Harry Potter as James Bond in something like Goldeneye

by anorc

Harry Potter survived the battle of Hogwarts and was a temporary Auror. But he was also bored. And one trip to the cinema with Hermione and Ron, to see a James Bond Film, gave him the idea to join the SAS. Only it turned out there sort-of was a Double-O program. And Harry finds some excitement, adventure and... well drinking ,cars and girls. Rather cracky, so don't take seriously.

Bond, James Bond

Harry Potter, after the Battle of Hogwarts, saw a Bond film with Hermione and Ron.

Hmm, he mused. Being cool, cars, travel, and well a bit of snogging.

He got bored with being a temporary Auror and joined the SAS. Professional hunters of the bad, and not Aurors with the Ministry he hated. Ginny smiled and rolled her eyes "Muggle games" she said. And Harry wondered if James Bond was a real thing.

The time came for the practical exam for the SAS escape and evasion course;

"Ten miles in the dark and the rain?" Harry asked politely.

"And ten of us will be looking for you all" said the burly instructor with a crew-cut

Harry smiled slightly "What fun" he said.

Harry finished in an hour less than the best time ever, and was sitting feet up, covered in mud, soaking wet, drinking tea when they came and looked for him at the destination.

They got to interrogation resistance training, and during the torture practical, Harry didn't quite yawn.

"He's got amazing pain tolerance" admitted the trainer to Harry's CO. "Short of maiming him permanently, he's as good as the best we've ever had at resisting interrogation."

"And waterboarding?" asked the CO, eyebrows raised.

"He's nearly drowned a few times, apparently." admitted the trainer. "He can't stop normal physiological reflexes, but he's got the same sort of bloody-minded toughness as our best Troopers."

"And then we train them" nodded the CO, smiling grimly.

"No" said the trainer quietly, his face looking a bit pinched. "He's as good as the best men I've ever served with. And has enough scars to fit right into a squad of old-timers. He has the same look in his eyes as... some of the lads."

"The … more experienced lads" said the CO.

The trainer nodded "Remember Shuftie?"

"Chap with the knives?" said the CO, "Before your time surely?"

"People have parties" said the trainer obliquely. "This Potter, he could be Shufti's son – same smile, same stony interior. Bet he does well on weapons."

Potter did rather well with handguns, for a recruit. No flinching at noises, and his first run through a shoot house had the assault trainer shaking his head.

"Mr Potter, you shot every enemy assailant in the chest twice." he said to Harry. Harry nodded, and the trainer stood silently.

"Should I have done head-shots instead?" Harry asked, feeling awkward.

"You also shot all the 'noncombatants' and hostages" said the trainer.

"Might not be" said Harry bluntly. "Could be a trap. I hate traps."

"Next time, don't shoot the hostages" said the Trainer. "It looks bad in your evaluation."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't be sure once people are trying to kill you." he said, meeting the trainers eyes. The trainer hesitated then nodded.

"You've got … prior experience?" he asked quietly.

"I had a difficult childhood" said Harry rather euphemistically.

Then Harry heard about an opportunity at MI6 … the double-0 programme. More… hunting down baddies on your own. More opportunity to quietly use a wand. Something Harry could do better than anyone else. Oh, and better food.

Harry, after acing double-o training, got assigned the (somewhat whimsical) Bond, James Bond moniker.

During cross-training with the RAF

"He's a natural flyer" said the flight lieutenant.

"He's destroyed a jet trainer" said the Squadron leader "Snapped the wings off."

"He can take off" said the Instructor, looking at the C27 galaxy. "But his landing is too fast, too hard."

"We want him" said The fighter squadron leader "He's the very devil in a dog-fight. You can have one of ours in exchange."

"Your trainee nearly broke our aircraft" said the Polish Air-Vice-Marshall after Harry had completed cross-training in soviet-bloc aircraft.

Ginny wanted to know why he was mucking about doing muggle things. Harry explained about stopping bad people… that regular muggles couldn't stop. About biological and nuclear weapons.

"Come home, stop being stupid, you could get killed" said Ginny. That was the beginning of the end, Harry realised later. Ginny was sensible, and Harry occasionally admitted to himself that being an operator was… a holiday from being Harry Potter. You could just… stop bad people and not care. And the hotel rooms were paid for.

Time passed, and James Bond was very good at finishing his missions, and unnaturally good at not dying. He did tend to accidentally destroy high-tech stuff (ostensibly wear and tear, mostly magic wrecking things). But the MI6 boffins apparently found that hysterically funny, and all affected a very expository style when explaining things to Harry. Harry acted along. It was, Harry mused as he watched a contrived demo of an airbag-equipped phone-booth, sort of like acting. He was pretending to be James Bond, and the boffins pretended to be Q from the Bond films. M pretended to have a soul. The weird part was she looked like Dame Judy Dench, and her predecessor had looked like the actor in the preceding films. Harry tried not to think about that. He was good at not thinking about things.

-==0==-

Harry did some research, and watched the films: There was this one mission where Bond was to seduce the smuggling kingpin's daughter to get an in, so he could break the ring ; he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, and the Daughter decided James Bond was the man for her. She married his cover identity, and MI6 papered over the legal cracks. Unfortunately, she was murdered while they were on honeymoon. Harry wondered about that. He'd sort-of broken things off with Ginny, more because he never went anywhere magical anymore, than that he didn't like her. On the other hand, lots of women in London liked his suits. And there was always duty-free booze.

-==0==-

James Bond was sent to Turkey, to investigate possible enemy infiltration agents.

Moneypenny, when she stopped gazing into his eyes breathily, had handed him a folder about a Major Onatopp. A female pilot from the former USSR air-force, who had branched out into general violence and seduction. The file had a blurry picture of Major Onatopp in Soviet air-force uniform. She looked, Harry mused quite pretty. Blonde and eastern European.

Harry took his government issue Aston-Martin DB-6. He had skimmed some James Bond novels, and a few more films and was thoroughly convinced someone, probably M, stone-hearted old cow, was taking the piss at Harry's expense. Still, it was a cool old car, and a chick magnet. The lack of electronics really helped it survive being around Harry.

Harry parked the car outside the hotel and jauntily tossed the keys to the valet, and climbed the nice marble steps to the hotel.

Two parties later, Harry found Major Onatopp. Except it wasn't. Daphne Greengrass was Major Onatopp.

Harry did a double-take "Greengrass?" he said "What are you doing here?"

"Shhh Potter" she shushed him. "I'm working for the Russians as Major Onatopp."

Harry smiled slightly "Major Onataopp?" he asked.

"Look, I don't pick my code-name" said Daphne Greengrass firmly, "It's hard enough to find a job that pays money and not too many questions asked. What are you doing here?"

"My name is Bond, James Bond" said Harry with a wry smile "I came looking for Major Onatopp. I'm supposed to pump her for information."

"Pump?" asked Daphne Greengrass "Pump?" she said indignantly.

"Well, there was a very thorough training course." said Harry "I got full marks in it."

"Hmh!" said Daphne Greengrass "I'm not getting seduced by Harry Potter."

"Well" said Harry "Not Harry Potter, James Bond. And Major Onatopp, I'm doing this in the interest of closer international relations."

"I'm English" said Daphne "You know that Potter. We were at school together."

"Officially, I'm James Bond, and officially you're Russian."

"Siberian" said Daphne Greengrass archly.

"Well, major Onatopp, you are a very beautiful woman" said Harry in Russian.

"Oh shut up Potter" replied Daphne in Russian.

"Oooh. Great accent. Really Siberian." said Harry.

"Yours is dreadful" said Daphne.

"Leningrad" said Harry drily.

Daphne left with some haste.

Harry admired her exposed back and tastefully covered arse in the evening dress as she left. Hogwarts robes, Robes in general were a crime against the female form. And she could rock a pair of heels. Le sigh.

Major Onatopp having rebuffed Bond's advances, stole a radiation-hardened Eurocopter after assassinating an American general. M was not amused.

Her voice down the sat-phone was scathing.

"Honestly, Bond, you had the target in the same room and you let her go." said M "Sounds like you're losing your touch."

Harry rolled his eyes. As if he, Harry Potter could pick up Daphne Greengrass. Even with government training, she'd been in Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. She had looked good though. Harry sighed. Definitely have to rub one out thinking about that.

Harry got a message through his contact Mephis, that some woman wanted to meet him. He took precautions in his jacket pocket. And his gun.

The location was a very beautiful monument up in the hills, overlooking the sea.

"What did you do with Major Onatopp" said the brown haired woman in a sable coat and hat, holding an automatic pistol aimed at Harry's middle. Her Russian accent sounded like Moscow.

"Less than I would have liked to" said Harry drily.

"Well, Mr Bond, you will talk, or you will die" said Agent Triple X.

"Hang on a minute?" asked Harry "She's one of yours."

"Major Onatopp has not checked in days" said Agent Triple X, eyes tight "And is a friend. Where did you put her body?"

Harry blinked "Tracey Davis?" he asked "Bloody hell is Everyone from Slytherin working for the Russians?"

"How do you know that name?" asked Tracey Davis, her gun lined up with Harry's spine.

Harry lifted his fringe "It's me. Harry Potter" said Harry "Codename James Bond because someone at the office thinks it's funny. I was talking to Major Onatopp, made her as Daphne, she dismissed my advances and left. Then she killed a general and stole a helicopter."

"We do have assassins of our own, Potter" said Tracey.

"Who?… let me guess, Blaise Zabini?" asked Harry.

The gun wavered.

"If he tries, he dies" said Harry. "Is his mum still alive?"

Tracey huffed off. Harry fingered the condoms in his jacket pocket. Not required, sadly.

James Bond, having lost the tracks of Major Onatopp was assigned to go "Surveil" an arms bazaar being held at a secluded airport in the Carpathian mountains. Harry was supposed to parachute in, then hike for a day, but he looked at the map and apparated in instead.

Harry dutifully set up a satellite terminal and beamed live video back to MI6 so M could show off, and the computers could look for people of interest.

Routine, simple and slightly dull. Harry was fairly bored when the Royal Navy were assigned to fire a cruise missile in and blow everything up. Of course the bloody missile was on the way when one of the technical types noticed a plane had a rather nasty small nuclear weapon on it. And the missile couldn't be self-destructed, so Bond was ordered by M "Bond, recover the nuclear torpedo on the aircraft before the cruise missile spills radiation all over the mountains that feed three cities with fresh water."

"Yes Maam. Any other orders?" asked Harry, rather drily. It looked practically impossible. Harry set a timer on his watch to twenty minutes; the missile would arrive around then.

"Assume nobody gets out alive, and we're not counting." said M, and terminated the connection from the other end. Harry sucked in cold air through his teeth. M had basically said Bond could kill as many people as required to solve the problem. As long as the torpedo wasn't exploded into poisonous fragments. Harry set off downhill, to go meet a number of heavily armed, paranoid bad people, and kill them. He smiled, his day was looking up already.

Just before he got to work, Harry drew his very well hidden wand from his mokeskin pouch and cast a bullet-repelling charm. The job would be impossible to survive otherwise, and there wasn't going to be a statue of secrecy breach. Nobody was coming out of this valley alive.

