"What in the living fuck?!" exclaimed the tall, black-haired young man who looked to be in his late teens, standing with a similar-looking blond, a large, red-coloured bird of prey circling them.
"Language... fuckwit." replied the other.
"Seriously Caspar, have you read this shit?" demanded the first.
"Give me the damn thing then Harry." growled Caspar.
"I can only think of one way to reply. Fuck with their heads until they doubt their heads still exist."
Albus Dumbledore looked down on the combined upper years of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and the entirety of the population of Hogwarts with his usual grandfatherly expression. However, inside, he was nervous. Very nervous. Harry Potter had been missing from his home since not a week after he'd been left there and now, thirteen years later, his name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire.
Fawkes had been able to use his unique brand of magic to follow a brief connection from the Goblet to Harry, but he neither knew where that was, nor whether the Potter Heir knew of magic. He could do nothing but await the return of Fawkes, his phoenix-
Dumbledore dived to one side as a large object manifested itself a few yards in front of him, making rapid progress towards his face. Looking back as the object smashed through the High Table, he was shocked to see that it was a gigantic ice-cube containing his familiar.
"THAT WAS MERELY A WARNING. BEWARE OF ANGERING A HIGHER POWER!" boomed a sepulchre voice, echoing through the silent Great Hall.
Then a small letter fluttered to the floor next to Dumbledore, who, shakily standing up, unfolded and read it twice before reading it a third time, aloud.
"Dear Chief-Mug-Master Dumbledore, before I come near your provincial little school and your so-called Triwizard Tournament, certain demands must be made. I require certain facilities to facilitate my participation, such as a stretch of land exactly one-and-a-half miles long, a hundred feet wide and perfectly flat and paved in the substance which will appear when you read this out loud." Dumbledore ducked as a black rock shot past his head; "I will also require that a space is laid out at one end of this paved strip, itself paved the same way, and it shall be four-hundred feet wide and four-hundred feet long. Yours insincerely, Hadrian James Potter."
"Just as arrogant-" Snape began to sneer before the black lump of what appeared to be rock levitated itself in the air and knocked him out by dropping itself on his hair.
It had taken two weeks, a significant amount of manpower which the Minister had been happy to provide, thinking it would get him on the good side of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Dumbledore wasn't sure that Harry Potter had a good side from what he'd experienced of him thus far. However, his demands had been fulfilled when an area of empty land a short distance from the castle on the far side of the complex from the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest was levelled and, using magic, paved with the black substance.
The previous evening during supper, they'd received a missive that the fourth champion would be arriving sometime in the next twelve hours. At precisely zero-eight hundred hours, what appeared to be a tear in the very fabric of reality opened, a tall, handsome blond male with grey eyes, lazily ruffled hair and a careless air about him stepped through. What was noticeable was the long-bladed knife sheathed at his side, hanging from his belt by the temperate camouflage trousers and khaki figure-hugging t-shirt he was wearing.
"Who are you!" Dumbledore demanded, drawing his wand and sweeping across the Great Hall.
"Doctor Caspar Cain, PhD in Genetics from the University of San Francisco, also best friend of Doctor Hadrian Potter, PhD in Military History from the University of Cambridge. I'm afraid he's a bit delayed getting our headquarters from San Francisco and delivering it to here." Caspar replied in a lazy west coast drawl.
"What?" said a confused Dumbledore.
"Flying from San Fran all the way to Deer Lake in Newfoundland, then on to London, he should be here in a couple of hours, if not then he'll be dead which will be an inconvenience. I abandoned him in Newfoundland." explained Caspar; "By the way Champions, sorry but we're going to make you look like toddlers playing in a safari park full of hungry tigers."
"Who do you think you are, Yank filth-" sneered a platinum blond in green before he was interrupted by his golden plate turning into a large spider and attaching itself to his face.
"Right, I'm going to Edinburgh for the day, I need several pints of coffee, capiche? Hopefully I'll be back by the time my bastard of a business partner gets here." yawned Caspar before he tore another rip in reality and stepped through, closing it behind him before anyone could see what was on the other side.
"And that'll be him." Caspar commented casually, stepping through a rip in reality right behind the High Table where Dumbledore was sat. Everyone was looking at the ceiling as a mechanical roar sounded overhead.
"What's going on Doctor Cain?" asked the headmaster with a touch of worry as he stood up from his throne-like seat, seeing the young man looking unconcerned.
"You know we demanded you pave a mile-and-a-half of completely flat land?" he questioned, gesturing for Dumbledore to follow him out of the hall, which he did. "Well, it was an actual requirement, not just us fucking with your head, though we'll do plenty of that."
Ignoring Dumbledore's noise at his casual swearing, Caspar continued into an open courtyard, his long strides leading Dumbledore to look down to the paved land just as a sleek form came down towards it. Painted with silver, dark-blue and white, the Lockheed Super Constellation touched down with the slightest puff of smoke from the tyres, the nose held high until the speed bled away. Gracefully sinking the nose wheel to the tarmac, it rolled down the runway until it reached the end with the four-hundred feet square area of tarmac set to one side.
Reaching the end, the aircraft turned off and rolled onto the 'stand', turning around to face back towards the runway. Then, the big radial engines shut down and the propellers ran down, eventually ceasing spinning. Caspar produced a small model car and threw it to the ground several yards away where it immediately grew into a full-sized open-top Land Rover.
"Come on, it is polite to greet your guests." Caspar chided, climbing into the driving seat.
Casting a doubtful look at the car, Dumbledore climbed in, and a moment later it was racing across the grassy grounds of the castle down to where the Lockheed was parked up. The blond leapt out as soon as they were alongside, conjuring a staircase to the rear of the aircraft.
Moulding itself from metal forming out of nothingness, he calmly strode up the stairs with Dumbledore following hesitantly. As they reached the top, the door was opened, a tall, similarly well-built young man, evidently Harry Potter given the recognisable eyes, the crow's nest of jet-black hair and easygoing grin.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, do come aboard." greeted Harry.
"I presume you're Doctor Potter?" asked Dumbledore.
"Call me Harry, as this isn't an official educational function I don't use." he replied, gesturing for the aged wizard and Caspar to come on board.
The rearmost compartment, twenty feet of the aircraft, was all bare metal with two cars strapped down on twenty-foot deep shelves, one on top of the other. The top one was Caspar's 'murdered out' 2003 Brabus E-Class V12 and the second one, underneath the shelf was Harry's equally 'murdered out' 2003 Ascari KZ1. Tuned heavily and bored out to five-and-a-half litres, which when running on a cocktail of ethanol and petrol, pumped out something in the region of eight or nine-hundred brake-horsepower.
Ducking through a doorway on the port side of the aircraft, he passed four doors, occupying around thirty feet of the aircraft before walking straight through a combination dining-room and kitchen which was around twenty feet long, to a comfortable sitting-room and library combination, with bookcases lining the walls where there weren't portholes. The portholes themselves were framed by Arts and Crafts curtains, a hi-fi sat in one corner with speakers on stands in the two corners not occupied by the hi-fi or the door. On top of the speakers were antique-style table lamps, casting a warm glow on the room. Finally, a deep Persian rug, sewn in dark-reds and other rich colours, was laid across the floor.
