Disclaimer:

I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own James Bond, and I do not have any permission what-so-ever to use them. Harry belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling, and all the book publishers (Bloomsbury and Scholastic Press) and movie moguls (Time Warner Studios) involved. James bond belongs to Ian Fleming (and thusly his estate), and even more movie moguls (Danjaq, LLC and United Artists Corporation).

When I wrote the first one in 1953, I wanted Bond to be an extremely dull, uninteresting man to whom things happened; I wanted him to be a blunt instrument ... when I was casting around for a name for my protagonist I thought by God, (James Bond) is the dullest name I ever heard.

—Ian Fleming, The New Yorker, 21 April 1962

Chapter Three

Q and A

Agent 023 was busy on stakeout – M had tracked an international arms-dealer to a small town where the criminal was trying to pass as an insurance salesman – when he noticed something odd occuring a couple blocks down the street. The streetlights had gone out. Not just one, which could be explained away as a bad bulb, nor all at once, which would indicate some sort of power failure to the block. No, the lights went out one by one. Like someone was deliberately sabotaging them.

Agent 023, nestled along the roof line of a house he gain access to earlier that evening, swung his binoculars up to his eyes for a closer look, but could not see much in the darkness of the street. 'If only Q had something that could see in the dark,' he thought to himself. 'Something is going on or going down.' Figuring that the disturbance could only be connected to the mark he was suppose to keep an eye on, Agent 023 carefully made his way down the roof and slowly made his way down the street.

"Control, this is Crow," he spoke into a radio as he hid behind some bushes. "investigating suspicious activity near target's home."

"Copy Crow. Take care; target is a dangerous and slippery felon. Known to use subterfuge and trickery. Keep your eyes open at all times."

When the MI-6 agent finally made it to the center of the dark disturbance, all he could see was a sudden twisting whirl of motion as the lights all came on again at once with a loud pop. 023 threw himself onto the ground, expecting an ambush. His gun was raised and he trained it as he looked around trying to find danger. Nothing.

'Very odd,' he thought. He slowly got up. "Anyone out here?" Still nothing.

Agent 023, John Crow, was about to head back to his post when something caught his eye, something out of place. A basket on a doorstep. Training kicked in as he cautiously made his way over to the basket. The misbehaving lights, the strange package, and the long hours he had already been up all contributed to his gut feeling that this was important. He was very startled and surprised to find what was inside of the basket. "A baby?"

"A baby boy!" John knew that something was very amiss in Little Whinging. 'No one leaves babies on doorsteps anymore. This means something. A message? Contraband hidden underneath? Microdot secreted in his nappies? I better bring him in as evidence.' So, Agent 023 made note of the house number, #4 Privet Drive, for his report, grabbed the baby basket, and quickly made his way back as he called in for pick-up.

Sadly, while he was away from his post, a small group of KGB agents infiltrated the house of an apparent insurance man and shot dead an international arms-dealer who had sold the Soviet Union defective warheads.

"What will you do with yourself in retirement?" M, head of MI-6, questioned one of his loyal workers.

"Travel perhaps; I never did get to see the world. Garden, surely. Though I wouldn't mind moving to a less humid climate; my bones ache whenever the fog rolls in. Visit relatives I have not seen in a long time. Putter about."

"I'm sorry to see you go. You've served longer than I have, with distinction in your job, even though such is and never was recognized. Things just won't be the same without you."

"I should hope not! If things were the same, there would never be any real progress. What is needed is new blood, a new way of seeing and approaching problems. I would hope that things can only improve. I have every faith in my replacement, who is well trained and a quick thinker. I have done all I can, I trust he can go further."

M smiled sadly. "It is still a shame to see you go, old friend. Even if the new Q is everything you was and more, he won't really fill your shoes the same way."

"Good," answered the ex-quartermaster. "He should be filling his own shoes. It'll get him farther. And don't worry. We can still play our weekly games of chess. We'll just have to find someplace new is all."

"Yes. And now, with a heavy heart, I must officially ask for your ID and badge. As you well know, you're not allowed to take any items for any reason, not even sentimental keepsakes. You were only allowed one personal effect in your office and that you may have after it has been thoroughly checked out by the lab-boys. Your country thanks you for all of your long years of service to her cause. May your retirement be peaceful and bring you happiness. Though, I do not know how happy you'll be without something to tinker on, Q."

