Note: I'm not sure if this will be a seperate story or just a section of chapters in my Secrete Lies stories (of which there will only be two). Yeah, I know I need to get a move on with the next chapter in Secret Lies, but it's hard when there are so many stories out there that are great to read. Eh.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Which I think is rather obvious. As good as I can be at times when it comes to writing, I'm not nearly as reliable as JKR. I have an original story, three part novel actually, that is completely written in my head. That doesn't help much when it's not on paper.

So let me know if I should continue this as it's own little story.

Cupid

Dreams 'N Demise

1622 words

"Do you believe in fairytales, Agent Smith?" The mysterious man dressed in black with long, flowing white-blonde hair and cold, ice blue/grey eyes asked.

Smith eyed the man warily, not expected anything useful to be forthcoming. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before indulging the man sitting before him. "No. Fairytales are for children who still believe in such things."

Smith glanced at the tape recorder. He knew that his name was scratched into the bottom of it, having claimed it when he first transferred to the department. They'd been at it for over an hour.

"Are you going to tell me one?" He asked with slight interest. It would be the first time the man actually told him something worth listening to in the past 3 hours since Smith had brought him in; even though in the last hour the man had been talking almost constantly. Rather or not it would be valid to the case had nothing to do with his sudden spark of interest.

"What use are fairytales to me when I know the truth?" The man asked with a coy grin and he sat back in his chair. "I merely asked because without the belief in fairytales what I am about to tell you will be quite hard to believe."

The man looked rather pleased with himself, Smith noted. He was more than interested now. He'd been working in this dead in department for 3 years. He found it rather amusing that his first real break in any of the leads they were supposed to be following would show after 3 hours. He seemed to be big on threes this year. Three and 33; the number of years I've been in the department, number of hours I've been in this very same chair, my birth date, oh, and of course, my age. I'm plagued by threes.

The blonde continued unaware of Smith's internal conversation. "Everything you ever thought was just some fairytale for children who still hold dreams within their naïve little minds are real. Dragons, witches and wizards; enchanted swords and armor; it's all real."


She was on another job. Only this one paid a lot better than the last. The pay had to be better in order for her to take on such a high profile and dangerous task and only half up front would do. So of course she'd taken the money; living expenses had become rather high lately. She blamed that on the new contractor. But seeming as he was paying her for the current job, and rather handsomely at that, she couldn't find the room to complain.

Brushing an arrant strand of curly, black hair from her face she adjusted her magically enhanced shades to get a better look at the target. He was young. Younger than she was usually called in on. Though, that wasn't what had dragged the job out for the past two weeks. Sure, she'd killed plenty for the money. It was what she was good at, it was her life, her job. She just never had to kill a 16 year-old boy who supposedly was the 'Savior' of the world. Not just the wizarding world, but the entire world. Everyone knew, even if they were reluctant to admit it, that the Dark Lord Voldemort wanted to take over the planet.

Why was she doing a job for him? Everyone needed to live. It was a proven fact that wizards paid more than muggles. With this pay alone she was set for the rest of her life without having to budget. That was only counting half of the pay. But that still didn't answer why she took on the job of killing or mortally wounding the Harry Potter for the one and only Tom Marvolo Riddle. No, she didn't know the answer to that question.

It wasn't like she needed the money. The jobs she'd pulled in the past had paid well enough that when combined doubled what she had received from Voldemort. Maybe she could pull a farce and save him instead. What then? She thought. And be on the run for the rest of my life. I kinda like my freedom. Being a witch had it's perks. Especially in her line of work. She didn't have to worry about being caught by muggles. At least not at the moment. She had a feeling that they were getting a lot smarter, but were only focusing on things other than hit men/women and assassins.

"I've been watching you for two weeks, Harry James Potter." She whispered to herself from her perch on the roof of The Leaky Cauldron. "And you've yet to do anything truly interesting. How boring you are." She rolled over on her back, not willing to kill the intended victim just yet. Too many damn wizards. Diagon Alley wasn't the ideal place to make a hit. She'd be knee deep in trouble before she even got off the roof.

She checked her watch. It was only one in the afternoon and she needed to get out of there before the heat of the sun fried her brains. She lunched herself into a standing position in order to apparate to the flat she was renting in the middle of London.

Her back was to the Alley so she never noticed the young man looking up at the figure disappearing from the roof of the Leaky Cauldron.

.0.o.0.o.o.0.o.0.

Harry Potter was having the same dream over and over again every night for nearly two weeks. He didn't think they had anything to do with Voldemort. His scar didn't hurt or itch any more than usual. Yet he couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that had arose with the on-slot of the--nightmares? He wasn't sure what to call them.

When he had told Ron and Hermione about the dreams and then about how he felt like he was being constantly watched when they were out, they had only told him he was being paranoid.

Perhaps he was.

He didn't think so, though. There was just something to the dreams that made them eerily familiar and seem slightly real. They were like the visions he got from Voldemort, only less painful, but just as stressing. What was he going to do if they turned out to be right?

He could remember feeling bored while watching himself, but there seemed to be a reason of great impotence behind it. The person in his dreams was trying to kill him. Only it wasn't like the usual kidnap-torture-promise to kill themes of the 'normal' dreams he had. These were more like the muggle movies where there was a hired assassin out to kill someone from far off and had all the skill and ability in the world to get away with it.

That's what was freaking him out the most. This mystery person could be anywhere nearby and he would never know it.

"Harry!" He heard Ron yelling in his face.

He blinked and looked up nearly jumping out of his skin. "Merlin, Ron!" he exclaimed as he tried to regain his breath. "Don't be so close next time."

Ron and Hermione shared a look then turned their questioning gazes on him. "You okay, mate?" Ron said placing a hand on his shoulder in what would have been a comforting gesture if he wasn't so wound up.

Harry shrugged from the grip. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." He looked to each of the two plastering a smile on his face.

Hermione looked at him oddly. "Are you sure, Harry?" She said in her overly concerned mothering voice.

"Yeah, just peachy." he sighed. "What is it that you wanted?"

"Just wondering what you wanted to do next. We've got all of our school supplies and such. We could always check out the Qudditch supplies." He said a little too hopeful.

Hermione scoffed. "Oh really, Ron. Do you think of anything other than Qudditch? No! Don't even answer that." she said, stopping him with is mouth half open. "I know, why don't we spend the rest of the day in muggle London. Show you around and everything. You'll know. . ."

Harry had tuned them out as they stepped out of Flourish and Blots. He looked up, noting how wonderful the weather had been all day compared to the dreary, rainy days of the past week. He was lost in thought as the group slowly made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. He started to feel uncomfortable, like someone was watching them. There were so many people in the alley that he couldn't be sure if it was for real this time or just his paranoid imagination over working.

It wasn't until he looked up at the sound of his name being called did he see the figure above the Leaky Cauldron disappear. His thoughts started running a mile a minute and he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with him. But then, he thought, every mysterious figure has something to do with me. They always come back to bite him on the arse.

.0.o.0.o.o.0.o.0.

Charlette "Cupid" Rosengurd -- aka Charlie Rose -- aparated into her flat. Stripping out of her black leather body suit that had a permanent cooling charm placed on it, she made a bee line for the shower. She was also hungry, having not eaten since breakfast of which after she embarked on her watch of the Potter boy.

"Ah, yes, I can clearly see what . . . appeal that you may have." came Luscious' drawling voice.

END--maybe, maybe not .

So, what did you think? Crap? Good? Okay? Needs work? Of course it needs work. Everything I write needs work. But alas, I have a chaalenge to complete along with working on the next chapter to Secret Lies. R&R. Later.