Seven years later, December 2002, NCIS HQ, Washington Navy Yard, Washington D.C
"Got me anything?" asked a quiet voice from right behind Harry.
"FUCKING HELL!" shouted Harry. A teenager, he had grown well into himself, losing any babyfat he had previously had, dressing in an elegant dark-blue suit commissioned from Hardy Aimes on Saville Row. The suit jacket was slung on a peg at the entrance to the laboratory and replaced with a loose white lab coat which didn't completely hide a lean physique. His unruly black hair stood over an aristocratic face which, moments before had been glued to the eyepiece of a jeweller's eye loupe. He was stood in a laboratory owned by the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, an agency under the purview of the Department of the Navy.
"Hey Harry, you really shouldn't react like that, it's not good for your heart." said Abby, the other occupant of the laborotary as she bounced over, accepting a large polystyrene container of her favourite mix of artificial sugar and caffeine from the person who had crept up on Harry.
"If Gibbs didn't make a habit of sneaking up on people like that!" Harry growled. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, former US Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant, Force Recon Marine and now head of the NCIS Major Case Response Team sighed. It hadn't been in his brief upon employment that he had to deal with fourteen-year-old maniacs with an IQ that would make most quantum physicists green with envy and an addiction to messing around in the lab.
"So, anything?" he asked again.
"I'm working on it. I've had to remove several solders from the chip of this phone, fucking thing was busted up badly. I'm having to re-solder parts. Give me half-an-hour and I can probably retrieve any information." cursed said teenager irritably.
Having been emancipated aged twelve when his guardian had been pulled away for The War on Terror, Harry had worked exhaustively. Completing his ongoing master's degrees in aero engineering, human biology and medicine, he'd ploughed on, writing a doctorate by thesis of two-hundred thousand words on medieval European history. He was on the road to completing two more, one in the role of ancient tactics and strategy on the modern battlefield and another on ancient cultures, primarily northern Africa and the Middle East.
His expertise in the subject meant that he was oft consulted by companies working in the archaeology business, particularly in the magical sector. Knowing the value of his knowledge, he'd began to study American, International and British law so as to take maximum advantage, or rather not be at a disadvantage. The study would hopefully evolve into degrees in three sectors of the law.
"Once you've done that, take a break, a coffee and go shoot at some poor bit of paper on the range." Gibbs ordered, having worked out how to defuse his youngest employee when particularly irritated.
Harry nodded and went back to soldering. Apart from the occasional muttered curse, he worked in silence. Even Abby, the ever-energetic Goth kept her pounding music's volume down to a minimum while Harry worked, giving him the space to complete his job. The entire NCIS Major Case Response Team had been working under a black cloud for a week, all irritable, quick to snap and argue.
Their case was the reason. A US Marine Sergeant had been killed in an IED attack in Afghanistan a fortnight ago, and in that time his wife and young child had been killed in their home on-base at Quantico. Harry was effected the most, as, during brief periods in orphanages before his adoption by Al Patheroy, he had seen the results of abuse, and murder was just a step further.
"Done it. Abby!" Harry barked.
"Okey-dokey." she replied, coming over with two wires; "Let's power this up and see what we get."
A few people stared as the teenager swept past, an imposing figure wearing neatly pressed blue trousers, a matching blazer, a white silk shirt, a black tie and expensive red-leather brogues. His blazer's cut had been designed so that there was only a slight bulge over his right hip and left thigh, where he was wearing holsters. One contained a Coonan M1911 chambering the .357 Magnum round, and the other an FNP-45 .45 ACP semi-auto. Having, from a young age, practised both some of the eastern martial arts and many of the western tactical hand-to-hand combat styles meant that, often, the pistols weren't necessary.
"Gibbs, the phone was used to ring the home of Sergeant Johnson's family on the night of the murder." Harry announced as he entered the bullpen.
"Can you trace where it was bought from?" Gibbs demanded.