"The ceiling's lower here because in the car bay we lowered the floor right down." Caspar explained as Dumbledore stepped through the door; "The cabin is over eighty feet long, but we removed the baggage hold from the back and pushed the cars as far back as they go, installed three bedrooms and a bathroom, as well as the kitchen-dining room which left us with enough room for this sitting room."
"I admit that after many years of looking after teenagers, I had never expected anything less than chaos." chuckled Dumbledore genially.
"Do sit down." Harry said, dropping into one of the comfortable armchairs; "Now, much as I'm pleased to be back in England for the first time since I last dropped in for my doctoral graduation, but I'd very much like to know why my name supposedly came out of your Goblet of Fire."
"May I in return ask some questions, and get answers provided it isn't too personal?" asked Dumbledore.
"Naturally." replied Harry.
"Well, as to how your name came out of the Goblet of Fire, we believe simply someone placed your name in the Goblet and used a confundus charm to make it forget any age limit, and add a second school." Dumbledore explained; "How did you come to be in both the muggle world and wizarding world?"
"Hmm... this dates back to when I was in an orphanage in Cornwall, I found a book full of Druidic magic in an abandoned croft when I got lost during a storm. I began practising magic back then with no foci, or rudimentary ones. I also found I had a minor Metamorphmagus talent, so I saved up enough to buy a thirty-pound antique chair that was smashed up, I repaired it with magic, sold it for two-hundred. Bought, repaired, sold. I made massive amounts restoring cars that way." said Harry; "From early on, I had a pretty good mind, to the extent that I was bored with the stuff taught to ten year-old kids when I was six, so I started teaching myself from books. I entered high school a year early when I was ten and graduated six weeks before that term started... So, over the next year I alternated between studying for A-levels and writing the thesis for my Doctorate. A-levels are like NEWT exams, except they're useful. A-levels aged eleven and I did a fast two-year degree course which ended a year ago. Three weeks later and the council judging my viva-voce passed me and I was Doctor Potter."
"That's a rather thin description of his life." Caspar added helpfully; "He built his first ultra-light aeroplane, that's basically a big, rigid bit of cloth supporting a chair with an engine and propeller, aged six. He built a full-size glider aged eight and began buying full-scale aeroplanes aged nine. I met him in Las Vegas during an race when he beat me and took my car, and then again in San Fran when I beat him back. This was when we were eight, and it was legal because we weren't driving on the roads. We decided after a couple more races that we may as-well cooperate, and thus we became business partners."
"So anyway, I have educational titles, and I also have a pilot's license and driver's license confirming I am eighteen, though due to my constant abusing of the Timeturner I built, I'm probably about sixteen." Harry surmised; "I race fast cars, fast aeroplanes and live in the fast lane."
Dumbledore just looked confused.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of-" Dumbledore began at lunchtime.
"Fucking hell, do you want to light this dump up like fucking Chernobyl. That level of radiation is nearly the same as my nuclear microwave makes." drawled a thick American accent.
"I have a degree in nuclear physics you imbecile. Of course I'm not going to make like Chernobyl and turn everything sickly green, that would just be... not as awesome as using cruise missiles for salmon fishing." replied another, equally thick American accent; "I wonder if we could get enough plutonium two-four-one to make a nuclear reactor. I know the FBI kind-of got pissed off when they found me making a nuke for self-defence."
"You know if they finally get around to building that nuclear waste bunker one-sixty klicks from Vegas, we could just nick it all and build ourselves a nuclear reactor for 'green energy and medical research only'." Caspar mused as they strolled in, Harry with his head buried in a book.
"Nah, fucking greenies won't let them. What the hell is wrong with securely storing just some slightly extremely toxic metals under a bit of desert. It's not like anyone will miss Nevada if it gets wiped out in a massive nuclear fission and a loud orange-coloured bomb-sound." Harry stated; "Remember, we'd need plutonium two-three-nine for nukes, and mixed-oxide fuel can only be used once or twice for a nuclear reactor."
"Where do we get enough weapons-grade plutonium then?" asked Caspar.
"Russia?" said Harry.
"Nah, they haven't liked us since we bought those submarines and then stripped out all of their surveillance equipment." Caspar shook his head; "And I think they think we had something to do with sinking that arms shipment to the FARC guerillas, which is patent nonsense because we were in Monaco at the time."
"What about North Korea? Would they be willing to lend us some weapons-grade plutonium?" Harry commented.
"Nah, midgets with bad tempers. Look at Kim Jong very-il." Caspar disagreed; "Look, brats."
"Hell no, I thought this was some kind of fucking university, not infant school." cursed Harry, looking up from his book; "You utter pillock, you abandoned me in Newfoundland and fucked off. You know I will paint your car pink and replace the brake-pads with Semtex."
"Bitch please, if I died every time you tell me you're going to kill me I would... be dead?" said Caspar; "Anyway, hoe before bro and she was hot."
"I'm going to Germany, the Luftwaffe had a fuck-load of MiGs in storage from the Soviet era and I bought the lot." Harry stated before vanishing.
"Sorry kids, he thinks anyone without a degree is either a squalling brat or an uneducated moron." Caspar commented to the silent hall; "At least you can live happily knowing that this place will soon have the largest air force in Britain protecting it, now I've got to chase the pillock across most of Eastern fucking Europe. Happy days!"
"Filthy-" began pompous-slicked-back-imbecile.
Caspar didn't even look at him as he picked up an empty plate and hurled it at him like a frisbee.
"Fucking insult to purebloods." Caspar replied; "Yep, that's right, pureblood and proud, but I live in the non-magical world, don't insult first-generations and don't inbreed until I've got a foot sticking out of my face."
He then vanished.
"Right, let's play a game of top trumps." Harry said sarcastically; "Khatchurov R-35, maximum diameter is nine-hundred-and-eight millimetres, length is four-nine-nine-one millimetres, weighing one-thousand nine-hundred and thirty kilos. The General Electric J79, maximum diameter is nine-hundred and seventy-five millimetres, length is five-three-zero-three millimetres, weighing in at one-thousand seven-hundred and fifty kilograms. It won't fucking work!"
"Do you know what this is?" Caspar asked, ignoring the students as he conjured a whiteboard and pen, quickly sketching what was obviously a fireball; "This is you trusting Soviet crap and dying in a massive fireball which will severely inconvenience me with such questions as 'why did the crash investigators find missiles on board'."
"I admit Soviet engineering leaves a bit to be desired." Harry commented.
"Fuck, don't you remember when you had to eject from that MiG-21 because it was intent on killing your pansy white ass." groaned Caspar.
"You're white." riposted Harry.
"RACIST!" Caspar yelled.
"Oh fuck off." he replied easily; "Actually wouldn't the English Electric Lightning's Rolls-Royce Avon be a better fit... It's three-two-zero-zero long and nine-one-seven in diameter. Weighs thirteen-ten kilos."
"Maybe... it's a bit short, like seventeen-ninety-one mils to short. That's six feet. I suppose we could add some more fuel, or maybe more ammunition for the twenty-three mil." Caspar mused; "How many airframes did the Germans sell you? Or how many do you have?"