Harry ducked around a conveniently placed crate and walked onto the airfield, and strode around like he belonged. He exchanged some profanities and rude gesture with a man trying to sell a machine gun on an antiaircraft mount. The man grinned, he, as Harry had guessed was a Uzbek, and liked a bit of swearing.

Harry hadn't come equipped to shoot his way across the airfield, so he walked quickly to the aircraft, which had a crew ladder, with a couple of crew lounging on it. Harry asked, in his very Leningrad accent, to see the aircraft controls.

"This is a Trainer with hard-points, yes?" asked Harry.

"It's a trainer for the Russians, but it's a quite capable little fighter" said the Pilot, who sounded like he came from St Petersburg.

"St Petersberg?" asked Harry "My cousin boxes there?" he lied. The pilot nodded curtly "Ever flown one?"

"The older model" said Harry "This one got a sticky rudder too?"

"They fixed that" said the Pilot on the rolling access ladder , waving his arm in a come-see way, and Harry climbed the ladder and squeezed past to peer into the cockpit. "It handle all-right?" asked Harry "The old model was like an old lady with bad knees."

"She kneels okay" said the Pilot "Sluggish with all this ammo and the special torpedo, but the boss wants us to be able to dash if the Americans turn up."

"Bloody Americans" said Harry, shooting the pilot and back-seater with one bullet each. The Pilot slid downwards, and Harry nicked his helmet and slid into the pilots seat, and started the engine. As the Pilot had intimated, the plane was ready to dash. Harry pulled the harness on, flicked the cockpit close lever and banished the crew ladder away from the wing, and throttled up. The engine temperatures were far too low, but the plane started rolling, and Harry headed for the runway. Someone, who probably was the 'boss' stood in front of the plane and waved angrily. Harry goosed the cannon trigger and the boss vanished loudly and messily.

Harry was taxiing as quickly as he dared, and looking around, treating it like a quidditch match: The antiaircraft rig was turning; so Harry slammed on the portside brakes, slammed the rudder over and slewed the nose over, and fired a burst of cannon; the AA rig exploded; and nearby behind it was a fuel tanker; so Harry fired a small missile; the resulting explosion was gratifyingly huge. Nosing the plane back around with a spot of quite tricky differential braking, he taxied back onto the runway, and was rolling to a nice takeoff when a second plane started taxiing to follow Harry.

Harry took off downhill with a cold engine, and barely pulled up before the plane hit the rocky hillside. He climbed slowly and checked for trouble. Behind him, the other pilot had managed to take off.

Harry goosed the throttle and the plane slowly accelerated, altitude, low engine temperature and the weight of the torpedo made the plane very sluggish.

It quickly became clear the second plane was much less heavily loaded, and the other pilot was an actual fighter pilot. Harry rolled left and right, dodging cannon-fire, and his watch beeped loudly. Harry turned and flew towards the airfield, and actually saw the cruise missile flaying up the valley, like a tiny plane. Harry throttled up, pulled back on the joystick and closed his eyes. Hopefully…

There was a very loud explosion, and the airfield was destroyed. The plane was buffeted, and by the feel if the controls, had some holes in control surfaces. The engine was running all right. So that was good.

The threat warring indicator screamed, and Harry instinctively rolled right. Nearly clipping a passing mountain-side, but surprising the pilot behind him, so the missile missed.

Harry vaguely recalled that the kind of missile they were probably using wouldn't miss twice. And Harry had just about used up his fighter pilot skills. So he tried just turning upside down, spinning the plane around a mountain top and shooting the other plane with the cannon. Which fired for a second or two and stopped. Out of ammo. But the plane felt lighter.

Harry checked the stores screen as the plane shot towards the attacking fighter upside down.

One torpedo; not firing that, and one fuel tank; might need that later. All the plane really had left was chaff and flares. Harry had an idea. A sane pilot wouldn't do it. Harry of course, flew closer to the incoming fighter than any sane person, playing chicken, then fired chaff and flares from the belly-mounted dispenser; some of which went into the engines of the attacking fighter. And their engine failed. Harry rolled the plane upright. And checked behind him; they were out of room and too low to doge the mountain. A slow turn and Harry could see the wreckage of the plane. They might have ejected, but probably not. Harry turned the radio to a NATO band he could remember and climbed. In a minute he had a connection to a British frigate; probably the one that fired the cruise missile.

"Tango Limo needs route to safe runway. Am carrying contraband" said Harry.

"Reliance: Get off our channel, you idiot" said the Brit operator.

"Look, I stole a black market plane and I need somewhere to land the damn thing. I've got…"

Harry checked fuel, and hastily backed the engine off to a painted mark on the throttle bracket Harry hoped was 'economic cruise' "Thirty minutes at …. Seven hundred knots."

"Reliance six actual. Are you one of ours?" asked a different voice, deep with a private school accent.

"Appreciated your parcel delivery" said Harry "I had to pinch the contraband before it went boom."

"Stand by" said Reliance six actual.

Harry tried to remember which Baltic countries were friendly. Like, really friendly. Land a stolen plane carrying a nuke friendly. Which reminded him, he'd never landed a plane with a weapon load like this before. Well, he'd never flown with a nuke before.

It was a long cold flight at what Harry guessed was most economical speed to Finland.

Harry landed the plane rather heavily and taxied to a stop, the fuel gauge reading zero, and zero in the external tank. He stopped the engine, and waited for quiet. And opened the lid.

He stood up and waited for someone.

A gaggle of what looked like trigger-happy Americans arrived, looking confused. Harry clambered out and slid down the side of the plane, landing hard, and stood up.

"Jams Bond, Lieutenant Commander, Royal Navy" said Harry "I've got a probable contraband nuclear weapon. Who's your officer?"

The weapons pointed at Harry bristled like an agitated hedgehog.

Harry lifted his hands "Not going to try to shoot you, gentlemen" said Harry politely. He suspected his bullet repelling charm had worn off by now.

"If you're British" said an American "Why are you in a Russian plane with a Russian helmet"

"This is a black market plane, I stole from an arms bazaar" said Harry tiredly, taking the helmet off, and tossing it.

"You can't be a pilot with glasses" said some American soldier with a strong grasp of trivial pursuit.

"I'm not a pilot. I'm a lieutenant commander. Boats mostly" said Harry.

"And you stole a plane"

"My boss was insistent that the nuclear torpedo portside not be smeared about the landscape by the cruise missile that was about to hit the arms bazaar" said Harry "I mostly work for MI6. That's like your CIA, but with better tailors."

"You're a field agent?" asked someone holding an M4.

"Well If I flew a desk I wouldn't be standing here" said Harry. "I'd be at home in bed, I expect. He said checking his watch. "Yup. In bed."

At this point, Harry's sat-phone rang, and Harry very gingerly answered, trying not to encourage the trigger-happy soldiers.

"Maam" said Harry, as it was M.

"Bond, you've landed. IS the package secure?" asked M.

"I have ah… eight American soldiers led by a – a" Harry waved encouragingly at the soldiers.

"Sargent Nate Akers." said one. That was wearing sergeant bars.

"A sergeant Akers." said Harry politely.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing. You need a full containment protocol and NEST. Not a boy-scout troop and one sergeant" said M loudly. Harry winced.

"Sergeant Akers?" Asked Harry loudly "Can you please radio your commander and suggest that as there is a special munition here, that he either follow procedures, or ask their commander… and so on until someone knows what to do with black-market nukes."

Aker's mouth opened "A nuke?"

"Air-launched nuclear torpedo" said Harry drily. "The yellow and black paint's a giveaway."

M apparently had heard perfectly well. "Well Bond, get on with it. Then get your arse to Moscow. We've got a lead on your missing helicopter."

Harry's scrotum tightened involuntarily.

"Moscow" asked Harry.

"A Russian satellite ground station's been obliterated by one of their cold war relics. A satellite constellation of space to ground weapons. There's electronic footprints of one of their analysts in Moscow. If we saw the footprints, NKVD will be along too. We'll have data for you at arrival in Moscow." said M.

"I do have a black-market nuke to secure, Maam" said Harry.

"Bond, learn to delegate" said M sarcastically, and ended the call.

"My boss" said Harry "I've got to go to Moscow."

"What's your name" asked Sgt Akers again.

"Bond, James Bond" said Harry ,and he cringed.

Akers frowned "That's that English spy in the movies" said Akers "That's not your real name,"

"That" said Harry tiredly, the stress of nearly dying again, catching up with him "Is my code-name. My boss, sarcastic, bitter old bat that she is, assigned it to me after I got full marks in the seduction course."

Akers went red in the face "Seduction course?"

"I aced the practical" said Harry with a grin "My examiner was very satisfied."

"So you're a …. spy?" asked Akers, red-faced, and he waved at someone else who took out a radio handset and handed it to Akers.

Akers communed with his superiors nervously, and repeated that yes, there was an English navy officer who'd landed a jet, with a black market nuke on it, and he'd really like some backup.

"Hey you armed?" asked Akers at the end of his call.

Harry, using two fingers took out his service pistol "six rounds left" he said.

"Six rounds of pistol ammo?" said Akers, "Doesn't take Glock clips does it?"

"Doesn't take the same ammo. My boss decided I could have a Walther PPK, just to add insult to injury" said Harry.

Akers brows furrowed massively "Your boss sets you up with all the James Bond stuff. You kissing all the exotic girls then?"

"The last few have just pulled guns on me or left" admitted Harry "But there's still hope."

Akers laughed nervously, not certain if Harry was joking or not.

Several hours later, a couple of truck-loads of soldiers arrived and set up some heavy machine-guns, and sandbags. Harry was offered coffee, which he declined to drink, and a ration pack, which was as bad as he remembered American packs being. But it was food.

An hour later, a C27 landed, and black-uniformed NEST staff started coming and asking questions

"What model is this?" asked one.

"A SK-15 Pelican" said Harry "I think. Can we skip that part and get to having it somewhere heavily guarded?"

"Some ID please?" asked the NEST bloke, who seemed to have no sense of humour.

Harry handed over his military ID.

-==0==-

Harry landed in Moscow, and was met by an enthusiastic American CIA officer in a Trabant.

"These things are Great" said Roscoe, as he hit the engine wit a hammer, and it then started. "Practically indestructible. And so cheap. Which is important cos people won't steal it."

Harry read the file as they lurched off to Roscoe's best contact.

The analyst was female and decent looking. A Russian computer programmer, who had evidently chatted with someone from work, after escaping a base that was EMP pulse attacked then shot up.

Major Onaptopp was implicated, as was her immediate boss; who was apparently AWOL.

Harry felt a bit annoyed. Greengrass had apparently machine-gunned the ground-station crew, which was … well killing fairly innocent people for money was just dreadful. Harry's other brain suggested that she was probably just confused and needed … a good snogging to set her right.

The contact thought the boss, who was a colonel, had taken to using a cold-war era train. So that was easy enough to meet up with.

The analyst was still missing, but M's team would send Harry intel as it became available.