"Batch number should allow us to get the information of who it went to from the manufacturer. While it will almost-certainly have gone through several intermediary dealers, but we should be able to work through that." replied Harry.
"Get a-" began Gibbs.
"Warrant should be faxed through in the next few minutes." Harry cut him off.
"Take-"
"Yes, I was planning on taking Tony anyway." said Harry.
"And don't-"
"Come back until we've found out where the phone came from. Of course." Harry continued, retrieving his car keys from the drawer of his desk, along with a fresh magazine for his .45, having just emptied one on the range. He also picked up his phone, wallet and a Super Redhawk .454 Casull revolver. A revolver for taking down bears it may be, but when you needed one accurate shot to kill one person, it eliminated the need to blaze away with a semi-automatic handgun.
Tony, who had been sitting on the front of his desk, watching the exchange like a tennis match, suddenly had a hand grip his shoulder and was dragged towards the lift, just grabbing his gun, badge and the warrant which the fax machine had churned out.
"Come on Tony." Harry ordered.
Walking out of the building and across the Admiral Willard Park, a small area of greenery dotted with historical objects, one of the propellers of the first-class battleship USS South Dakota, a sixteen-inch coast defence gun and an old fourteen-inch railway gun, Tony could keep his mouth shut no longer, giving voice to a question which had been bugging him.
"You do know that getting the buyer of the batch from the manufacturer is easier done over the phone?"
"And Abby's doing exactly that. We're going to get some lunch while she narrows it down for us. As soon as she gets a likely candidate for the final vendor, she's going to phone me and we hit the place." Harry told him after a moment of giving him the Gibbs-patent 'shut up and take my word as gospel' look.
Silently climbing into the crimson Lister MK.3 XJS that Harry had come to work in, Tony raised no more objections as, in a roar of ripping calico noise from the twin-supercharged V12, they took off towards the western edge of the navy yard. That silence didn't last for more than thirty seconds.
"What, not dunkin' donuts?" Tony asked.
"Contrary to popular tradition, we may be in law enforcement, but at least I have some depths to which I will not stoop as regards food." Harry replied; "I know a good salad bar."
In fact he owned it. His grandfather, Charlus Potter, had left significant monies in offshore accounts, which Harry had managed to take control of. Amongst other things, it had paid for a six month visit to Britain, spent at Magdalen College in Oxford, it had also seen significant investment, and the purchase of a number of house elves.
The elves he owned were far better treated than they would be elsewhere. They couldn't be happier as Harry made sure they were well-fed, never punished and had lots of work to do, it was Elysium to them, and in exchange, were exceptionally productive in their work.
After he'd visited the centres of the magical world and was incredulous to see how backward it was. Seriously, crystal vials for potions? While working on his Oxford degree in history, Harry had set up his own Gringotts accounts and immediately started making inroads on the British economy. Protective goggles, masks with respiration charms and heavily enchanted lab coats were the first things his house-elf army began to produce and ship to Britain, followed by boiling and test tubes to hold completed potions as well as ingredients, all magically reinforced. Having an army of little Yoda-like creatures was useful.
It had also paid at the same time as his Oxford degree for six months of training in magical combat under the ex-Auror Alastor Moody, which, on top of Al Patheroy's training, allowed Harry to write his own five-year course on Defensive Magic from beginning of magical education to Auror level and mass-produce it. The Australian Royal Magical Rangers, the Canadian Auror Corps and Gringotts themselves purchased the first fifty-thousand copies of each of the five books. The American Mages followed, along with the Salem Institute of Magic, the San Francisco Magical Academy and most other American schools bought copies.
The fact that he worked his money, in the magical world, between his Gringotts Britain account and the Federal Gnome Bank of Washington had increased cooperation between the two banks, nations and species. And it filled his account quite nicely thank-you very much.
Easily weaving through Washington traffic, heading across the Anacostia River, Harry was startled when his phone rang. He hadn't been expecting Abby to deliver so quickly. Snapping it open and jamming it by his ear as he drove, Harry was greeted with the irrascible tones of his account manager.