"MiG-23s, two of the UB two-seater, and four of the ML dog-fighter." Harry answered; "How long should it take to get these airworthy?"
"Probably about five-hundred man-hours. The Comittee Against Aviation might not like you though." said Caspar thoughtfully, idly sketching plans on the end of the table they'd commandeered. Using the tip of his combat knife.
Harry reached into the left pocket of his combat trousers, removing a pile of three books, half of a motorbike engine, a cavalry sabre before he finally pulled out a laptop and a bottle of schnapps which Caspar snatched, along with half of a platter of sausages.
"Only fifty-percent alcohol by volume, I'm disappointed." he sighed, pouring it over the purloined sausages; "Couldn't you get some Everclear? We used to have a load and then you put all of it into our Starfighter. Waste of good booze and honestly, I didn't even feel slightly drunk from standing near the engine exhaust."
"It was an interesting experiment." Harry shrugged; "Have you got your work piece?"
"Sig Sauer P226 in nine mil." Caspar nodded.
"Pansy pistol, .460 Rowland M1911's where it's at." replied Harry; "Just don't Al Capone anyone while we're in Britain, 'cos they don't like teenagers packing."
"Yeah yeah, I care too." said Caspar sarcastically as he grabbed two slices of toast, buttered them, added a healthy splash of schnapps to the toast, added bacon, Schnapps, fried egg, schnapps, bacon, schnapps. "Can you get me six J79s in working condition?"
"Elementary." Harry smirked, stealing back his depleted schnapps, taking a swig straight from the bottle; "First I was thinking that this evening, we could head down to London, unfortunately, the Limelight club closed, but there's a place called Fabric which is pretty well-rated. That reminds me, I bought a Gazelle and I was scouting out the locality when I encountered some cute 'lil lizards."
"Sweet." Caspar replied; "Reminds me, I found this in one of the corridors."
He produced a dark-green object, roughly diamond-shaped and made of dozens of layers.
"This is keratin. Not the right size, shape or colouring to be dragon." stated Harry.
"DUMBLEDORE!" Caspar yelled, looking up at the high table; "Have you had a basilisk wandering around this school any time recently, only I've found a scale from one."
"Yes, sealed in a chamber under a second-floor bathroom with Parseltongue wards." Dumbledore admitted.
"What d'you think?" asked Caspar, turning to Harry.
"Hell yes, let's go." Harry replied, before they slipped out.
The whole hall was quiet, Dumbledore looked depressed. The young men had been missing for two days, and as they'd sealed the chamber behind them, he couldn't follow them.
"This stupid fuck tells me that I 'cannot have a sword because I am only eight'. Who the fuck did he think he was?" drawled an arrogant-sounding voice.
The Great Hall's doors burst open, nearly coming off their hinges as Harry and Caspar strolled in, wearing their usual combat boots, cargo trousers, t-shirts. However, both were also wearing dark-green, shiny leather jackets obviously made from the finer sections of the hide of a large reptile, as well as aviator shades. Caspar had a long tube on his back with a bell-end, wood held to it with bands of metal and a pistol grip and trigger just before the end of the tube. Harry was carrying a large, matte-black sniper rifle, a semi-automatic fifty-calibre OSV-96.
"I mean, what the fuck? They didn't have a problem with me owning a San Francisco penthouse aged seven, and I built bombs there until I was eleven and they told me it would be gross negligence to let me continue. I don't know why the FBI pillock thought it was dangerous, bombs don't kill people, people kill people with bombs." Harry ranted; "Yeah, sure, we shouldn't let everyone get their grubby paws on explosives, but I'm perfectly trustworthy."
"Right..." Caspar said disbelievingly.
"Caspar, Harry, what happened?" demanded Dumbledore as he moved down the Great Hall with surprising alacrity as one of the boys produced a bottle of whisky.
"Yo, I blew the basilisk pen up and trapped it under some rocks, Harry shot it dead." drawled the blond; "Now I have a nice new jacket. Thanks old man."
"And we celebrated by going to Russia, getting drunk and stealing a retired nuclear submarine, now we have a ready-made reactor which only needs a bit of tweaking to produce weapons-grade plutonium!" Harry added, grinning widely as he took a swig of the whisky and passed it to his 'bro'.
"WHAT!" screamed a bushy-haired girl in robes with red-and-gold piping.
"We, Harry and I, stole a disused nuclear submarine, with its reactor still inside." Caspar repeated slowly; "We now make weapons-grade plutonium."
"Damn straight." Harry agreed, lighting a cigar.
"You know, if I realised Europe was this much fun, I'd have come over here years ago." stated Caspar, sliding off his aviators for a moment before hastily replacing them; "Fuuuuck! Maybe having a hangover was a bad idea."
"Once we've got enough weapons-grade plutonium, what are we going to do with it?" asked Harry.
"Bomb someone... but who is the question." Caspar replied.
"Belgium." Harry said firmly.
"Why not the French?" enquired Caspar.
"The Belgians are so bloody passive, it's fucking infuriating." Harry explained; "Want a cigar?"
"Go ahead. Why don't we bomb the Buddhists, they're so tranquil and peaceful, surely that's far more infuriating." said the blond, accepting an offered cigar.
"Scientology groupies?" Harry then added.
"Hmm... they'd probably try and explain it away. The Latter-Day Saints would just call it an opportunity for reincarnation. What about Australia?"
"Nah, they'd use it as an excuse for a barbecue." said Harry, shaking his head.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, you do realise the first task of the Tournament is tomorrow?" interrupted Dumbledore as the conversation followed a path around as straight as an Alpine road.
"Thanks Gandalf." said Caspar; "By the way bro, I forgot to ask, what was it you graffitied on the other submarine we decided not to steal?"
"Oh, I listed all the faults in the base's security, and then added that it was a futile effort trying to keep someone of our intellect out." Harry stated; "And I also gave them our PO box address."
"Damn, I didn't think we were just baiting the Russians. I wanted to build a nuclear bomb you bastard." Caspar complained, poking him with the hot end of his cigar.
"I'm still going to blackmail them for a few things before I give them the submarine back." replied Harry; "Actually, remember a couple of years ago when we were in St. Petersburg and drunk and we got into the airbase and glued all the aircraft to the tarmac, damn that was fun."
"Didn't we also draw a gigantic dick on the hanger roof and leave our PO box address that time?" asked Caspar; "I think we'll receive more than a 'strongly worded letter' requesting we cease and desist. By the way, where did you put the submarine and have you got me my J79 jets?"
"I put the jets in my backpack and I have the submarine in my pocket." Harry answered, removing a harmonica-sized box with a thin strip of glass in the top which showed a rather rusty-looking submarine lying on a velvet cushion. He was contemplating giving it back to the Russians in that form.
"Fuck, I haven't had enough coffee for this shit." Caspar groaned; "We can start preparing for the tournament tomorrow, but I'm thinking of doing up this sub and giving it to them in museum condition. Set up a coms system playing the trolling music constantly, and instead of the traditional aircraft's shark-faced nose, troll-faced submarine bow?"