Harry got dropped off at a hotel, and had a quick shower, then a decent meal, and went to bed. He was flicking through the hotel catalogue when he saw there was a decent hot pool bath. As he'd spent ages freezing his nuts off in a jet trainer, he took the lift down to the basement pool, and soaked for what felt like just long enough.

"Bond" said the distinctive voice of Major Onatopp. Harry looked up, and cursed his bloody glasses. There was someone standing over there, certainly.

Harry wiped his lenses and peered. Looked like her.

"Major" said Harry politely.

"What are you doing in Moscow" asked Daphne Greengrass.

Harry took the steps out of the pool and found the Major was in a bathrobe.

"You're staying here?" asked Harry.

"The sauna is good" said Daphne Greengrass "And the foods' edible."

"Davis... I mean Agent triple X came looking for you. You hadn't phoned into the office. She was very worried, thought I'd killed you."

Daphne Greengrass scoffed. "Killed me?" she said.

"She worries" said Harry, shrugging one shoulder.

"I swear she's like my mother, but with less 'when are you going to settle down and get married'" said Daphne Greengrass.

"I hear you visited a ground station in a helicopter" said Harry neutrally "Didn't sound very nice what you did."

"I was following orders. Part of getting paid." said Daphne Greengrass.

"Killing Russians under Russian orders?" asked Harry "A bit much like the war."

"Not everyone ducked out for a year and came back on the last day, Potter" said Daphne Greengrass bitterly "Some of us had to survive."

Harry considered rebutting that, and discarded the thought. "You should go see your mum" said Harry "See about settling down."

"Not bloody likely. Father wants to know where the husband is, and I'm not about to marry some moronic pureblood to make them happy" said Daphne "So no allowance, so a muggle job. So following orders."

"You're killing innocent people" said Harry "Stop, go home, before I have to do something I'd regret."

"You haven't got the guts Potter" said Greengrass, staring intently at Harry "and I talked Colonel Arkady out of using gas on them. A bullet was a mercy."

"Something quite nasty?" asked Harry.

"VX, which is quite bad I think" said Daphne Greengrass, she shrugged "Some muggle stuff."

"Very nasty" said Harry, and explained simply "Fly-spray for people. Couldn't you have confounded the good Colonel?"

"No" said Greengrass and her eyes narrowed "I bloody well couldn't. Ran afoul of Rookwood during the war, my father and I. Rookwood made an example of me"

"An example"?

"Bound my magic and snapped my wand" said Daphne Greengrass "My sister has a terminal illness, so the magical family line of Greengrass ends with father."

Harry blinked and thought about that. Shit. She'd been de-witchified. And, that explained the marry a moronic pureblood bit – and as a squib she'd… get the shit end of that stick.

"How'd you kill that general?" asked Harry, wondering if he could capture Major Onatopp.

"He had a heart attack." said Daphne Greengrass "One lap-dance and he died." Harry suddenly wished he had a different pair of swimmers on.

Daphne Greengrass pulled a pistol from her bathrobe and aimed it at Harry. Harry's optimistic bits shrank.

"Out of the water, Mr Bond" said Daphne Greengrass. "You are doubtless tasked with eliminating me."

Harry climbed out of the water, sucking in his belly, standing as tall as he could "Actually" he said "Still just to pump you for information. Obviously, I want you to stop working for Arkady."

Greengrass was well-trained enough to back into one of the arched side-rooms rather than lose the safety from physical attack that distance brought.

"You're not going to shoot me" said Harry confidently.

"Certainly not in the pool, I haven't had a swim yet" said Greengrass. "And I'm here till Wednesday, I don't want the pool closed for a dead body." Harry was annoyingly aware that he didn't have a bullet-repelling charm on right now. In hindsight, he thought, enchanting something, or much more easily, buying something like that from George, would be very convenient at times like this.

"Don't shoot me, I can help you, get you unbound" said Harry.

"Nobody can help me" said Greengrass "Prepare to be dead" she added in Russian.

"It's impossible, the spell couldn't possibly be undone" said Harry, he lifted his hands placatingly "I can do the impossible. I defeated Voldemort, after all."

Daphne Greengrass didn't flinch at the name, Harry noticed, he smiled optimistically. "Honest offer, I can help, I can get Kingsley Shacklebolt to bat for me, for you."

"The whole point of the magical binding is that it can't be undone." said Greengrass.

"I've got a wand, I can fake your death for the Russians" said Harry "You can side-along with me to a safe-house, and I suspect, I can break that spell myself."

"You can do something the entire criminal community can't do?" said Greengrass dismissively.

"Yup" said Harry. "None of them could beat Voldemort, I duelled him and lived at fourteen."

Greengrass looked thoughtful at that, and the gun wavered.

"And give me a dead-drop for Tracey Davis and I'll make sure she knows you're not really dead." Harry added.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked.

"Because I'm Harry bloody Potter" said Harry "I've never betrayed anyone."

"Weaselette" said Greengrass instantly.

"I broke up to protect her" said Harry instantly "She needed to be safe at Hogwarts."

"Nobody was safe at Hogwarts, Potter. That's how I got cursed in the first place." said Greengrass, sounding quite agitated. The gun jerkily pointed at his chest.

"There's a scar" said Greengrass suddenly, sounding surprised. "On your chest."

"Killing curse" said Harry. "Leaves a lightning bolt scar. Twice. I tell women it was a knife wound."

"Just below your ribs on the left." said Greengrass. Harry shifted uncomfortably, and lowered his hands a little. "Well, yes, that one was a knife. She stabbed me in bed."

"You really are rubbish then" said Greengrass, with a slight grin.

"She was an assassin." said Harry "She was quite pleased, till she decided to follow through with the stabbing."

"And then?" asked Greengrass.

"What do you think?" asked Harry seriously, then bent, and showed his left shoulder-blade "Hungarian horntail. Fractured my scapula."

"I was in the stands, Potter" said Greengrass. "What's on your right tricep?"

"Basilisk fang" said Harry. "Second year."

"You're such a bullshitter" said Greengrass, lifting the pistol to point at Harry's head.

"The headmaster's phoenix helped me fight the basilisk – he blinded it, and I stabbed it. Phoenix tears cure even basilisk poison."

"All to save Weaslelette." said Greengrass, sounding disbelieving. "She was only eleven, you creep."

"I'd have saved anyone." said Harry, lowering his hands "I'm trying to save you."

"You're trying" said Greengrass coldly "To save yourself."

"I think of it as a win-win scenario" said Harry, and tried his crooked grin. Greengrass, despite herself, smirked. Score one for Potter genetics, thought Harry.

"Turn around" said Greengrass, and Harry quirked his lips and turned, spreading his legs and arms to show off – women often complimented his arse afterwards.

"I'm going to shoot you in the spine" said Greengrass "Low enough that you'll be unable to get back to your room and bleed out, not die immediately." Harry's optimism evaporated.

"I am serious about helping you" said Harry, and he flexed his buttocks and lats, just in case.

Greengrass coughed "Nice try, Potter" she said.

The pistol fired, and Harry felt an explosion of pain in his back, as he fell, his legs unable to hold him. A curious coldness filled his lower body, He struggled to resist the pain, to lift his upper body, to turn, to see Greengrass.

"Sorry Potter" she said "Strictly business." and with that, she strode off. Harry spared a moment to note that he hadn't seen her in swimwear, more's the pity, before clawing open his mokeskin pouch and getting out wands, by feel, he went for the Elder wand, the berries easy to feel compared to his Holly wand's smoothness. The first spell, for the pain, strictly speaking a leprosy curse, made the second spell a lot easier, the first in a succession of tissue-repair spells. After three, Harry couldn't see blood flowing, and his light-headedness wasn't getting worse, so he flicked his wand at the entrance to the pool room, locking the doors, then a quick muggle-repelling charm. Harry, lying on his back, barely able to lift his arms, slowly cast tissue-repair spell after spell. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do emergency surgery on himself, but it felt like the most humiliating failure. He'd been shot in the back, after he'd flexed his arse. Maybe she was gay? That would explain why she hexed boys at school. Harry blinked and quit his wool-gathering, and went back to mending the hole through his body. It had been a small calibre pistol – and a fairly clean wound, apart from the spinal damage. Harry counted his luck at being a wizard, not a muggle, and cast the spinal repair spell Hermione had insisted he learn after he came back from work as a double-o with a near-death escape story. James Bond in the books never got shot in the bloody spine by a beautiful woman, that was for sure.

Harry finished the spinal spell, put his head down, rested his arms and waited. The warnings said the after-effect of the spell was painful. Harry screamed in agony as his entire lower body was suddenly pins and needles. It was almost as bad as the torture curse. Of course, if he'd lifted the leprosy curse, it'd be worse. Once the pins and needles faded to merely getting hexed levels of pain, Harry lifted the leprosy curse… before he injured himself. Not that today's shooting counted.

He had planted the seeds of Greengrass's chance to get back to normal – a quick cleaning charm and Harry' wasn't lying in his own blood anymore. Maybe he should nick off and get a bullet-repeller before getting shot again, Harry mused, as without the Elder wand, he'd be in hospital for days. Harry wiggled his toes. They moved. Standing proved nearly impossible – so he half dragged-half-crawled slowly to the exit door, and used the wall to climb till he was upright. He summoned a bathrobe – the pink scars looked a bit fresh and his swimsuit was still bloody. He fell over trying to put it on.

Harry conjured some crutches, and a tall stool and got the bathrobe on, and limped out, flicking the elder wand to remove the charms he'd laid.

Harry listened to the hokey Russian folk music as the elevator climbed, the wand against the crutches. Hopefully there would be no backup waiting for him, as he wasn't sure he could fight without a statute breach right now, and the Russian region's equivalent of Aurors were … an unforgiving bunch.

Fortune finally smiled on Harry, and after a slow limp to his room, there was no backup, and he got behind the door.

Harry leaned on the door, and thought slowly about his options. He really needed blood replenishing potion, and something for the pain. And a rest. But he was in the USSR, and he had no magical supplies except two wands and a few leftovers from the war. Hermione had wanted to make the mokeskin pouch space-expanded, but that was sort-of accepting that he'd get injured. Harry winced at that. He'd got injured before, but never this badly.

He made it to the sat-phone and called the office.

"United Exports?" said Moneypenny.

"Bond" said Harry "Moneypenny, I need you to go to my flat, and get the Lauglivin nineteen eighty, and send it to me, flash priority courier. I'm in room, thirteen eighteen…."

"The Moscow Hilton, yes" said Moneypenny. "Flash priority courier James, for a whisky bottle."

"It's a very special bottle" said Harry, not even lying. "And I've had a very disappointing experience and need the relief only it can bring."

"No" said Moneypenny over the phone.

"Go on, I'll take you to Ascot?" said Harry.

"Really?" asked Moneypenny breathily.

"Really" said Harry.

"I'll have it in flight in an hour" said Moneypenny, and hung up.

Harry smiled, and lay on the bed, gathering up his pistol from under the pillow. Using the bedside phone, he ordered room-service – "electrolyte drink, two litres, caviar, pate, crackers. Oh, and olives."

"With vodka" said the clerk.