"You're still alive, irritating human!" snarled the goblin with faux-anger.
"Ah, how good to hear from you my friend!" Harry said cheerfully as the technology-using goblin ground his teeth in London. It really hadn't been that hard to protect muggle electronics from magical interference and Gringotts weren't against anything that could bring them extra profit.
"If I was your friend, I'd gouge my eyes out with a spoon." Griphook replied snidely.
"Anyway, how are my investments?"
"Exceptionally healthy, we're raking it in." said Griphook, suddenly being very cheerful now that gold was on the books; "The Director, Master Ragnok, has approved the slow release of melted galleons in bullion form as long as he gets ten percent and we keep our traps shut about the idea."
"Approve it." Harry ordered, remembering how much he'd laughed when he found out that Gringotts galleon coins were made from pure gold, twenty-two carat; "What about the manors idea?"
"When you came to me with the idea, I thought you insane. Lucius Malfoy bought the former Grenwald Manor for ten-thousand galleons at the end of the last war, I bought it on your behalf to twenty-five. Complete restoration, stripping of the wards and sale costs added five thousand to that. We sold it for fifteen-million pounds on the muggle market, that's three-million galleons, so we ripped off the slimy little bastards." Griphook reported instantly.
"One-hundred times the amount we invested into the purchase, restoration and sale of the property." Harry chuckled smugly; "It's a good investment, keep going with that."
"All the artefacts and books from the manor were transferred to your items vault for reviewing at your pleasure." the goblin added; "Your elven property-development company is under the jurisdiction of my assistant Gutstomper and has brought in thirty million pounds, six million galleons, to your account this month."
"Expenditure?" asked Harry.
"A total of one-hundred thousand galleons. Most of that was on purchasing property for redevelopment or land for development, I also followed your instructions and picked up a few antiques passing through our counterpart in the muggle world. Your car collection has added a Hispano-Suiza J12 Sport Torpedo and a Rolls-Royce Phantom II Continental. I myself have invested in an eight-litre Bentley for my personal transport in the muggle world." Griphook replied; "After all it wouldn't do to be seen travelling in anything less than style. Other vehicles were obtained in damaged states, repaired and sold with minimal expenditure at multiples of the original price."
Harry chuckled and abruptly hung up, for no reason other than to annoy the goblin. Tony winced as Harry slipped around a big rig lorry in a blare of horns. Having been taught to drive by a Finnish rally racer... it was an understatement to say he was fairly good, and exceptionally filled with sisu.
"Who was that?" Tony asked; "Sounded like he hated you."
"My account manager. I make money, he makes money, so we don't screw each-other over." Harry chuckled, fishing out a cigar, he hesitated a moment and then put it back in his pocket. Extremely expensive fragrant Havana Cigars and good Scottish Scotch Whisky were his two greatest vices, guilty pleasures. However, he had sworn off them until the murderer was was chasing was six feet under with holes shot through him.
"Here we go." Harry stated, swinging off the main road and pulling into a car park near the entrance of Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling.
Walking into the diner with Tony, Harry dropped himself unceremoniously into a seat at a booth near the counter, immediately being served by the waitress. Unfailingly nice, she had accepted Harry's usual sarcasm after he both out-cooked her and purchased the business.
"Usual coffee, far too much sugar and cream spiked with rum?" she asked.
"No, I want it spiked with arsenic thank-you." he replied with a 'no shit Sherlock' look; "Along with a toasted bacon sandwich and white pudding. Tony?"
"A coffee and a tuna salad sandwich." Tony replied.
After an hour of slowly rereading the case file and eating, Harry's phone rang again.
"Got it. I've tracked it right down through to a package of phones purchased by Simpson's Loans for their employees." Abby announced.
"Loans?" Harry asked.
"And not in a nice way, they have a bit of an Al Capone reputation." said Abby; "Gibbs has got a warrant for all their loan files and is going to meet you there. The address is..."