"Please, it's just Quincy now. And I imagine I'll find me a car or something to fix up. I am sure projects are not that hard to come by."

"Yes, speaking of which ... I have a favor to ask of you, old friend. Last week, an agent brought in a suspicious package. The labs have been pouring over it very carefully. They have yet to find anything meaningful. My codebreakers are stymied by the letter included. But there is one thing more. A child, who has been cleared by medical. Nothing hidden inside the poor tyke. All attempts to find his parents have failed. Originally, we intended to slide the boy into the orphanage system. However, it is worrisome that no records of his birth nor of his parents exist. Many feel he is part of something large. I do not wish to lose tabs on him, so I am sure you can see where I am going?"

Quincy sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I fear I do. You need someone trustworthy to entrust him to, someone close to the program to make it easy to keep tabs on the child and to help hide his identity. You need someone not connected or no longer connected to MI-6 to make the baby harder to track down by outside spies or inside moles, but someone you know well enough to find on a whim. And you want me to adopt the boy. Yes?"

M nodded. "Sorry. I really am. Retirement is not the time one wants to devote to raising a child. I feel it is important, though. I can not explain it. No hard evidence exists to support it. But my gut tells me so. Can I count on you?"

Q turned away to gaze off to the side in thought. "Yes. I have always wanted a family, but never managed it in the past. Perhaps now is my time to leave the world a true legacy. I'll do it. But I'll need a nanny. My pension will already be stretched thin and this does not sound like the case where we can just invite in some outsider. I would not, as a retiree, have the wherewithal to do a proper background check on applicants. I imagine you can take care of such paperwork for me?"

"Worry not. I shall place one of my agents as nanny. Perhaps young Witherspoon. She has been making some bad judgment calls out in the field and is in need of 'Diaper Duty' as a reprimand. I thank you, and your country thanks you. Why don't you go meet your new adoptee. I hear his name is Harry."

"Harry? I may call him A for Adopted."

Quincy pulled his car into a driveway of a house he had owned but hadn't lived in for years. Work was lucrative enough that he took a flat in London and kept the first house he had bought straight out of university. He was pleased he had, now he had a place to go to that would be hard for a mole to trace. After all, upon his release, all records of him and his other identity was expunged. He was no longer Q, the Quartermaster to Britain's state ran spy ring. Now, he was just Quincy, an oxford graduate and avid gardener. Someone whose first job had been as an apprentice engineer for a radio station a long time before. A time before his skills and intelligence earned him notice and a second life was begun.

He sighed as he let himself into his old place. The furniture was covered, the dust was thick, and the paint had faded. It did not feel like home, having been away for so long. But that matter not, for he was going to settle in. And he only had a day or two before Alice Witherspoon was going to arrive with his new charge.

"Well," he muttered to himself. "Once I bring my luggage in, I better go buy some groceries. See how much this town has changed in the past thirty-seven years." He would do his best to make a home for his new son in Ottery St. Catchpole.

Quincy answered the door, thinking it would be another visit from the local Hare Krishna's. 'Do I have a sign on the front lawn I am not aware of? One that says to come save the immortal soul of a poor sinner who lives inside?' And while he was not expecting who he saw, neither was he surprised.

"Hello Alice. Screwed up again?"

The girl at the door, with luggage, scowled. "It was an honest mistake that any agent would have made."

Quincy shook his head. "I am beginning to wonder if you get in trouble just so you can spend some time with Algie."

She snorted. "Yeah, because having my pay cut always makes everything better."

He stepped back from the door. "Well, come in and settle down. I'm afraid your usual room is currently occupied by Algie's current nanny. If you like, I can install a mud pit so you two can fight out who gets it."

She chuckled, then giggled. "That will be fine. I am sure we can settle it in a more civilized manner. Where's Algie. I know I missed his birthday, so I brought him something that any three year old would love."

"Dynamite and Missiles?"

She gave him a queer look. "What, you're raising Bond's kid now? No, Tinker-Toys!" She saw his face light up. "I knew you would approve."

"Go get settled. Algie is having his afternoon nap. In fact, I think I'll take a nap myself. You know your way around, make yourself at home."