"With vodka" Harry agreed. He could use it to get the blood out of his swimming shorts.

Room service took ten minutes, and in the mean-time, Harry cast a bullet-repelling charm and kept his hand on his pistol.

The bellhop rolled in the trolley.

"Your order, electrolyte drink, two litres, caviar, pate, crackers and olives" they said. A bottle of Vodka sat next to the electrolytes.

Harry nodded "Well done, have a tip."

"Where's the tip?" asked the bellhop.

Harry waved at his wallet "Take a fifty" he said, letting his pistol and hand out of his bathrobe. The bellhop paled a little, but took a fifty.

"Where is your company?" they asked at the door.

"Coming" said Harry "Go… have a nice night. Quietly" he added in Russian.

Harry spelled the door shut, cast a set of possibly overpowered protective charms, and drank electrolytes. He felt less dizzy. The pate had lots of iron, he supposed.

He was dozing when someone knocked on the door, and his sat-phone pinged.

Harry lifted the phone into view.

'Your delivery is at the door' was the text message.

Harry dispelled all the charms, stood up with difficulty, and stood by the door, and checked. The courier had a United Exports cap on. Harry, gun in hand, opened the door, and they came in, slowly.

"Delivery for Mr Bond" they said, tersely, holding a white fibreglass case that could hold a bottle.

"Open the case slowly" said Harry.

The courier rolled their eyes, and revealed, under bubble-wrap, Harry's bottle of whisky.

"Excellent" said Harry "Piss off."

"All this for a bloody bottle of scotch" grumbled the courier, and left. Harry waved his wand, locking the door, and sat back on the bed, resting on the wall, and opened the bottle with a shiuck. He lifted the top, and stuck his finger in "I solemnly swear I need a drink" he said, and the bottle shrank and expanded into a potions bottle. Neatly labelled 'Blood replenisher'.

Harry took a swig, gagged, and drank some more. He'd actually read the relevant page in 'Advanced potions-making', and the useful dose was quite a lot, and it was hardly toxic, till you drank cupfuls. Harry drank till he gagged, and capped the bottle, and the charms reverted the bottle to looking like very expensive scotch.

Harry went to sleep holding his gun.

He woke up feeling great. Well, not paralysed and not dead. There was a text message on the satphone from M.

'Call Me.'

Harry regarded the message, and instead went to the loo.

Afterwards, he polished off the slightly wilted snacks, and the remaining electrolyte. He dropped the remaining vodka into his bag with the carefully bubble-wrapped whisky.

Then he cleaned his teeth, got dressed, putting on all the gimmicks Q branch had issued him, and the holster for the pistol, and considered his options. He could put off calling M for another minute or ten.

He called. She left him ringing for ages.

"M" she said over the phone.

"Bond" said Harry.

"You used a flash priority courier to get a bottle of whisky delivered to your hotel room" said M, sounding greatly irritated.

"I really needed it" said Harry blandly, wiggling his toes. Nearly normal now.

"Latest intelligence places your actual target, the thing you're being paid to do, in the eighth district." said M. "Get positioned, we will make her today."

Harry rolled his eyes "They're moving on Wednesday night" said Harry.

"How do you know that?" asked M sharply.

"I pumped Onatopp for information last night" said Harry.

"That's not safe" said M rather loudly. "She's unstable."

"I'm aware of that" said Harry unironically. "I'm a professional" he exaggerated.

"Ensure you weren't bugged." said M.

"Oh I was very careful" lied Harry. "Responsible even."

Harry could practically see M's face, mouth like a cats' bum.

"Eighth district. Use the CIA contact." said M "Moscow rules."

"Of course" said Harry.

"And if you ever use a flash courier for personal drinks again, I will have you fired" said M.

M hung up. Harry shrugged, packed up his bag and called Roscoe from the CIA.

Roscoe picked him up in the Trabant, from outside the hotel.

"No bags?" asked Roscoe once they rattled off in a cloud of blue smoke.

"I"m staying till Wednesday" said Harry.

"Great thing is, with this thing's ignition and noise, no bugs work" said Roscoe "You clean?"

"Thoroughly. Eighth district – I should get a call with a location today." said Harry.

"I get the same elint you get secondhand" said Roscoe.

"And yet, we are allies" said Harry ironically.

"Anywhere you're not supposed to go today?" asked Roscoe, after being overtaken by gangsters in a black Zil.

"A dodgy club owned by my least favourite ex KGB officer?" asked Harry "He will know things, but… he's in the mafia now."

"We're not loaded for that sort of trouble Bond" said Roscoe. "Low profile."

"I'll be discreet" said Harry.

"My boss said the sun shines out of your skinny limey arse" said Roscoe "Did you really just recover a nuke?"

"Like I said, I'll be subtle, and discreet. You drop me off, act like a cabbie, and I'll go in."

"I'll have to go back for a sniper rifle" said Roscoe, swerving around a stray dog.

"I don't need a sniper" said Harry "I'm going to ask questions, then leave."

"Least favourite?" asked Roscoe.

"I shot him once" said Harry "Nothing personal." He was struck by the feeling that should he, for example find Major Onattopp in the sauna, he wouldn't shoot her. He'd charm her – with a day to think about it, and the guilt for thinking she'd killed him, she'd be putty in his hands. His scrotum tingled.

Harry went into the not-yet-open nightclub Yuri owned. He ignored the singer practising – He'd heard Crookshanks sing better.

Yuri's men led Harry over to Yuri, as Harry had expected. Yuri waved them off.

Harry shot the couch between Yuri's legs. "Hello Yuri" he said, gun level on Yuri's belly.

"Walther PPK" said Yuri looking up"Only one man still alive I know uses one. Hello Bond."

"Yuri, how are you?" asked Harry. For some weird reason, Yuri reminded Harry of Hagrid.

"I'm retired" said Yuri, "My leg, where you shot me, hurts when it's cold. This is Russia, it's often cold. Why shouldn't my men take you out the back and kill you?"

"Because I want information" said Harry "And the man I am After- Colonel Arkady, is killing Russians. He's stolen launch codes for – don't worry, not nukes, but somewhat worse, and is using some confusion in the chain of command to move around the USSR. I have heard he is using one of the old command and control trains."

"Killing Russians?" asked Yuri, very casually, "why should I care.?"

"Because you love your country. Maybe not in government these days, but they're hardly on the people's side these days?" said Harry.

Yuri shrugged.

"He has VX, and will use it on Russians" said Harry softly.

"Fucker" Yuri swore. He waved dismissively to his distant men, who left, confused.

"And so?" asked Harry.

"South eastern central rail station number four" said Yuri "Someones' got uniformed guards, a big old train, and nobody knows why."

"That's our man" said Harry. "I appreciate the information."

"I would still like to kill you" said Yuri.

Harry looked around the room – nobody could see him, and he put a hand in his pocket, holding his wand, and sat down next to Yuri.

"Yesterday, a nice Siberian girl shot me" said Harry. Yuri snorted. "I like her already" he said.

Harry slipped his wand out and tapped Yuri with his wand , silently petrifying him. A couple of tissue-repair charms on Yuri's leg, and finally. 'Obliviate' Harry left a memory of a conversation that was bullshit, and left, feeling a bit guilty, muggles didn't heal like wizards and witches.

He found Roscoe, as expected, beyond the corner at the end of the street. His back ached.

"You all right?" asked Roscoe.

"Old Injury" lied Harry "Hurts when it's cold."

"You're pretty young to be old" said Roscoe, starting the Trabant.

"This job's not one people do for decades" said Harry – he'd seen the files, most double-o's lasted a few years, a decade at most.

"Where are we going?" asked Roscoe.

"We're certainly not going to South eastern central rail station number four" said Harry "Uniformed Guards, big old train, nobody knows why. It's probably our man, but lots of guards. Something subtle."

"You only shot twice" said Roscoe. Harry frowned. "Parabolic mike" explained Roscoe "Gunshots are loud."

"Just saying hello" said Harry, trying to think of a subtle plan for getting into the train, catching Arkady. And not getting killed, that would be important too.

"So what's the plan?" asked Roscoe, after several near misses in traffic.

"I don't know yet" said Harry "I know where he is, where his hitter is, I don't know where the witness, who knows what's going on is. Should know today."

"You've been in town one day, and spent most of it in the hotel?" asked Roscoe.

"We get the same sigint" said Harry blandly.

They found the train station, a vast sprawling rail-yard, and the razor-wire section was a bit distinctive. Armed guards, dogs, guns.

"In there?" said Roscoe "That'll take some subtlety."

"Hmm" said Harry. "We need to scope it out."

"Spotting scope under the back seat" said Roscoe "that apartment block to the right?"

Harry and Roscoe went off to look down on the rail-yard from a tall apartment-block.

After an hour, they had a rough map. It looked pretty difficult.

"You'd need a company – and we're not trying to start a war here." said Roscoe.

"Well" said Harry "I'll have to get on after it's left. Train-lines aren't guarded in the countryside."

"You want a horse and a stetson?" asked Roscoe "You're going to hold up a train full of soldiers"?

"I've live through worse plans" said Harry very candidly.

"You Brits are crazy." said Roscoe. "Track the train with a satellite, see where he goes."

"They know we can see trains" said Harry "They'll leave in a tunnel, switch trains, have a decoy, or carry a helicopter. Something to make just watching with a satellite they know we have not work."

"Well, I guess you'll need a horse?" said Roscoe, jokingly.

"A map. They're going to head out of Moscow" said Harry.

Roscoe took Harry to a small grimy office that should be a car painters – with an armoured door behind the roller door, and they looked at a high-resolution map of Moscow. Roscoe's finger traced the route.

"Somewhere along there" said Roscoe.

Harry tore off the part of the map he needed.

"Hey!" said Roscoe "that's my good map!"

"And it fits in my pocket now" said Harry.

They went to get lunch – and had potato borscht.

"Needs bacon" said Harry.

Harry's phone rang on the way back to Roscoe's office.

"Your target has been arrested by the KGB. She is in Bolemo jail, we will have a cell number in a few minutes" said Moneypenny.

"Bolemo Jail" said Harry to Roscoe "My target's in a cell now."

"Are you insane?" asked Roscoe, rhetorically.

"Not entirely" said Harry to Roscoe "Thank you Moneypenny." said Harry.

Roscoe stopped a block away.

"And how are you going to get in"? Asked Roscoe.

Harry waited, and the text message arrived. 'Cell 119, level 3, ingress code 87112, east door'

"I'm going to walk in" said Harry casually, "Pick her up and leave."

"It's a jail" said Roscoe simply "A KGB jail. You're a spy, they'll torture you."

"They have to stop me first" said Harry. "I have a code for the east door, if I look like I'm important, the guards will just ignore me."

After a particularly dashing rescue, – and the target was pretty cute, thought Harry, as he swung her across a gallery, there was slight stuff-up and he lost the target to Colonel Arkady. Harry ended up stealing a tank to pursue a car with Colonel Arkady and the target in it.

He'd got a little outnumbered, that was all.

After driving the tank through several walls, and crushing a few cars, he lost them.

Harry ditched the tank, and less than a minute later, was in Roscoe's Trabant.