"I'm reminded suddenly that it would be far easier to shoot you than bother tolerating your continued existence." Harry stated, fingering one of the guns he was packing, a .460 M1911 on his right hip.
"Black Belt Judoka, draw and I'll fuck up your ugly face with judo." replied Caspar as they turned to leave.
"Fucking pansy-ass mother-fucker." replied Harry; "First-grade expert Krav Maga practitioner, and I will eat my fucking hat if I don't become a master by the time I'm thirty. Hey, come on bro, I was thinking of building us a couple of cruise missiles, want to join me?"
"I'll make the rocket motor and the shell of the missiles, you handle the guidance and the warhead." Caspar instructed, their voices echoing back into the silent Great Hall.
"Sup." Caspar said as he and Harry strolled into the Champions' Tent on the day of the First Task.
"This is a champions and Ministry of Magic staff only area." said the severe-looking man with a small moustache, glaring at the blond.
"You hear that?" asked Caspar, cocking his head to one side; "That's the sound of me giving zero fucks."
"Bask in my presence." Harry ordered as he swept in; "Yo, Cassie, you set our shit up?"
"And the backup plan just in case shit goes down." Caspar nodded, thinking of the small cruise missile a few miles away, aimed at the arena.
"Gentlemen, ladies-" began a rather overweight man in garish robes.
"Yo, Harry, you seen the news, someone made off with a Russian nuclear submarine, apparently they're investigating." Caspar interrupted him, producing a rolled-up newspaper.
"Holy fucking shit- wait, we stole it. Fuck-wits." Harry sniggered.
"Good thing is, they're being pressured to dispose of nuclear material instead of leaving it all radioactive in the environment. A bit of egg-on-face when the internationals found out it was still fuelled." continued Caspar.
"Boom baby."
"Ladies and gentlemen!" said the man again, a bit affronted as he proffered a purple silk bag; "In this are small likenesses of what you will face in this task. Ladies first, Miss Delacour."
Looking awfully nervous, she pulled out an animated miniature of the Swedish Short-snout dragon, followed by Krum with the Chinese Fireball and Diggory the Welsh Green. Harry reached in and withdrew a larger model of a black-scaled dragon with bronze-coloured spikes on its tail.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you missed the weighing of the wands, so we don't know if it's in working condition-" began the same imbecile who Harry was contemplating shooting.
"Oh, I assure you it works, as a number of good-looking women can attest to." he replied with a deadpan look; "But I don't use one of your funny little sticks for magic. Actually, I don't really use magic much, it's an excuse for laziness and close-mindedness, anyway, can we get on with this idiotic task so I can go back to committing international crime and get around to playing with my jets? By the way Caspar, after the task, can you turn the dragon's body into a couple of jackets, maybe some boots, and I want the blood to experiment with."
"Fuck no, you are not going to irradiate fucking dragon's blood. We all know what happened with Bruce Banner when he got angry, now imagine making a permanently angry species like a dragon go big-green-and-mutant every time it gets pissed off, it is so just not happening." Caspar snapped.
"Bruce Banner doesn't exist fuck-wit." Harry rolled his eyes.
"No, no, you can't kill the dragon!" panicked the man in the garish robes.
"Oh well, we'll keep it alive while we turn it into a couple of jackets and a set of stylish boots." said a disappointed-sounding blond.
"No, you will do no damage to the dragons!" the man told them; "They are an endangered species under hire to us, we don't own them!"
"Spoilsport. We'll let the dragon live... for now." Harry agreed; "Caspar, we can shoot a couple down later, I wonder what dragon tastes like? Bag-head or whatever your name is, go away, you're no longer wanted."
Unsurprisingly, he scuttled away.
"Do you want me to kill it anyway?" he asked, turning to Caspar, who was lounging in a deckchair.
"Not unless it does something to annoy you." Caspar shook his head; "If it does, just stick a rocket up its ass."
Harry grimaced at the image and accepted the bottle of vodka that his friend produced, passing it to him.
"This is the stuff!" he cheered, taking two gulps of the liquor before passing it to Caspar.
"You can't have any, you're all too young." Caspar stated, pointing to each of the champions before he paused, staring at Diggory with a strange look; "Did you just sparkle?!" he demanded.
"N-no." replied the other champion.
"I swear you just sparkled." Caspar shook his head, taking a swig of the vodka before passing it back to Harry, who in the spirit of being a bored scientist, applied a wandless flame-freezing charm to the liquor, set it on fire before drinking it. It was surprising that there was very little difference.
"You are younger zan we are, or at least Monsieur Potter eez." said the lone woman in the tent.
"Actually between Timeturner abuse and other temporal shit, I'm probably biologically seventeen or eighteen, and mentally, I have no idea. Six-year-old with a degree in nuclear physics and a boredom problem." Harry replied lazily; "As well as a coffee addiction."
A few minutes later, Harry walked into the arena, immediately reaching out with one hand to catch the deckchair he'd summoned from the tent. Sitting down comfortably, he summoned his cigar case, lighter and the bottle of vodka. After a minute of smoking and taking swigs from the bottle, he summoned a briefcase.
Flipping it open on his lap, he opened the laptop that was inside with an extra panel plugged into the USB port on the right-hand side of the machine. Booting it up and logging in, he then reached to the control panel on the side. Slotting a key into a car-lock-sized opening, he twisted it ninety degrees.
On the forest side of the arena, a mechanical bellow echoed. Harry grinned as the two windows on his screen came to life, each showing the live feed from a camera. Resting his fingers on the two side-by-side sprung sliders on the control panel, he pushed them forward.
The roar became a smoother, more intense sound and then the Champions' Tent collapsed. Khaki and beige, a Chieftain tank burst through, flattening it. Mounted next to the turret was a large two-part arm with a jaw-attachment at the end. Releasing the two sliders, they sprang back to fully-back, and the tank stopped moving. For a moment.
He pushed forward the right one slightly further forward than the left, steering it left as it came forward. A confused dragon looked down at the mechanical monster as it advanced towards it at around fifteen miles-per-hour. It then decided to roast the machine, and was surprised when it emerged unscathed. Harry grinned, he hadn't been sure, but the live test of his runic enchantments had worked.
Moving his left hand to control the movement, his right went to the small joystick. Pulling it back, the first section of the arm rose. Flicking a safety-catch-like switch on the side, he repeated it, extending the second section. The second window on the laptop screen followed it, while the first displayed what the tank driver would see.
Harry advanced the tank towards it, his right thumb going to another slider near the base of the joystick, controlling the opening and closing of the jaws. Carefully lowering the jaws around the golden egg in the nest, he closed them before pulling back the second section of the arm and lowering the first section, bringing the jaws in towards the tank. He smirked, his after-market demolition-style arm had been a gamble, he didn't know if it would work with the tank... but apparently it did. Pulling the left slider back beyond neutral and pushing the right one to fully open, he spun the Chieftain around before pressing both sliders fully open to drive to the judges' stand.
He brought the arm up and opened the jaws, dropping the egg in front of them, and to make a point, closed the jaws on the railing in front of them and tore it away. Bagman, Crouch, Dumbledore, Maxime and Karkaroff all swiftly conjured silvery ribbons in the shape of tens in the air as the jaws descended again.