Five year old Algie (The-Boy-Otherwise-Known-As-Harry-Potter) came home from Kindergarten, eager to show off the drawing he made in class with crayon and markers. He was met by his current nanny, a young lady named Martha. "Where's Pappa?"

Martha smiled at the little boy. "He'll probably be back after dinner. He's helping a friend work on a car. You know how he gets. Bumps into a guy at a junkyard and gets elbow deep into something mechanical or electrical in the blink of an eye."

Algie's smile faded. "Oh. When is dinner?"

"Are you hungry? I made some tea and cakes, come have some with me."

"OK!" Algie cheered right up again.

Later, Algie had a late dinner when Quincy came home. "Hey sport! How was school?"

"Look at what I did!" Algie then scampered off to go get his drawing.

Martha sighed. "How much longer are you going to be working on that old wreck with Arthur? Algie misses you when you're not home."

Quincy nervously scratched at the back of his head. "Sorry, lost track of time. You know how it goes. Spend half the time taking the car apart to fix, and the other half going over all of the things Arthur has collected in his shed. My words, the man is daft for anything with a plug."

Martha shook her head. "Try to make some time for your son."

"Of course," Quincy nodded his head. "Tell you what. Tomorrow, when he gets back, let's all go to the zoo."

Algie was playing with an erector set outside, under some shade, while Quincy prepared his garden for another year. He already tilled and mulched the back yard, where he would grow vegetables – his hobby was to grow them as large as he could using both choices in varietals and fertilizers. He was now working in the front yard where he grew flowers of all kinds. His rose trellises was his pride and joy.

"What do you think, A?" Quincy called out. "Maybe some sunflowers this year? I bet I could grow them eight or nine feet tall if I tried. We could put them along the fence there." He pointed to a side of his yard. "I've read that they are, technically, edible. I wonder what they taste like in a soup."

Algie made a face. "Ewww! Yuck!"

Quincy laughed. "Well, there are always the seeds. Maybe we could roast some with pumpkin seeds."

The child cheered. "Yummy!" He enjoyed playing with the pumpkin guts while helping make Jack-O-Lanterns. That he got pumpkin seeds too made it all the more fun. Of course, as Quincy often entered in the largest pumpkin contest – every year growing larger and larger fruit – their Jack-O-Lanterns tended to be epic in size and carving.

Algie focused as Quincy showed him how to construct a snare. "Now, I want you to try, A." They had already turned the front yard into a veritable 'mine'-field of snares and tripwires.

As Algie bent to the task, a sudden noise and yelling broke his concentration. Swinging from a rope tied to a tree branch was a man. Algie noted he wore clothing as out of date as his Pappa.

"Just one moment," Quincy called out as he got up. "Have you down in a jiffy. Though, I wonder what you are doing in my yard to begin with."

"Oh," the upside down man answered, "I just wanted to take a closer look at your marvelous garden. The roses and sunflowers upfront are magnificent. And what little I can see, you have some amazing vegetables in your back. I grow these turnips, if you'd like some. I'd be willing to trade a few for some of them remarkable rutabagas you have growing."

Quincy laughed as he swiftly approached the stranger, with a skip in his step; he enjoyed meeting fellow gardeners.

Algie noted how Alice, he never questioned why his nannies all took turns, came out from the house as she usually did when anyone strange was about. She carried a laundry basket and seemed to be out to hang them to dry. Algie hung back, closer to Alice than the men.

Quincy tossed a length of rope over the tree branch. "Here, hang on to this one as I untie the other." And a moment later, the man was down from the trap. "Come come. You must tell me about your garden."

"Of course, but give me one moment." The stranger waved at a woman holding hands with a small child. Algie noted it was a family of blonds. The woman shook her head in amusement and left with the little girl. "Alright. You must tell me what magic you use to make such colossal produce. Why, I bet you could feed a tribe of giants with these."

Quincy laughed. "It may seem like magic, but all it takes is an attention to detail. I'm Quincy." He stuck his hand out for the other.

The strange man shook the offered hand heartily. "My friends call me Xeno."

Alice tugged on Algie's sleeve. "I just remembered I made you a sandwich. Are you hungry?" Algie nodded. "Come along inside then. I can get the laundry later." She pulled a corner of a sheet to cover the butts of a pair of pistols.