"Subtle" said Roscoe, ironically.

"Nearly worked" said Harry.

"I'm impressed. You're not dead, or in prison. What now?" asked Roscoe.

"My hotel. They're not leaving till Wednesday."

Harry went – casting a bullet-repelling charm and a glamour to hide the scarring, to the sauna that evening.

He soaked in a hot pool to get the kinks from today out. That tank seat had been really uncomfortable, and he'd been jarred every time he knocked a wall down.

After he felt rested, he went snooping, looking to find Major Onatopp.

And he found her swimming laps in a one-piece.

"I shot you" said Greengrass.

"Magic" said Harry "Which, I can help you get back."

She walked out of the pool – nice legs, and went over to a trolley with a bathrobe and towels, and wrapped her hair in a towel. Harry ogled her arse politely as she did that, and then… she had a gun in her hand from under a towel. Harry eyed the gun and tried not to ogle her waist. She was in really good shape.

She shot him – again. And the charm must have worn off, because … she'd hit him in the spine again. Harry collapsed onto the floor.

As Harry drank more blood replenishing potion in his hotel room, he wondered if two second chances was too many. On the other hand, he'd seen Daphne Greengrass in a one-piece swimsuit, and it was a very good memory. She had a really nice figure. Not seventeen-year-old Fleur – but even Fleur looked better in her twenties. If only she'd stop shooting him. Maybe next time, he'd disarm her properly. Still, when she'd lifted her arms to wrap the towel on, her boobs had been clearly outlined. And those were nice boobs.

Harry spent the next day making up a bullshit plan for Roscoe, and decided to apparate onto the train, stun and obliviate to preserve the statute, then just start doing James-Bond things with the PPK.

-==0==-

Colonel Arkady did, as Harry's paranoia had suggested, have a helicopter- of course he did, as he had a helicopter pilot. Who, it had to be said, didn't successfully shoot Harry, or the Target. Harry had made absolutely sure he had a bullet-repelling charm on.

Harry spent a bit of time during the firefight protecting the target.

Natalya was a clever looking woman with short brown hair and chocolate eyes that reminded Harry of Ginny. She smiled nervously "This time, you save me, yes?" she said, and laughed nervously.

"Yes" said Harry. "And then we leave, and maybe you know where Arkady is going?"

"The backup site" said Natalya, nodding "Is backup ground station."

"Oh" said Harry – his briefing hadn't mentioned it.

"It's in Cuba" said Natalya. "I'm not sure where."

"Cuba?" said Harry, standing in a partially destroyed train in the Russian countryside.

"An island off the coast of America?" asked Natalya.

"I know roughly where Cuba is" said Harry, with a chuckle. "I'll get us a lift."

Harry phoned Moneypenny.

"United exports?" asked the operator.

"Moneypenny" said Harry, and got connected through.

"Hello James" said Moneypenny.

"Bond" said Harry "Extraction, with target. We're going to Cuba. A backup site."

"Oh my" said Moneypenny.

Harry took Natalya to hide in a small copse.

A car arrived three hours later, and Harry and Natalya were whisked off to a safe-house, and Natalya measured and briefed on how she would be extracted. By canal to Odessa, then James would take Aeroflot to Turkey, while Natalya was smuggled out – the KGB were still looking for her, almost certainly.

Harry, with a nice fake id for Natalya, met a slightly paler Natalya in Istanbul at the docks, and took delivery of her, and escorted her to his hotel. He had his gun in his coat pocket.
"Your own room, or in mine, mine's safer, you're probably safe in your own." said Harry.

"Yours" said Natalya "The KGB are after me."

Harry sat on the couch – Natalya ate room-service with gusto.

"This is really good" she enthused. "Baklava is great."

"Better than potato borscht" admitted Harry.

"On a cold night, it's nice to warm you up" said Natalya.

"We're going to Cuba. The second bag's got clothes for you." said Harry.

Their flight via Heathrow to the Bahamas was booked in first class. Harry caught up on sleep.

Natalya spent it wearing a headset, watching the film on the front wall of the cabin.

The driver at the airport used the right challenge code, so Harry didn't shoot him. The hotel seemed nice enough.

Natalya chose to be in James – Harry's room.

Harry checked his phone. Pickup from the beach in a day, seaplane to Cuba.

"We have a day off. Rest." said Harry. "Do you need any special tools?"

"I have my brain" said Natalya. "Keep me safe, and I can show you how to disable the ground station."

James Bond would eat clam chowder, according to Harry's research, but he hated it, and he had jerked chicken instead.

After dinner Natalya decided to come to James's room. Harry went to the en-suite bathroom to clean his teeth, ensuring his breath wasn't too spicy, and slick back his hair a little.

"James?" cooed Natalya from the bed.

'This is for you dad' thought Harry, and winked into the mirror, and went to bed.

"Oh James!" gasped Natalya later. Harry smiled to himself. He still had it. Not that it applied to witches, or anything. Harry's mood flagged immediately. He rolled to one side and Natalya gazed over at him "Thank you, I… I don't usually do that." she said.

"Well, we've had some frightening experiences" said Harry, feeling a twinge in his lower back. Bloody Greengrass.

Harry took Natalya to the beach, both dressed at tourists. Harry brought along a picnic bag, including a blanket, courier case of whisky, and bottle of vodka. And a change of clothes for both of them; clothes suitable for jungle exploration.

The seaplane landed over at the beach, the pilot nodded to James, and took the rental car. James flew it low towards Cuba. It was a bit like taking a girl for a ride on your broom, thought Harry. But less draughty.

As the tiny plane flew low towards Cuba, Harry put on a small backpack with rope, rappelling gear, and more importantly, the shipping case with some really expensive whisky. Just in case.

Natalya pointed at a lake on the map "The base is hidden, the master dish is submerged in a valley till needed."

"Fancy" said Harry.

"Stops Yankee spy satellites" said Natalya "There is a maintenance entrance to the towers on the hillside. I've never been here, but the plans were on the local network behind only a sixty-four bit encryption; they practically wanted us to read them."

They flew closer, and rather unexpectedly, a small missile shot out of the lake, and hit the plane.

Harry did his best to crash-land them without dying, and was quite proud that neither of them were seriously injured.

They got out of the plane, and Harry tried to work out where they were relative to the base.

Then he heard a helicopter. He helped Natalya to hide behind a thick tree, and peered through the canopy, trying to make the chopper. A civil chopper, no weapons.

"It's not armed" said Harry. Then the bullets started coming through the leaves.

Greengrass slid down a rope, spraying the jungle with bullets. Harry aimed carefully at the hovering Helicopter, it was a much bigger target, and fired. As he'd expected, the pilot lunged the chopper sideways, to avoid getting shot by the bullet that cracked a hole in the windscreen.

Greengrass, tied on like a marionette, jerked backwards, and her rope got caught in a tree; she was pulled back into a fork and Harry heard the crack as her spine snapped. He resisted the urge to laugh, fired once more, and severed the rope, which sprang upwards, caught in the rotor, and crashed the chopper. Harry lowered his Walther PPK. Assassin and helicopter, two bullets. Harry felt proud.

Natalya pressed herself against his side "Oh James!" she said "You're amazing!"

Harry's scrotum predicted an almost certainty of hot Russian computer programmer shagging him later. And not that much later.

There was an entrance where Natalya thought it would be. Harry reloaded his PPK and opened the door. They sneaked in, and Harry planted some time-bombs as directed on essential equipment that didn't have a backup.

"Now, we can hack into the system, disable the controls, and you and some… people with guns can go and stop Colonel Arkady and Boris, and then – "

"It can be destroyed" said Harry.

"It can be returned to the soviet people" said Natalya primly.

Harry rolled his eyes, and went looking for bad guys to shoot.

And got a tiny bit captured while Natalya used the computer. Harry had been multitasking, keeping a lookout and looking down her blouse at the same time. They were nice breasts.

Harry therefore met Boris, and Colonel Arkady.

He already disliked the colonel, and quickly, within seconds, hated the way Boris leered at Natalya. Jerk. That was his hot Russian computer programmer, not Boris's.

"Natalya has changed the control passwords, and encrypted the control software" said Boris "We will need the password."

Colonel Arkady had his goons tie Harry and Natalya to office chairs, and rooted around in Harry's bag.

"Scotch, Vodka, rope, rapelling harness, and a sunhat." said Colonel Arkady "Such terrible planning. Here Boris, have commemorative Pen!" Colonel Arkady threw Boris Harry's pen-grenade.

Harry watched Boris play with it, one click arms,… two disarms. He tried to keep track of when Boris might explode.

"Natalya, tell comrade Boris the passwords" said Colonel Arkady.

"James" hissed Natalya "Save us!"

"Oh, you have betrayed the motherland for this… Gigolo" said Colonel Arkady, drawing a pistol, and aiming at Harry's leg.

"Tell Boris the password, and the gigolo will still be able to dance" said Colonel Arkady.

Natalya shook her head, and Colonel Arkady shot Harry in the thigh. Harry winced in pain.

He eyed the leg, and he didn't seem to be bleeding out. Hurt like hell though.

"Oh James, I'm so sorry" said Natalya. 'Not as sorry as I am,' thought Harry.

Natalya stalled them, till the time-bombs went off, the light going off, and being replaced with red emergency lights. Clearly the site was busted now.

Harry tried to ignore the pain in his leg.

At this point, Boris killed himself with James's rigged ballpoint pen. Well, he set of a huge leak of liquid nitrogen and froze, leaving a pile of broken glass.

Colonel Arkady was still holding a gun to Natalya's head, and Harry had plans for that, so he threw a stapler into the Colonel's big nose.

The Colonel shot… Natalya in the head, and fell, clutching his nose. Harry, royally annoyed, stood up, bent and turned and whacked Colonel Arkady around the head with the base of the chair. Colonel Arkady fell down, and Harry, dreading the pain from his gunshot leg, kicked his head… to a satisfying crunch.

Harry used a bit of broken glass from Boris's desk to cut the ropes, and got his wand out; quick healing charms to stop the bleeding, another, leg up to heal his thigh. He knelt and checked the Natalya… Ew, ugly hole in her head, lots of dark read blood and her eyes were staring and … well dead.

Bugger, thought Harry. He swigged some of his disguised blood replenishing potion, capped the bottle, cast a bullet-repelling charm on himself, and packed his bag, taking Colonel Arkady's weapon, and carefully left the base, retracing his route with a bullet-repelling charm on.

Which was interrupted with many annoying firefights. The Colonels' men were persistent, but Harry had the same gun as them now, so they provided ammo as they died.

His ears were ringing from gunshots when he finally got out of the complex back into the jungle.

He retraced his route towards the crashed light plane – the locator beacon could be armed now, and he could maybe call on his sat-phone.

As Harry passed Onatopp suspended in the trees, she croaked faintly.

Harry spun and lined his pistol up on her.

"Help" she croaked.

Harry seize-and-pull charmed himself up the tree, and eyed Greengrass. She had blood coming out of her mouth, and her arms weren't moving.

"You keep trying to kill me" said Harry.

"Save me?" whispered Greengrass.