"Does anyone know where my utter bastard of a colleague is?" Caspar asked, stalking into the Great Hall during a meal, looking mildly annoyed.
"I'm afraid Doctor Cain, that we haven't seen him since two days after the first task. Has he been missing for three weeks?" replied Dumbledore, grudgingly becoming used to the foul-mouthed teens.
"Normally I wouldn't give a shit if he was missing for two months, but the bastard owes me ten dollars and I want to know where he's put our nuclear submarine." Caspar commented.
"Yo, wassup!" said a cheerful voice from behind him.
"Potter you rotter, where the fuck have you been!" Caspar demanded.
"Russia, I gave them back their submarine, spoke with the President, who asked me why I am so strange, what I hoped to achieve by stealing a submarine, tried to set me up with one of his daughters, and then a list of people he likes, sort-of popular Russians, athletes, that kind of thing." Harry replied; "I didn't accept of course, but I did get a few weeks of flying lessons from the Air Force and a couple of old aircraft they didn't need anymore."
"Hang-on, since when have you worn a fucking suit?" said Caspar, seeing the sharp Armani suit his friend was wearing; "And you've fucking shaved... what the hell. Oh right, I see. Is she good looking?"
Harry threw three empty vodka bottles at Caspar, who drew his Sig and moved, stood with his right arm locked, and his left bent, supporting the butt of the pistol. He fired six times, rapidly squeezing the trigger. Each of the bottles received two bullets, shattering them all.
"Actually, she's a new employee. Ex-whatever-replaced-the-KGB, she 'retired' aged nineteen after stabbing her handler to death with a pencil. After hearing that stellar résumé, what could I do but hire her?" Harry grinned as Caspar holstered his Sig Sauer sidearm.
"Did she have a reason for stabbing her handler to death with a pencil?" Caspar asked.
"Yeah, she did and if she hadn't, I'd have made a point of visiting him for a touch of murder myself." replied Harry; "Anyway, did you get the jets done?"
"I fucked with time and space to do it, but they're all flyable." confirmed Caspar; "And I registered them as homebuilt aircraft because I don't think the Committee Against Aviation would approve."
"Fuck them then." Harry said dismissively.
"Oh yeah, and there's a guy you'll want to meet, he's cool but everyone thinks he's uncool." Caspar added; "Also, there's some kind of weird wizard ball on Christmas Day that you have to attend."
"Sorry, I'm going to be in Vienna during Christmas and I lost my Timeturner." Harry said regretfully, not mentioning that his Timeturner was an integral part of his aviator's watch and not lost, or that he was going to be in Vienna for the New Year, not Christmas. "And if you try and force me to attend, I will shoot you."
"Deal." Caspar smirked, unloading his pistol and emptying the magazine of all but one round. Harry, in the spirit of fairness, drew a Browning Hi-Power instead of the .460 M1911 with assault-rifle power. Removing the magazine, he emptied it until there was just one bullet left.
They stood opposite each-other, Caspar's gun in his waistband on his left-hand side, Harry's sat in a holster on his right hip. On an unspoken agreement, they both drew and fired. Despite his weapon being closer to his hand, the Harry took a bullet to his stomach, the bullet itself stopped by his body-armour which he almost perpetually wore under his clothes. Caspar had dived to one side as he fired, Harry's round embedding itself in the wall.
"You... bastard." grunted Caspar's victim.
"I win, yeah baby." said the blond smugly; "It wasn't so much a hollow victory as a hollow-point victory. Shoot, I win. Holey hell, you lost."
"Ever heard of a bad loser? Well, you're a bad winner." Harry stated, straightening out with a wince, contemplating reloading and shooting him before holstering his gun.
"Zero fucks were given." Caspar said apathetically; "Anyway, who's your girl, what does she look like and when did you get together? And is she magical?"
"Natasha, redhead and more than slightly kick-ass, and in a hotel in Köln about three days ago." Harry replied, slinging a brotherly arm around his shoulders as they strolled out; "But no, non-magical and knows about the wizarding world. But as we know, shooting someone, however magicked up they are, kills them."
Behind them, Albus Dumbledore watched and listened. To be honest, yes he had plans for the Boy-Who-Lived, and no, those plans didn't seem to factor in for him being brash, arrogant, skilled and generally obstinate, as well as highly intelligent. One thing he had noticed was that the two young men were usually completely honest, no matter how insulting and offensive their honesty was, they didn't tend to lie. Maybe openness would be best.
He had held hopes of setting them up with light-sided women, but evidently that plan was sunk before it had been launched. He was curious, however, of the kind of woman that could tie either of the two down.
Harry idly watched the conjured ducks swimming on the lake before Caspar fired his pistol. Bringing it up into his shoulder, the Hambrusch Jagdwaffen three-barrelled shotgun roared thrice. While he only got a few of the ducks, it was stylish, complete with dozens of scantily-clad nymphs engraved on the metal parts of the rifle.
"Now my turn." Caspar stated, conjuring a hundred or more ducks.
Littered on the shore of the lake were about half-a-dozen dead ducks, which were swiftly added to as Caspar's Saiga-12 chattered away on fully automatic as a thirty-round drum of twelve-gauge bird-shot ripped into the ducks which had taken flight. Finally, he lowered the smoking shotgun with a smug look on his face.
"My turn again." Harry snapped, summoning an FN Minimi out of a tear he opened in reality.
Caspar scowled and conjured a hundred more ducks and set them off with a pistol shot, only just giving Harry enough time to load a two-hundred round box. In fifteen seconds, the entire box was empty, the muzzle smoking and no ducks left. He looked smug until his friend conjured another flock of ducks, and not waiting for them to take off, summoned the RPG-7 he'd used in the basilisk-hunting expedition and a PG-7VR warhead.
Loading a two-stage warhead, he was just aiming when Harry fired a shot to set the ducks off. Correcting his aim, Caspar fired, watching in 'horror' as the rocket flew straight through the formation of birds, across the lake and, skimming the water, rammed into the side of Durmstrang's ship. The first stage of the warhead detonated, shattering the wooden hull. The second stage blew up having crossed the hold and hit the far side, water pouring in from both sides.
"I'm not here." Harry said, panicking slightly before turning back his Timeturner and hour. He was going to be in the Great Hall at exactly the moment that Caspar sank the Durmstrang ship.
Back in his usual combat boots, cargo trousers and t-shirt, Harry strolled into the Great Hall, contentedly swigging from a bottle of vodka, about five minutes before he and Caspar were going to start shooting. He produced his laptop from his pocket and threw himself down at the table with all the kids wearing blue-piped robes.
Then, after a moment's thought, he put the laptop away and produced a khaki-coloured tube around the length of a Bofors forty-millimetre shell and two times the width. Cracking it open, he found a tube with a slightly conical end. In the front went a metal cone and in the back went a significant amount of plastic explosive and a detonator. He then screwed on a second, shoe-polish tin-sized object to the front.
"May I ask what you're making?" asked a female voice.
Harry glanced up as he sealed the device to see the bushy-haired teenager wearing red-and-gold piped robes who had been annoyed about his planning to build a nuclear bomb.