Quincy and Algie were up in the attic, where Quincy had set up a small shop. Quincy was showing important home maintenance skills. Important by Quincy's way of thinking. "See, now that we got the video feed wired into here. And yes, we could have used a wireless set-up but those get expensive. But now that the surveillance camera is wired into the monitor, all we have to do is apply power." Algie might never need to build spy devices, but if Alice was showing the boy how to fight he was going to show the boy how to do so in style.

Algies eyes popped open wide when the monitor snapped to life showing their current nanny sitting on the laundry machine ... naked. The monitor suddenly turned off.

"Right, and now we work on wiring the cameras out back into the switchboard, so we can see if any crows or squirrels invade the garden."

"Uh-huh," Algie agreed, still in a state of shock. He then frowned. "I thought I saw little people in the garden."

"Hmm," Quincy mused. "I am sure seeing only a quick glimpse of a chipmunk or the like would look like a small man. Much how a quick glance of a butterfly probably gave rise to stories about pixies."

Quincy was out back, planning his garden for another year. He gazed speculatively at his nine year old son, who was turning into nearly as good as a gardener as well.

"I know, I'll grow pumpkins so big you can clean one out and climb in it. Every boy deserves a pumpkin-fort. I'll have to show you how to properly arm and defend a fortification."

"You're not planning on explosives again? Remember how the neighbors reacted the last time you played with bombs?"

"Pish-posh. There's more to home-defense than a minefield."

"And your not planning on scaring them with guns again?"

"What? Those toys? They were but water-pistols. They didn't even look real."

Algie rolled his eyes. "Guns are illegal. I doubt anyone around here has seen a real one in person to know the difference."

"Bah, when did society became such prudes over a few harmless toys."

"James?!" Quincy exclaimed before falling into a coughing fit. "Why are you here?" he asked suspiciously.

Algie, at ten-and-a-half (the half was very important), sneaked a peek for a closer look. James Bond scowled as he wave his arms about. "Would you believe Q, the other Q, won't give me any more rockets in my car? I came here to see if you could fix me up."

Quincy broke into laughter, as he also waved at Algie to stand down. "You're here for the boy." It wasn't a question.

James smiled sadly. "Honestly, I am here to pay my respects to the finest MI-6 agent I have ever met. And yes, I am to also escort the boy. But not just yet. There is all the time in the world for that. For now, I don't mind visiting and staying. I even brought a friend."

Algie jumped as someone goosed him from behind. "What did I say about always keeping an eye on your six?"

Algie spun and shouted, "Alice!" as he threw himself at the woman to give her the biggest hug he had in him.

"I guess you did missed me, Kiddo." She smiled warmly over at Q.

Quincy smiled. "Come along, A. I want you to meet an old friend of mine."

Bond smiled coolly down at the boy. "The names Bond. James Bond. I am sure you heard a lot about me."

Algie offered the visitor a blank look. "Not really."

Q broke out into guffaws. "This here is the headstrong, reckless whippersnapper who'd never bring his toys back in one piece."

"Ah," recognition stole over Harry's face. "The one you called '7' like the sins."

Bond beamed as he addressed the old man. "So you have been telling stories about me."

The weather seemed appropriate as it rained the day of Quincy's funeral. Algie, almost eleven, was sandwiched between his ex-nanny Alice and the secret agent James Bond. He was much too despondent to note how they regarded everyone else at the small gathering with suspicion. Not a lot of people had shown up, which was fine with Algie.

Off to one side was a red headed man who looked so sad and lost. A rather large red headed woman was by his side. Algie figured he might have been Arthur, the only red head his father knew. They were conferring with the strange man, Xeno the gardener. Algie would have been suspicious that two seemingly separate circles of Quincy's life were familiar with each other, but he was too depressed to really notice.

In Algie's mind, the service took too long. Eventually, Alice was escorting him away before anyone else could approach and they left.

He sighed, once they were safely underway in a black limo. "Now what?" He knew Quincy had no other living relative, and Algie did not want to go to an orphanage.

Alice gave him a teary-eyed look. "For now? Nothing. Where ever you go, I'll stay with you and watch over you, just like old times."

