to the fact that Amfylo was pointing a gun to his chest. "Who are you?"

Amfylo smirked again, and dropped the gun to the ground with a clatter. Removing his hat and sunglasses, Harry found himself looking at a very tall male, with silver-blonde hair and gray eyes. Harry gaped for a moment.

"Malfoy?"

A/N: Well, did you like? Please tell me! *puts on best puppy face she can find* I only got two reviews last time! I need to know what you think! *grumbles* Maybe the severe cliffhanger will prompt the reviews along a tad.... By the way, I hope that the content of this chapter didn't offend anyone, it wasn't meant to. ^_~

~Moxie ^_^

Disclaimer: All characters in the Harry Potter series belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. Don't sue. I don't think I have anything ya'd want anyhow. -_-;;