"I decided that I need a faster route down to the potions' dungeon." he stated, standing up; "I recommend you stand back a fair distance because EFP's are dangerous. I am obliged by health and safety laws to tell you that you should really not do this at home... when anyone's looking at least."
Walking into the entrance hall, he placed the object off to one side and walked back into the Great Hall, waving his hand at the door as he walked past them.
"Mr. Potter, what's happening?" asked Dumbledore.
"I'm building an ventilation-shaft and new entrance to the dungeons." Harry replied, reaching into his pocket for the trigger for the detonator, a red button on a khaki cylinder an inch in diameter by two inches tall; "I'm using an enchanted tungsten penetrator and a plasticised chemical called pentaerythritol tetranitrate. Basically each molecule contains five atoms of carbon, eight of hydrogen, four of nitrogen and twelve of oxygen having started as pentaerythritol, five carbon, twelve hydrogen and four oxygen placed in a reaction concentrated nitric acid. Mine is sealed in a shaped container which directs the reaction with the oxygen when I press this button. However, before that reaction occurs, a concentrated super-acid will be released, followed by two atoms of iron and three of oxygen per molecule, otherwise known as rust and thermite. Magic prevents it making the pentaerythritol tetranitrate reacting with the ferrous oxide."
He was cut off by his phone ringing.
FUCKING FUCKING FUCK. FUCKING FUCKING FUCK-
Hitting the accept button, he raised it to his ear.
"Potter's bored body-double here, please leave any requests for locations to throw cruise missiles at." he drawled.
"Hardy-har, get your ass to San Fran, there's some bastard of a serial rapist running around, and I want him to run straight into a bullet to the head." replied one of his colleagues from the San Francisco PD, Jane Andrews.
"Meh, I'm on holiday, shoot the fucker yourself." Harry replied.
"He's French." Jane yelled as Harry lowered his phone, her voice echoing through the hall.
"Nah- all right, you've persuaded me." he chuckled, flipping shut his phone and turning to the ginger twins; "Yo, Weasels or whatever your name is, catch."
They grabbed the detonate button out of the air.
"Now don't set it off while I'm around because doing so would piss tall-dark-and-greasy the fuck off." Harry stated as he heard the distant sound of a rocket. "Damn, I shouldn't fly because I've drunk a pint of vodka, but fuck it, who gives two shits. Not me baby."
Strolling in at supper time, still wearing a g-suit, Harry noticed the large scorched hole in the floor of the the Entrance Hall. In the Great Hall, Caspar was waiting for him.
"Bitch, you heard, apart from two twins blowing a hole in the sort-of not-quite-as-big-hall-with-the-doors, some tosser sunk the Durmstrang pimp-ship." Caspar said, walking over.
"Yeah, I think it's the dumb-looking ones in yellow and black." replied Harry, scowling at the Hufflepuffs; "After all, everyone thinks that they're stupid and sort-of useless and the snake ones are intelligent and evil. But it's the stupid-looking ones who're secretly evil and using the really stupid snake-brats as cover."
"Man, that's some fucked up shit right there." Caspar nodded; "Last time I heard something that outlandish was the idea that Iraq had nukes, because if they had, we'd have stolen them long before 'Murica invaded."
"Declare a fucking war a couple of fucking weeks after you start blowing the shit out of those fuckers." Harry replied; "Anyway, I just did something totally fun."
"Go on!" urged Caspar.
"I shot this guy and then ran him over with mah police Tahoe. Then he arrived at autopsy pre-chopped up with his internal organs all swapped around so that his heart was in the right side of his ribcage. Man that was totally awesome." smirked Harry; "Anyway, I've been thinking about the second task of the tournament for wizards. Can you help me make a couple of dozen cruise missiles, they need to be nine-hundred-and-eighty millimetres, some four-hundred millimetre torpedoes and some five-three-three millimetre torpedoes?"
"Hell yes, we're going to need quite a lot of explosives though. Why do you need these?" Caspar asked.
"Remember that Juliett-class submarine I lost a few months ago? I found it under my bed." Harry replied.
"Damn, I don't think anyone will ever say that again." laughed Caspar; "Damn, I'll set to making the missiles and the torpedoes, what're you going to do."
"Shag." was Harry's reply.
"Talking of, when do I get to meet her?" Caspar asked.
"Soon enough, last I knew she was asleep on the Lockheed, mix of a bit of jet lag and having not bothered to for several nights." Harry answered, producing a cigar and lighting it.
"Don't want to know about your sex life." he said dryly.
"Then next time you bring a girl back to my place in San Fran I will shoot you." warned Harry; "Actually, you remember when Singapore sold their Hawker Hunters to some Aussie company about ten years ago? They kept them in storage for about two years and then put them up for sale. I bought the lot and put them in storage and forgot about them. I was thinking we could set up a private air force to fuck up any misguided shits who decide to piss us off."
"Anyway, apart from Vienna for the New Year's concert, what are we doing this Christmas?" said Caspar, accepting an offered cigar and lighting it.
"I was thinking we all go out to Montreux."
"On the Lake Geneva shoreline." the blond smirked.
"There's some pretty good skiing on either side of the Rhone valley, with the Bernese Alps in the north and the Pennine Alps in the south." Caspar mused.
"Anyway, let's head over to our flying headquarters, see if 'Tasha is up yet." Harry ordered.
"You like this gal?" he asked.
"If you'd told me a couple of weeks ago I would have shot you. But she's kinda different, doesn't mind that I am occasionally a bit childish and have a permanent obsession with blowing stuff up." replied Harry after a few moment's pause; "She was sent to supervise me while I was doing a bit of flying to make sure I didn't get into trouble, along with a strong recommendation I hire her because apparently they didn't want her around. I found out why and hired her on the spot. Couple of days later in a hotel on our way back, we're a couple."
"Shut up, you sound so sickly-lovestruck that I want to shoot you." Caspar stated.
"Bring it." Harry challenged.
"Nah, let's go and do something useful." replied the blond.
"There are many things I let you have opinions on, but there is just no way, no way at all, that AC/DC is anywhere near as good as Led Zeppelin!" Natasha heard Harry ranting, his voice running down the fuselage of their flying headquarters. She'd left the bedroom with dark-green hangings all around the walls and a thick, warm mattress.
"But-" began a second male voice.
"No, no, no. Nein, nyet. Led Zeppelin trounces the shit out of everything else." Harry cut him off; "Sure, AC/DC is good, but not that good."
Harry entered with his trademark roguish grin, twinkling green eyes and lazily ruffled hair, followed by a tall, similarly-built blond with grey eyes and hair slightly spiked at the front.
"Hey Tasha, this is Caspar, my bloodless-brother since I was about seven." Harry introduced.
Natasha Romanova was a beauty of the highest calibre, with flame-red hair lying just below her shoulders, slightly pouty lips and pale green eyes.
"Doctor Caspar Cain, at your service." the blond greeted.
"Natasha Romanova Gospodin Cain." she replied.
"So, what persuaded you to associate with the insane imbecile here?" he asked, throwing himself into an armchair, avoiding Harry's head-slap.
"He amuses me." Natasha shrugged, smirking slightly at the insulted look on Harry's face; "And he doesn't mind my own eccentricities."