Algie looked over at James Bond, a legend who, at that moment, looked just like any other man mourning a dear friend. James gave him a tight smile. "I was only told to bring you back to headquarters. I don't know why."

M was shown into the Prime Minister's office. "Prime Minister," he greeted.

"M. Please have a seat." He gestured to a leather chair. "Scotch? Cigar?" he offered.

"Thanks, I think I will."

Once the two settled in, the Prime Minister cut to the chase. "I've recently been made aware of something by the ... other government."

"The magic users?"

"Yes, them. Seems that a number of years ago, they misplaced a boy."

"And you need my people to investigate?"

The Prime Minister shook his head. "Not exactly. It seems they recently located him once he left a rather protected area. I believe we employ a few magic users in MI-6, correct?"

M nodded. "They are quite useful, especially for securing locations."

The Prime Minister nodded. "Exactly. I was hoping you could fill me in on some details on how a magical person of interest came to be protected by MI-6. It seems the daft fools would like him back."

M frowned. "Who, exactly, are we talking about here?"

"Harry James Potter."

Harry, who was recently told he must answer to that name and not Algie, frowned as he looked upon #4 Privet Drive. His Hogwarts acceptance letter was given to him early and personally by a rather strange looking old man. It now was kept secured in his bag.

Alice frowned as well, as she held his hand. "It's only for a short while. I don't know why this is so important, but it seems our hands are tied."

Harry nodded. "You said that already."

"If you need absolutely anything, you have my number."

"You said that already, too."

"Did I already tell how to hide the bodies if anyone at this school gives you trouble?" She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

Harry laughed. "Not yet."

"Come on," Alice sighed. "Let's get this over with."

They knocked on the door. To Alice's dismay, the family – supposedly related to her Algie by blood – was terribly horrible. They sneered at the young boy like he was something they tracked indoors on the bottom of their shoes. The father grumbled and hid himself behind the daily news. The mother looked down her nose. "Follow me," she intoned without any passion.

Once she saw the child settled into his new room – one the family's son didn't want to give up because it was his second bedroom – she decided to have her say privately with the man of the house. She opened by pulling her badge. "See this? It says I can do anything I want to you if you harm one hair on that boy's head. You so much as breathe the wrong way around him and I'll make your entire family just disappear." She glared as the fat business man spluttered and turned purple. Before he could rally, she turned heel and let herself out.

Harry walked through King's Cross, pushing a trolley full of his things. His new family was useless. It was a good thing a representative from the boarding school for wizards took him to buy his supplies. All he got from his aunt, by way of advice, was to walk into every brick wall until he found the right one. Clearly, by the platform number, it would be the wall between platforms nine and ten. He was nearing platform nine when he saw a red headed woman that seemed familiar, though he was unsure why. She was surrounded by kids with hair just as red as hers.

After her family passed through the wall between platforms nine and ten, Harry gave it a go. His first couple times were abortive. He kept pulling back at the last moment. Finally, he closed his eyes just so the sight of the wall wouldn't cause him to flinch.

Once he found his way through to the Hogwart's express, Harry immediately set out to find a seat. He wasn't eager to talk to anyone, he did not know any of them and had all school year to make friends. He found an empty compartment, but was soon joined by one of the red heads.

Harry didn't react, at first, when they called his name. He was still used to answering to Algie. A pointed glare by the witch with the ratty hat, though, reminded him that he was Harry Potter. The hall went silent as he sat on a stool, about to be sorted.

"Hmm," a voice sounded quietly in his ear. Harry, to his own pride, hadn't jumped in surprised. Alice would pull that trick on him all the time. "A strong mind you have, oh yes. But a practical mind. You don't learn just to learn but to do, and oh the things you can do. Ambition? Plenty of that." Harry was confused, he didn't feel ambitious, beyond just wanting to do well in the memory of his adopted father. "Loyal? Yes, you are very loyal to the people you love. And hardworking. Brave? Without a doubt. You are ready to give life and limb for your country, to do that which your father and nanny did. What house shall I put you in?"

"Nothing evil," Harry thought.

"Evil? None of the houses are evil, boy. That's up to the student. So no preference? You would do so well in any of them."

Harry frowned, unsure of what to say.

"Well then ... better make it:"

"RAVENCLAW!"