Harry cast a full-body-bind on her; she straightened up and started to fall out of the tree; Harry levitated her to the ground and size-and-pull charmed himself down.

Greengrass started to choke on her own blood.

Harry sighed and cast a muggle-repelling charm, then started on medical charms. She gasped.

"Thank you" she croaked.

Harry cast another bone-knitting charm, and then a diagnostic spell. A vague impression came to Harry that she had some more broken vertebrae. And, all around her, a sort of tangled black curse.

"I'm going to knock you out while I mend your spine. It's very painful." said Harry.

She rolled her eyes, and Harry stunned her.

Drawing out the Elder wand, he cast a couple of bone-knitters, and a spinal repair charm, then repeated the medical diagnosis spell. Under the influence of the Elder wand, Harry's mind was bombarded with details of multiple injuries in great detail. Broken clavicles – shame they were pretty clavicles, ruptured spleen, punctured lungs, more spinal damage, the black curse, wrapping around Greengrass, like some sort of snake, eating it's own tail, circling and covering her, and a curse on her girl bits; some sort of sterilisation curse.

It all looked far too complicated to Harry, so he mended the spinal damage, the spleen, the lungs, the clavicles.

Harry undid Onatopp – Greengrass's combat jacket. She was wearing a bulletproof vest under it, and Harry just vanished that. Under that, a t-shirt and some sort of bra. Harry vanished the t-shirt, and the bra was a sports bra, quite a decent cleavage… and her clavicles, Harry opened up her shirt more. The left clavicle was crooked… and that was an insult to such pretty calvicles, so Harry gingerly bone-broke it and re-cast his bone-knitter. This time it was the same as the right side. Harry did up her jacket, not staring at Greengrass's breasts. He wasn't going to be a creep and vanish her bra.

Harry rolled her over fairly gently and checked her back – there was a lot of blood. He contemplated checking it… he'd seen her back in Monaco, and it was a lovely thing. But… Harry felt time was running out. He rolled her over, put away the Elder wand, and woke her.

She blinked, and her legs twitched.

"It's quite painful for a while" said Harry mildly "I had to operate on your chest, I left your bra on. I've got blood-replenisher, you need a couple of cupfuls."

"My chest?"

"Lungs, spleen, clavicles" said Harry mildly "Urgent is done, more later."

Harry knelt, opened his pack and took out the whisky carrier, and opened it.

"Single-malt?" asked Greengrass weakly.

Harry opened and un-disguised the bottle, and waved it "Blood replenisher." He conjured a cup with a baby-sipper and filled it.

"Here" said Harry softly "If you try to sit up you'll pass out from blood loss"

Greengrass sipped blood replenisher from the baby sipper-cup modelled on one he'd fed Teddy Lupin with.

After two cups, Greengrass looked less deathly, and just pale.

"You're still injured too badly to survive in the jungle" said Harry "And people are going to be looking for you. I could probably transfigure you into something inanimate to smuggle you past the KGB and CIA?"

"Can you even do that?" asked Greengrass, sounding dead tired.

"I could disguise you as the Russian girl, but that would mean going back and disguising her as you" said Harry.

"She's dead?" asked Greengrass.

"Colonel Arkady shot her; though she neutralised the system first." said Harry.

"Brave girl" said Greengrass, sounding sincere. "Colonel Arkady's dead right?"

"I snapped his spine with my boot" said Harry, not mentioning the stapler.

"Can Onatopp be dead?" asked Greengrass wheezily. Harry made a note to check her for more injuries later.

Harry summoned the corpse of the last guard he'd shot from the base, and it landed with a thud next to Greengrass and he hastily transfigured it to look like Greengrass.

"You used a man" said Greengrass.

"I transfigured him to look like you" said Harry, and switching-charmed the corpse and Greengrass.

"OY!" said Greengrass "Those were my knickers.!"

Harry banished the corpse into the tree, and hit it with a few knock-back jinxes to jam it in place, then a volley of five bone-breakers.

"The body had voided itself" said Greengrass evenly.

Harry shrugged, and cast a cleaning charm on her. The outside of the uniform cleaned up.

"I'm lying in shit and piss" said Greengrass, swallowing.

Harry bent down, and slid the trouser zipper down, and very slowly inserted his wand.

"You try poking me with that –" started Greengrass, and Harry scourgify'ed the inside of the trousers. She gave a yelp of surprise.

"And now, inside the pants" said Harry.

"I hate you" said Greengrass.

"One cleaning charm" said Harry.

Greengrass lifted her shaking hands, and undid the trouser buckle, and pulled the sides apart , exposing black pants.

Harry slid the tip of is wand under the pants, and cast a cleaning charm. Greengrass inhaled sharply.

"That got it?" asked Harry.

"How could I tell?" asked Greengrass. Harry cleaned the inside of the trousers again.

Greengrass fumbled the zipper up, and did up the fastener.

Harry eyed the uniform, thought about Greengrass, and sticking-charmed the jacket to the pants.

"What?" asked Greengrass.

"There's no way the belt's short enough for you" said Harry.

Greengrass tried to sit up and hissed in pain, and lay back.

"I missed a few less critical things" said Harry.

"I can't walk" gasped Greengrass.

"I'll um… make you into a wine-bottle and carry you home that way" said Harry.

"A wine bottle?" asked Greengrass, eyebrows up.

"Okay, Champagne" said Harry.

"If you kill me doing that, I'm going to haunt you" said Greengrass.

Harry stunned her, took out the vodka bottle, and used the Elder wand to transfigure her into a bottle that was its exact replica. The real bottle of Vodka, Harry poured on his leg, getting most of the blood off, and healing up with a few tissue-repair transfigurations. He mending-charmed the hole in his trousers away, and threw the empty Vodka bottle away, loaded his pack, and began to walk towards open ground.

Harry was just about to make a phone call from a nice clearing, when Roscoe, wearing a ghille suit, stood up next to Harry.

"Hello" said Roscoe. "How's tricks?" Harry hadn't panicked, probably because he was too tired.

"The weapon's neutralised, Colonel Arkady's dead, and our ally's dead too" said Harry. "I think the base is clear."

Roscoe waved one hand, and the open grassy ground around Harry stood up, a platoon of US Marines in ghillie suits.

"Well, you've got things in hand" said Harry.

"You don't happen to have a portable control system for it in your backpack?" asked Roscoe.

Harry shook his head "We're allies, Roscoe, that's very untrusting of you." Harry lowered his back-pack, and opened it up, taking out the Whisky carrier.

"Single malt" said Harry "Very old, very off."

"And you keep it?"

"My father bought it when I was born" said Harry.

"Oh, it any good?" asked Roscoe.

"You wouldn't like it" said Harry "Besides – there's a complex to check with your marines."

The marine Sargent made a hand gesture and they headed into the jungle.

"I left an easy trail to an entrance" said Harry rather loudly.

"You need medical care?" asked Roscoe.

"Little lacerated, nothing I can't live with" said Harry.

Harry was given a lift in a Chinook back to the aircraft carrier, and then by E3 to land, and tiresomely a civil flight home to England.

-==0==-

The Her Majesty's customs Officer, a tired looking Indian woman, looked at Bond, standing in line at Gatwick.

"Anything to declare?" they asked in a scouse accent.

"Two bottles, one whisky, one vodka." said Harry "Both under a litre"

"Orange lane" said the officer, sliding Bond's passport back to him.

Bond got out of the taxi in Mayfair, and unlocked the outer door, and let it close behind him. The inner door, he used the keypad to open, and it clicked loudly. He left the larger bag on the floor in his front room, put away the "Single malt whisky" in his drinks cupboard, and dragged the small backpack upstairs, took out the vokda bottle and vanished with a crack of disapparation.

Harry reappeared in an old Victorian bathroom, tiled in gloss black. There was a pedestal sink and a claw-footed bath in addition to a high tanked toilet. . He put the vodka bottle in the bath gently.

"KREACHER!" Harry said loudly, and after a long pause, there was a pop, and a two-foot high, hunched, dirty old house elf appeared, and looked up at Harry.

"Bad master calls" croaked Kreacher.

"I need all the library's medical spellbooks. Here, right now." said Harry.

Kreacher vanished with a pop.

Harry took out his phone and checked his messages.

Time passed.

Kreacher appeared with a pop, holding a pile of books taller than himself.

Harry conjured a chair, and started to search for spells.

He started discarding books onto the floor, and others into a pile in the sink.

He drew out the Elder wand, and tapped the bottle 'Finite' and instead of a bottle, a dirty combat uniformed Daphne Greengrass lay in the bath.

She gasped loudly.

Harry picked up a book, and cast a spell ; a blue jet hit Greengrass. She frowned at Harry.

Harry flicked through the pages, and cast another spell.

Once the pile of books was gone from the sink, Harry jabbed her uniform "Finite incantaten" he said, and the jacket shifted a little. Then Harry poked her in the head and cast "Finite Incantaten" again, and the wand vibrated, then Greengrass screamed. A loud, very high-pitched scream that made the room practically vibrate.

Harry eyed the groggy looking Greengrass, and said simply "Obliviate!"

Then he put the Elder wand away, took out his Holly wand, and said "Harry Potter did all the spells with his Holly wand, and you never saw any other wand." Greengrass nodded.

Harry clicked his fingers, and Greengrass groaned.

"That really hurts" she said.

Harry banished the spellbooks out the door, and summoned a dressing gown silently. It was green embroidered with green paisley.

"Have a bath" said Harry "I'll be around. Don't go outside, there's a house elf called Kreacher, and the library will probably kill you."

With that, Harry got up from the chair, vanished it, and left the bathroom.

Daphne Greengrass looked around the dismal old bathroom. The English nameplate on the toilet cistern 'Duxford Hygienic' told her she was in England. She felt terrible, and smelt worse. The uniform she was wearing itched, she wiggled her feet- the boots were far too big. She levered herself out of the bathtub, closed the door, hanging on the doorknob, and locked it with an ornate little brass lock that tingled under her fingers. She eyed her fingers. The lock had tingled under her fingers. She eyed her fingers – not rotting or falling off. She touched the lock. It felt… cold. She turned the knob, and it unlocked with an audible snick, and the knob tingled under her fingers. As if it was magic. As if she could feel some magic again.

She locked the door and saw in one corner, an ornate, cast-iron chair. She made it on one lurching stagger, and sat down on a chair that sprang faintly under her weight.

She undid the jacket, dropped it on the floor. Bullet-holes in the back, and she had a striped t-shirt on under that, far too big, that she pulled off. No sign of her bra, but she had broad red lines on her chest from… she vaguely remembered her combat harness pulling her into a tree. Her arms hurt to lift, she fingered a clavicle… sore. Like a recently mended bone.

She eyed the waistband of the trousers, and undid it, pulled the zipper down, and lifted one booted foot. The boots had zippers, she had them off, and the socks – stinky, off too. She wiggled her white toes on the black tile floor. It felt warmer than it should.

She stood up and the trousers and pants slid off, the trousers hitting the floor, the pants hung up on her 'childbearing hips'. She knelt at the bath, gritting her teeth at the pain in her back. Plug in, Taps on, it started to fill with warm water. Rusty at first.