"Ooh goody. Since he's a flaming idiot who wouldn't have survived his tenth birthday without me stopping him from blowing himself up, I admit I'm a bit eccentric, I bought a VW Beetle when I was eight and turned it into a hundred-and-eighty mile-an-hour racer." Caspar stated; "So, what've you done?"
"When I was at the Bolshoi Theatre school of dance, I drop-kicked one of the wealthy patrons down a staircase for propositioning me." she replied with a sickly smile; "And I stabbed my SVR handler to death using a pencil when he locked me in his office and tried to use me."
"Remind me not to get on her wrong side." Caspar told Harry.
"If you show me the same consideration." chuckled the black-haired young man, sitting down on the floor in front of Natasha, summoning a book and leaning against her legs as she chatted with Caspar.
"So how did flying the MiG go?" Caspar asked as they walked down the stairs.
"Not bad, the top speed is increased by a small amount at fifty-five to sixty thousand feet and acceleration is significantly increased at ten-thousand feet and above, it's not very different at sea level." Harry replied; "Reminds me, I have a load of aeroplanes in my pocket."
"In your pocket." said Natasha slowly.
Harry smirked as they reached the bottom, reaching into his pocket to pull out a fistful of forty black sticks of plastic folded up, each two feet in length, held together by stretchy wire. Flicking his hand at it, they erected themselves into an eighty-foot circumference semi-circle.
Tapping his hand against one of the sticks, briefly a black void filled the gap between them and then a massive hanger appeared on the far side of the portal, while only being millimetres thick. Inside were row upon row of aeroplanes. Harry then tapped his hand on the same stick again, deactivating the pocket dimension before turning the arch into a bundle of lengths of plastic which he tucked into his pocket.
"Anyway, shall we go and get some supper. Hang-on, damn, it's night-time already." Harry stated, looking at the sky; "London nightclubs?"
"I've never been to London." said Natasha.
"Not as good as San Fran, Las Vegas or Monaco, but there are some good spots." said Caspar.
"ARGH MY EYES!"
Harry and Natasha smirked at each other as they heard the scream of agony reverberate through the aircraft.
"And sometime soon, he'll find you've liberated all his hangover relievers." Harry said smugly; "And he'll have to face daylight with a hangover the size of a planet."
"Yep." Natasha chirruped.
"You are wicked." he laughed, nibbling along her jaw.
"I think that was among the complements you used last night." she said with a throaty chuckle.
A bit over an hour later, they walked into the Great Hall as Dumbledore was standing up to begin a speech.
"Students, teachers and guests, I would just like to remind you that on Christmas Day, lasting from mid-afternoon to an hour after normal curfew time, our Yule Ball will be held. All students from fourth year and up are allowed to come, along with dates of fourth years and above." he boomed.
Harry, Caspar and Natasha ignored him, settling at the end of the 'blue and sort-of coppery-bronze with a hint of week-old steak' table, as named by the blond. Until the redhead noticed around a quarter of the school gazing at her boyfriend with lust, an another quarter at her boyfriend's best friend.
Producing a Châtellerault switchblade, she flicked it open and closed a couple of times before spearing a pear from a nearby fruit-bowl and skilfully diced it.
"Anyway, what's on the agenda for today?" asked Harry.
"I've finished building the bodies of the torpedoes you requested. You know how some bombs actually don't have warheads but just momentum and a concrete head? I was wondering how one of those would work against a variety of targets." replied Caspar, chewing on a bacon-sausage-egg-and-everything-in-reach toasted sandwich. "I need rocket motors for the missiles, I raided your stash of explosives for the warheads, guidance may be a bit difficult if we do it traditionally, but I think I could probably come up with a fairly effective combination of magic and technology."
"Remember that you'd need a self-destruct system because you don't want concrete-headed torpedoes lying in the wreck of whatever you've sunk." Natasha commented; "And you'd need a fairly high impact speed to do any damage to anything at all, let alone a metal target."
"Luckily we have a test target and firing range for weaker types of target." Caspar smirked; "Anyway, these could be useful for blowing off sensors, rudders, the bits which stick out."
"What about attaching some kind of retrieval system, be it magical or not?" asked Harry.
"I'll look at the plans." nodded the blond; "Can you look at doing some politicking, I know usually our method of diplomacy is shooting everyone who disagrees with us but diplomacy links into the gathering of intelligence which we've rather neglected during our time here."
"Find who's where." Natasha nodded; "Harry explained briefly why he was here and I'm wondering if someone had a reason to enter you, beyond forcing a celebrity to visit. Since it has to be a magical, someone probably means you harm, so if you find out, retaliate."
"I love that word." said Caspar dreamily, and then yelped as she elbowed him in the ribs. "By the way, have you made any plots for the Second Task? I know we've got until February."
"Think why I asked you for those torpedoes." Harry smirked. "I need a wetsuit, we need to make sure I can get into the wet-room from both sides and the water pumps will empty it of water. As well as making sure it's watertight because otherwise it would just be embarrassing."
"Awesome. How did you know what the Second Task is?" asked Caspar.
"The egg contained a bit of poetry in Mermish, secondly I looked in the library, the three tasks usually are to do with elements, one doubles over. The first was air and fire, and an educated guess confirmed the next is water. I have a mind which is not solely comprised of bomb-making knowledge." said Harry, reaching into his pocket for a bottle of vodka, which Caspar snatched and poured over the cereal he was having after finishing his sandwich.
"You know that can't be healthy." Natasha deadpanned.
"Meh." was Caspar's response.
"Eloquent." Harry said despairingly.
"Fuck off."
They were just walking out into the Entrance Hall when a loud argument brewing between the bushy-haired girl and a ginger-haired boy who looked like Harry when someone told him he was wrong.
"Hey Granger, I know you're a bookworm, but you're a girl, you can go to the ball with me!"
Natasha slipped out of Harry's arm and walked forward, her lips in a pout with the tiniest hint of a smirk, hips swaying as she approached the ginger.
"Well, why don't you see if a real woman will go with you?" she purred. The ginger looked stupefied, then hungry with lust, and then back to stupefied. Though the return to stupefied was probably from Natasha's foot smashing into his temple in a Mawashi-geri kick, and as she spun around, her elbow following through with a strike to his solar plexus. "I suddenly feel a lot better, what an utter imbecile."
"You should have just shot him, or let Darwin consume him. Theory of evolution, strongest survive. I think he's on a level with a slightly pathetic diseased mouse." Caspar stated, kicking him into the hole blown in the floor of the Entrance Hall, which still hadn't been fixed.
"Granger, being a bookworm is awesome, how do you think I achieve anything in life? I spend more time reading than almost anything else." Harry advised.
"Yeah, six hours a day reading explosives catalogues." Caspar rolled his eyes.
"Fuck you, you're off my Christmas card list." replied Harry.
"Please, the only person you've sent a Christmas card to was Saddam Hussein for letting you steal a good portion of what was left of his Air Force after the Iranians kept a load of it." countered Caspar.
"Meh."
"Do you two just dismiss anything that disagrees with your position." asked Granger.
"Pretty much." Caspar answered; "Anyway, we've gotta go."