Daphne used the side of the tub to lever herself upright, and made a lunge for the sink, the mirror showed her – her own face, dirty, bloody, but her own, her naked body, dirty, fouled, marked from the harness. She eyed the sink-top; and there was soap. She pulled at the mirror, and it swung open, revealing a deep dark cupboard full of bottles.

She threw a flannel behind her, and rummaged in the ancient bottles, finally staggering over with a bottle of honey-coloured viscous liquid, and pouring some in, the bathwater started to froth. Daphne poured in more, and the sniffed. A faint scent.

She staggered back to the cabinet, and searched … finding an almost empty bottle of green liquid, which was drained into the bath too. She sniffed… pine scent.

She tossed the flannel from the towel rail into the bath, used it as a hand-rail and got herself two black towels. She sniffed them dubiously, and surprised, that they didn't stink, carried them to the bath, and put one pointy finger in. She lowered her hand in and waved it about, stirring the bath. Once it got elbow deep, she stopped the water, stood shakily, pulled off the black mens pants, and stepped into the bath, descending into the froth.

After soaking for a while, she took the soap and flannel, and got clean, mostly. Something on her back hurt to touch. She even cleaned her ears – finding unexpected leaf mould in one.

She lay back in the much diminished foam, and closed her eyes.

-==0==-

There was no sign of Major Onatopp – Daphne Greengrass, Harry corrected himself. Kreacher had made up the first guest bedroom, and it was vacant.

"KREACHER!" called Harry. Kreacher appeared with a pop.

"Bad Master calls" grumbled Kreacher.

"Where is the witch I brought here?" asked Harry.

"Master's whore is not here" said Kreacher.

Harry took a slow, careful breath, then another. He wasn't letting Kreacher wind him up. "I brought a blonde witch here, left her in the second floor bathroom" said Harry. "Where is she?"

Kreacher vanished with a pop. Harry waited. And waited, and Kreacher reappeared.

"Bad master is senile" croaked Kreacher "The stranger is in the bathroom."

"It's been hours" said Harry. Kreacher almost shrugged.

Harry walked upstairs, down the short side-hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

No reply.

"Kreacher!" called Harry. Kreacher appeared silently.

"Go in, check on her. She was injured, maybe she's unconscious" said Harry.

Kreacher crossed his arms and did nothing.

"Kreacher, I agave you an order. Go check on the witch." said Harry.

Kreacher shook his head "Witch is asleep in bath. Kreacher will not wake a witch in the bath. Mistress was most unhappy when woken in the bath."

Harry banged loudly on the door "GREENGRASS!" he shouted "WAKE UP!"

From behind the door there was muffled swearing.

Kreacher looked up smugly at Harry "Kreacher knows. Master is the senile one."

"She's not asleep now, go and wait on her." said Harry. "She may need help moving, check if she needs more medical care. I have some healing potions, blood replenisher."

"If the witch in the bath needs blood replenisher, Master is insane" croaked Kreacher snugly.

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a world without Kreacher. With a servant who didn't maliciously saw floor joists, or banisters. He opened his eyes, and Kreacher was still there.

"Kreacher, the witch was caught in… an accident that broke her ribs and spine. I healed her lungs and spleen, but she may need more blood replenisher." said Harry.

Kreacher shook his head, his batlike ears waggling "Hexing witches will not make them want senile Master…. Well almost certainly not." he croaked.

Harry wondered to himself if Hermione would actually notice if Kreacher was accidentally shot in the head with a Walther PPK. He could claim the old elf had died of natural causes.

"I'm not trying to woo this witch Kreacher, I'm giving her a second-ish chance to live a life where I don't have to kill her." said Harry.

Kreacher sighed, his ears sagging, and the old elf stared at the floor glumly. Harry resisted the urge to assault Kreacher for attempting to guilt Harry into dating. He met LOTS of women, shagged them silly and left. It was fantastic. He remembered Natalya, who'd been shot in the head just a day a ago. He felt… sad at that. She'd been quite pretty and remarkably adventurous in bed after an initial… naivety.

"Kreacher, go through the door, and tend to the witch. Her name is Daphne Greengrass, and as I said, she may need help moving. Guest bedroom, and meals." said Harry.

"And clothes?" asked Kreacher.

"Um… the clothes she came in don't fit, and are covered in stuff, so vanish them, dig out some women's clothes?" said Harry.

"Kreacher hears, Kreacher obeys" said Kreacher, and vanished with a pop.

The shrill feminine scream from the other side of the door suggested Kreacher was doing as he was told.

"YOU LITTLE PERVERT!" yelled Greengrass from behind the door, and a loud THUD rattled the floor.

Kreacher started babbling from behind the door. Harry walked off – this was not his problem anymore, and maybe he could pop through the fireplace to Diagon Alley, pick up some potions. He'd used a lot of what little he had left on Greengrass, after all. Some hangover cure, for starters, and some food at Grimmauld would be a good idea…

Harry took the hairbrush off the mantelpiece, and used the Weasleys Chameleon comb to disguise himself as having Brown hair and blue eyes, and thew in floo powder. The fire went green and Harry stepped in; wincing – flooing was objectively worse than HALO jumping; he'd done both.

The Leaky Cauldron was bustling. Harry dusted off his casual muggle suit, and went out the door to the back room before anyone recognised him.

A spare chameleon comb (actually a brush) from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, another pair of enchanted glasses from Theia's Lognettery, and a box of groceries from Half-inch Tony's food emporium. Harry had no idea why it was called Half-inch Tony's and he didn't care. The bacon was good, that was what mattered. Harry finished his trip at 'Salizerie's Specialist Potions' buying an entire bottle of blood replenisher, pain potions, hangover remedy, and a bottle of contraceptive potion – a perfect distraction.

"Anything else?" asked the shopkeeper, who was tall, gaunt and looked like he'd find Severus Snape too cheery.

"I think my wife will be happy-er now" said Harry, using what Kreacher had babbled on about as a legend.

"Is your lady wife in particular discomfort, or… merely miffed?" asked probably Salizerie.

"The house elf woke her in the bath and she screamed and threw something heavy at him" said Harry blandly.

Salizerie nodded, and went out the back, returning with a glass bottle shaped like a caltrop, with viscous black liquid slopping in it. "My special recipe for … .witches complaints" said Salizerie.

"A little in her tea?" asked Harry. "Is it undetectable?" he added blandly.

"It's not a poison." said Salizerie "A cap-full a day will see her troubles reduce."

"Well she did try to kill me twice last week" admitted Harry. Salizerie smiled ghoulishly. "What a wit" he replied.

Harry paid several galleons more than he'd expected, but took all his shopping back to the Leaky, and eyed a plate of hot lunch slapped down on one of the tables. It was a damn sight more appetising than the Leaky had been back in the day.

Harry went to the bar, meeting Hannah Abbot serving beer, of all people.

"Yes?" she said, looking less wet than he was used to, and Harry liked the way the bodice of the dress was done up quite tight.

"Do you do takeaway" asked Harry, both hands holding parcels.

"Course" said Hannah. "Hot lunch?"

"For three. Two adults, one child" said Harry.

"Sent you out shopping did she?" asked Hannah, with a grin "Mr?"

"Bond" said Harry "She's in a mood – nearly murdered the house elf when it woke her from her bath."

"And you've got a kid Mr Bond?" said Hannah scribbling on a slate, and throwing it through a door.

"For the elf" said Harry "Might as well give him a hot meal. It's not his fault … well not today."

Hannah reached down behind the bar and pulled out a cudgel bound with iron bands "You know, old school purebloods like you, that mistreat your elves… you need to move with the times" she said, slapping the cudgel repeatedly into her palm.

"I don't mistreat him!" said Harry defensively "He tries to murder me – I'm half-blood, he's an old family elf and he… obeys, but saws the banisters."

Hannah looked mulish at that, and pointed with the cudgel "Takeout pickup's over on that bench." she said.

Harry walked over to the empty bench by the kitchen door and distinctly heard her say "Arsehole."

He tried not to smile. Hannah Abbot had identified a fake ID as an old-school half-blood, with a psycho house-elf, who was married. She'd never confuse him with Harry Potter, and Harry could keep his long 'absence from the wizarding world' going. Bond as a Half-blood, Harry mused, could be a really easy to maintain legend, and having supplies like the box of potions on hand made doing his actual job, saving the world from bad people so much easier. As a treat to M, he'd even keep the potions with him, and not have to use a courier.

-==0==-

Harry stepped out of the fire at Grimmauld place and dropped the three boxes of takeaway onto the kitchen table, the string holding the stack upright. What little smell leaked out from the boxes smelt great. He wiggled his right arm out of the string holding a parcel together, and put that on the table too. It was the box of potions. The large box of groceries, fortunately feather-light, he heaved up onto the table, and that left only the hairbrush and potions.

Having unloaded, Harry looked around "Kreacher?"

Kreacher appeared by his feet, with an obviously swollen eye.

"Kreacher?" asked Harry.

"Witch hit me in the head with a Boot!" said Kreacher.

"Quite" said Harry "Where is she?"

"In the second floor guest bedroom" said Kreacher "She is not a well witch. And bad-tempered."

Harry took the potions and hairbrush boxes, and apparated to save walking.

He knocked on the door.

"What?" croaked Greengrass.

Harry opened the door, and stopped. Daphne Greengrass in a four-poster bed, was wearing the green lace house-coat done up to her neck, braced up on a huge pile of cushions, and covered in a dark green eiderdown. She looked like some sort of hideous pureblood bigot at home… oh and she also looked pretty pale and wobbly.

"I bring potions" said Harry.

"I hate you" said Greengrass weakly. "That elf of yours is foul."

"Yes, that's the consensus on Kreacher" said Harry. "You gave him a black eye."

"Someone appears in my bathroom I hit them with something" said Greengrass tiredly. "All I could reach was a combat boot."

"Well done doing that. Do you think you have any broken bones?" said Harry.

Greengrass winced "Lots of swelling, lots of pain."

Harry walked over , and started unwrapping the box on the foot of the bed. He flipped the lid open, and found the whitish bottle, and held it up "A swig of Skele-grow. Probably help, can't hurt…. Much"

"It's foul, I hate it" said Greengrass. "Give it to me" she said, but didn't lift her arms.

"Kreacher says you're having trouble moving?" asked Harry.

"I can barely walk" admitted Greengrass "Give me potions, not speeches!"

Harry conjured a goblet and hand-served her skele-grow, then painkiller, then a big serve of blood replenisher.

She glowered at him "I could probably hold that goblet" she said.

"Given how much blood you lost, maybe" said Harry "I'll get Kreacher to bring up a tray in a bit. It's just takeaway hot lunch from the Leakey Cauldron, but it looked good and smells good."

"The Leaky don't do takeaway" said Greengrass "Liar."

"They do now" said Harry "It's been how many years since you've been in Britain? Six?"

"Eight" admitted Greengrass.

Harry packed away the potions into the wooden box, and vanished the wrapping.

"What are you doing?" asked Greengrass.

"Taking these home" said Harry.