"But Granger, if someone is like that to you, put them in hospital." Natasha advised, her soft Russian accent contrasting with her native-fluency in English, before Harry added helpfully; "Or shoot them."
"Harry, can you have a look at our finances, I haven't remembered to do that in a few weeks." requested Caspar as they walked down the lawn; "And see what's become of the aircraft we've sold."
"Hang-on." Harry said, booting up his laptop; "As per the contract of first rights of refusal on the purchase of our aircraft, I've bought back two MiG-21s from owners who didn't realise they cost so much to run. We sold them each for two-hundred thousand, I bought them back for a total of two-fifty thousand, or one-two-five each. Investments income for this quarter are projected at ten-million, while reinvestment will be five-million, leaving us with another five. There are three aircraft engines awaiting winter servicing and rebuilding which we need to get done by January, income for that should be about two-hundred grand. Magical investments are coming in at about six million, our quarterly subsidy from from the Department of Defence has come in for flying aggressor squadron operations, even though we haven't done that since September. It adds another two-million plus all personal pay for all our jobs, totalling for the both of us something like five-hundred grand. Expenditure totals that five-hundred grand leaving us thirteen million seven-hundred grand in pocket. Or should do when investments come in."
"Good good." Caspar replied.
"One moment... why is there a glaring twenty-million pound hole in my budget." Harry asked confusedly, frowning before glaring at the blond.
"I was drunk and I bought an airfield off an company wanting to turn it into a housing estate. They lost two-million on the deal at least." said Caspar in embarrassment.
"I can no longer talk to you. Go and make my explosives." said Harry calmly.
"You're not pissed off?" asked Caspar.
"Having an airfield beyond this place could be useful, where is it?" replied Harry.
"Wisley, right next to the London orbital motorway and the motorway from London to Portsmouth. It's a bit disused but I'm thinking in the New Year of resurfacing it, putting back the airfield lights and see how receptive the locals are to some classic aircraft coming in and out." Caspar stated.
"They probably won't appreciate night-flying. Spend some time down there, get drunk with the locals, make yourself the good guy. Having an edge-of-London airfield could be incredibly useful." Harry instructed, closing his laptop; "Luckily, we have more than enough money to cover the hole you put in our budget, but please don't do it so hastily in the future. Also, when I get some time, I'm going to scout out aircraft in this country which would be useful."
At lunchtime, they met in the dining room on the Constellation, where Harry had flambéed a couple of lamb steaks for them to eat.
"So, tell me about the clue in the egg that's having you get me to build you the weapons." ordered Caspar.
"It went along the lines of having no prospect of rescuing something I'll sorely miss after an hour, and it will be 'where our voices sound', which given it was in Mermish, we can expect to be underwater. Bodies of water around here, you get the Black Lake, and what better to do this task in than a several-thousand ton submarine." replied Harry.
"Hold on, they're taking something you'll sorely miss and hiding it at the bottom of a lake in the end of winter, which will be icy-cold, though better than a Russian winter." said Natasha; "Do you get any option about what they're taking, or whether you want it taken?"
"Almost all of my stuff is resistant to anyone but Caspar and I using magic on it, so they can't steal one of my planes and shrink it." Harry shook his head.
"Since objects are out, what about people?" asked the blond.
"Kidnapping is frowned upon unless you are Mossad." Natasha stated; "Because God, on the sixth day, created the Mossad, and on the seventh, he forgot to tell them if there was anything they aren't allowed to do."
"Play the devil's advocate, the people you interact with come into a couple of categories. Contemptible, ignore, apathetic, colleagues, me and Natasha." Caspar interjected; "We can rule out the thirst three. It's unlikely that they'll kidnap any of our co-workers as I don't think they know who they are, where they are and will be unwilling to go into the non-magical world. That leaves Natasha and myself."
"I'm going to do a quick exploration of the Black Lake so you can program a dive path for the submarine in advance, in case you are the hostage. Otherwise, GPS trackers, tracking charms and the whole lot." Harry nodded, glancing at his watch; "It's now, what... the sixteenth of December. We've got plenty of time."
"I've got a diving suit, oxygen mask and the rest of the gear, do you want me to check the lake?" Natasha offered.
"Go ahead." said Harry.
"Reminds me, I know you got tickets for the Vienna New Year's Concert at the Musikverein, I also got you two an early Christmas present, two tickets to the Silvesterball at the Hofburg Palace." Caspar smirked; "Originally, it was intended to humiliate you when you were too socially inept to get a date, but some things change. Speaking of, what happened in Vegas when you got called over?"
"Some serial rapist, I ran him over in my Tahoe and shot him. Then rearranged his insides before the autopsy." Harry said dismissively; "Want a game of cards?"
Natasha looked back and forward between the two, amazed at how quickly they could change the subject.
"Sure, but we're sticking to Texas Hold 'Em, no switching games without telling anyone." replied Caspar, summoning three shot glasses and a bottle of vodka.
"Natasha, we really need to get you a car." Caspar commented the next morning, rather worried by the fact she'd easily kept up with their drinking.
"Shut up." she grumbled from where she was curled up, catlike, in Harry's arms, stretched lengthways down a sofa.
She wasn't a morning person.
"Coffee..." Harry groaned, hand drifting towards his pistol holster; "Get it and I won't shoot you."
Deciding that self-survival trumped his courage, the blond slipped through to the kitchen and quickly produced a large carafe of strong black coffee, piping hot and laced heavily with whisky.
A few hours later, Harry was lounging in the entrance hall, idly sharpening the edge of an early seventeenth-century Toledo rapier he often used, waiting for Caspar to reappear from wherever he'd gone. The sword was an elegant affair with a blade slightly thicker than many rapiers, designed for effective cutting and thrusting, an Italianate swept-hilt and the grip re-skinned in tough basilisk hide. It was effectively an Espada Ropera, made for both duelling and proper fighting.
"Yo, wassup?" called Caspar as he walked in.
"I strongly recommend we attend lunch tonight." Harry stated, pocketing the whetstone and using a damp rag to clean off the blade before placing it in a sheath in his pocket.
A few minutes later, Dumbledore was looking at the three of them slightly worriedly. Though he hadn't had time to find out anything about the young woman, neither of the boys had ever come to meals at the beginning, but just walked in when they felt like it.
Then there were the hoodies all three were wearing, tan coloured with the words 'Boredom to Chaos converter' emblazoned on them. And then the symptoms of chaos emerged, much to the glee of the large black, grim-like dog who was curled up under the table.
First Madam Pince rushed in.
"HEADMASTER! SOME DELINQUENT HAS REPLACED EVERY BOOK IN THE CASTLE WITH KARL MARX'S DAS CAPITAL!"
Following on immediately, Snape's greasy black hair grew to the small of his back and turned to slightly wavy, glossy and worst of all, blonde. Then there was a loud bang and the Great Hall was filled with pink smoke which, it turned out, only turned different colours when vanished. The finale was the simultaneous replacement of the house flags with the Stars and Stripes flag of America and the ceiling displaying a twisting rainbow, knotted around its own length dozens of times.
Caspar gave Harry a look of deep respect and a high-five.