"This isn't your house?" asked Greengrass.

"I own it, but I don't live here" said Harry. "Lunch is coming – don't kill Kreacher."

"When are you going to get me a cure" said Greengrass.

Harry cast a medical diagnostics spell and blinked as his brain was suddenly bombarded with knowledge about Greengrass's health. Still the big black curse, spinal damage, bones not all healed, a few broken phalanges, and a curse on her uterus. And trickling in like the last drips from a milk bottle… she had tears in her back, massive bruising, and a bit of wood near her spine.

"Did you have a comfortable bath?" asked Harry.

"Given I feel like shit, not bad, why?" asked Greengrass.

"You've got a bit of tree in your back, need some wounds closed up, and broken finger-bones." said Harry.

"My trigger-finger's swollen" admitted Greengrass.

"Well, roll over, and bare your back. I'll need to get the wood out before it festers" said Harry.

"And you can ogle me" said Greengrass weakly.

"I saw your back in Monaco. Beautiful thing, but right now you're probably bleeding into my bedding." said Harry.

He turned to face the door "Get onto your belly" he said.

"My chest is all bruised." said Greengrass.

"Harness marks" said Harry. "I'll get you some bruise cream. Once your finger's not broken you can rub it in everywhere."

"I'm ready for you" muttered Greengrass. Harry turned, and she had managed to roll over and uncover. The bit of tree was clearly visible, an inch thick and broken off, dripping plasma slowly.

Harry leaned over her and eyed the wood. "This is going to hurt" said Harry "Stun first?"

"And be groped. No thanks" said Greengrass.

"Bite the pillow" said Harry drily.

Greengrass actually did, and Harry used both hands to pull out a … four inch long stick. He dropped it on the floor and cast a tissue repair charm after wiping his hands on the bed. After two casts of the tissue repair spell, it stopped bleeding. At least ten episky's later, the skin of her back was whole. Apart from the bruising, it was a very beautiful back… and the house-coat was neatly covering her arse.

"Is your arse injured?" asked Harry.

"I was sitting up, so no" said Greengrass "Thanks for asking to ogle me. That hurt like a crucio"

"Four inches of tree in your back" said Harry.

"Bruise cream?" asked Greengrass, still lying on her belly.

"I have to go out to get some" said Harry.

"Well, get some while I have lunch" said Greengrass "You can go now"

Harry was tempted to slap her arse "Hey!" he said "less demands, more manners."

Harry went and stood facing the wall where Greengrass must be able to see him "Get upright" he said. "You need more potion."

Bed and cloth noises happened, then Greengrass said "What potion?"

Harry got the exotic black potion and poured out a cap-full "One cap-full" he said, and handed it to her, she drank, and winced "Ew… licorice!" And handed the cap back.

Harry capped the bottle, and apparated away.

Salizerie sold him bruise ointment in a large tub. Harry paid quickly, and Salizerie found that amusing for some reason.

Harry went back to Greengrass's bedroom and found her eating a hot lunch, and drinking tea.

"Quite comfortable?" he asked.

"I need some bloody bruise ointment" she said.

Harry put it down where she could reach it, and went to leave.

"Oy, I need some underwear before you can put it on my back" said Greengrass.

Harry jabbed with his wand "Accio knickers!" and waited. A pair of white knickers appeared in his hand, which he threw to Greegngrass.

"And a bra, please" she asked.

"Accio Bra"

Harry tossed that to her too, She inspected it slowly "Too small. From Weaslette?"

"I've no idea really, I just summoned the nearest bra" said Harry.

"A thirty-four C" said Greengrass,

"Accio thirty-four C Bra" said Harry, and biffed the hot-pink lacy thing at Greengrass, and apparated to the kitchen – to get his bloody lunch.

After lunch he lazily apparated back to Greengrass's bedroom door, and knocked.

"What"?

"I'm here to apply bruise ointment" said Harry.

"Fine, come in" said Greengrass, and by the time he got in , she'd rolled over and was lying, wearing white knickers and a hot pink bra, legs together on the bed. Harry eyed the… badly mauled witch. She had lines of bruising, pointy bruises from tree branches, and a slowly healing injury from the big bit of wood.

By the time he was done, he was glad it was a big tub of bruise ointment. Which he was going to want soon too.

"How's your front" said Harry.

"I can do my own front, thank you" said Greengrass.

"Have you done your front?" asked Harry.

"Yes, why?"

"Good, I'm taking the bruise ointment" said Harry, and did, leaving.

He rubbed all the bruises he could reach, and apparated back to his flat. He checked his phone. One text, informing him that he was on leave for three days; to return to office for debriefing. M was cutting him some slack- she must have heard about the girl.

-==0==-

Harry phoned an Indian restaurant that delivered, and apparated back to Grimmauld for the Library.

He found two or three likely looking evil books, and apparated back to his flat to shower, change into comfortable clothes, and read evil spellbooks while waiting for Indian takeaway to be delivered.

The second book, which even had an index, detailed exactly how to bind someone's magic, and explained why it was irreversible. It didn't as much 'bind' your magic as use it all up, all the time, in a spell to prevent you from casting a spell, or making a potion. It was probably that weird black snake-like curse-thing on her. To break it would require impossible levels of power, and that power would have to stop immediately on breaking the spell, to avoid ripping the victim to bits. So a ritual would be too clumsy, It sounded like an ideal application of an Elder wand to Harry.

Harry's takeaway hadn't arrived yet, so he took the book and got out the Elder wand, and apparated to the doorway of Greengrass's room at Grimmauld place. He knocked.

After a delay a muzzy "What?" was muttered through the door.

Harry opened the door to find a half-asleep Greengrass, one leg curled over a pillow in bed.

"Quick spell before my dinner. Kreacher will cook something." said Harry.

Then he cast a sort-of spell, based on the 'ritual that won't work for precision reasons' on Greengrass. She twitched like a gaffed fish. Harry finished the spell, and cast a medical diagnosis spell – she was still cursed, and lots of swelling.

Harry cast a finite-incantetn on the remaining curse- he felt it go, and left before she came around. She would doubtless be rather cross.

The Lamb Rogan Ghosh, Naan and rice was delicious.

Harry went to bed satisfied. He dreamed of poor Natalya… bent over the bed in Istanbul… gasping. Harry woke far too early, too aroused. He felt disappointed.

After a shower, he dressed and apparated over to the second floor hallway of Grimmauld place.

Which was, as usual, as silent as a tomb.

Harry knocked on the guest bedroom.

"Go Wah" was muttered at him. Clearly not a morning person.

Harry opened the door and was greeted by the sight of a Daphne Greengrass in house-coat and black, lace-trimmed eye-mask, lying in bed

"Go away" she said more precisely, and slipped the eye-mask up, into her disorderly blond hair, blinking at him.

Harry cast a medical diagnostic spell on her. His brain was flooded with details – and the general summary was that she had inflammation, but no major injuries.

"Well, according to my spell, you're nearly okay. Would you like some painkillers?" asked Harry.

"Chest hurts like a suka" said Greengrass. Harry summoned the bruise ointment, and a bottle of muggle painkillers.

"Here" said Harry, tossing them to Greengrass "don't take more than twelve of the pills a day."

"I know how to take… paracetamol? Are you a grandmother?"

"They're cheap, they work, and don't interfere with potions. And as I don't visit magical Britain often – you get paracetamol."

Greengrass took two, using the bedside glass Kreacher must have supplied.

"Can you really help with my – condition" said Greengrass.

"Did it yesterday" said Harry blandly.

"Bullshit" she scoffed.

Harry nodded and left, stopping out in the hall to dig around in his mokeskin pouch for the Hawthorn wand. He did up his shirt, and walked back in; there was no way he was letting Greengrass know he had a mokeskin pouch; it had saved his life twice already with her.

"A wand" said Harry, tossing it to Greengrass – who caught it like a snake. And did a double-take, as she clearly had some sort of magical connection with the wand.

Moments later, like an eleven-year-old, she waved the wand , which spat out a greasy smelling silver spark.
"It works?" she stared at the wand in her hand.

"Never worked that well for me. Might be a Slytherin thing – this is Malfoy's old wand. Won the war with it." said Harry,

Greengrass switched her grip on the wand to a more precise open-fingered grip and tapped her hair; which slithered around and tidied itself into a French plait.

"Oh god" she said "You did it." She was blinking a lot, and … wet eyes?

"Next time you see Malfoy, he might still recognise it" said Harry, a crooked smile on his face.

"Considering my baby sister married that blond pillock, that's entirely possible" said Daphne Greengrass, who cast a charm on her face that conjured foundation and smoothed it all in one go – and suddenly the woman in bed was very clearly Daphne Greengrass, the ice princess of Slytherin, a girl nobody who didn't want a hex to the balls ever asked out. She exhaled, and looked at the wand.

"Have I got ridiculous panda makeup?" she asked, and Harry was a bit stunned she apparently could have it go wrong. She seemed pretty sure of herself, and Harry'd never dated a witch who used foundation charms.

"Nope" said Harry.

"Good, the wand's not totally happy with me" she said.

"It is a temperamental little bitch like Malfoy" said Harry. "I'd suggest you go see your parents, and you officially were overseas since the war or something."

Greengrass's mouth twisted into a crooked pout as she thought about that.

"Is this cure permanent" she asked.

"Unless you die, yes. Speaking of which… don't go back to your old job. I left a pretty convincing corpse for you." said Harry. "You will need to send a message Davis, at least so she doesn't go taking shots at me."

"So that's it… some paracetamol and off I go?" asked Daphne.

"Well I can rub the bruise ointment in for you" quipped Harry, and she aimed a wand at him.

"I haven't hexed a man in eight years. Can I still do it?" she asked, largely rhetorically.

"Don't cast hostile magic on me in this place "said Harry quietly "You're pointing a wand at the current head of the Black family, in what's left of their London townhouse. The old protections here will probably kill you, and certainly banish you painfully from the building."

"Bullshit" said Daphne.

"Kreacher"! Harry snapped, and the house elf in question appeared with a pop.

"Master" he croaked, and looked over at Daphne "Witch looks healthy. Will master get her with a bastard?"

"Kreacher, tell miss Daphne Greengrass where she is?" said Harry.

"Miss Greengrass" said Kreacher haughtily "is a guest of his half-blood filth, the Head of the most Ancient and Noble house of Black."

"Respect Kreacher" said Harry "Try having some. I am your master."

"Bad lazy master. At least put this one with child?" said Kreacher. "A pureblood. In masters neglected house."

"You're the head of Black?" said Daphne Greengrass incredulously "That makes no sense."

"Live with that" said Harry "There's an elf that will feed you, clothe you and then, Kreacher tip Miss Greengrass out. I'm going home, to deal with my job."

And with that, Harry apparated home to his apartment, and didn't see Greengrass again.

And the best part was that she didn't shoot him in the spine. She was practically reformed already.

-==0==-

James Bond aka Harry Potter may well be back in his next adventure:

Agent XXX and the alpine caper.

And maybe, depending on how well that goes,

Agent XXX and the Cairo Job.

After all, she's never shot him.