A/N: The inspiration for this story is the movie "Mr. and Mrs. Smith". I don't think it needs any more introduction than that.
Seven Deadly Drabbles
Mr. and Mrs. Potter
'CRACK!' 'pop'
The sound of two Apparitions nearly simultaneously sounded in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The two adult wizards who appeared from nothingness were like a study in opposites. The quite tall, red-haired wizard on the left was the picture of a typical bachelor, and veritably oozed a sense of disorganization. He was thick, obviously having suffered from a slowed metabolism that meant he could no longer eat as he had before he hit twenty-five. His robes, the standard Auror uniform of canary yellow, which clashed terribly with his unwashed hair and scraggly facial hair, were wrinkled and there were visible stains near his waist, where food had obviously been spilled on them.
His counterpart, too, had wild hair, but the similarities in their appearance ended there. The jet-black hair looked perpetually windswept on the shorter man, and though it was untended, it at least looked hygienic and well-trimmed. He was also clean-shaven, and projected order and control in a noticeable aura. His robes, which were the same canary yellow, though of much nicer material and trimmed in a pattern that presumably indicated rank of some kind, were pressed and underneath them, he seemed to have a lean musculature where the other had gone soft. He wore glasses, small frames that added intelligence to his face, and had a bit of a smirk on his face as he addressed the other man.
"Hermione didn't seem to take your little joke about her not believing in your driving skills very well, did she?" He said, only somewhat joking.
"Tell me about it, Harry. Merlin, I don't know how we stayed together long enough to produce those wonderful little brats. Still feels weird, dunnit? Us not getting along well? Don't know why it can't be like when we were back at school…" The redhead seemed to get a somewhat reminiscent tone to his voice at this last part, which caused Harry to snort and fight back laughter.
"At school? Are you talking about Hogwarts? Ron, you two spent half of those years not speaking to each other! I always did think you were pretty barmy for getting together in the first place. Hey, Steve." Harry addressed the last to the wizard in the security booth who ensured that the wands were checked. Harry took the printout parchment and moved along without another word to the boy.
"H-hello, Mr. Potter. Ron, good to see you again." Ron got a bit of a smile and a more familiar address as he stopped to chat.
"Heya, Steve-o! Don't forget you still owe me those 6 galleons from that chess game at lunch yesterday!" Ron grinned and took off after Harry, who was holding the elevator. They got in with only three paper airplanes flying circles above them – many employees were still at the Platform from the annual Hogwarts send-off, it seemed, so it would be a slow morning.
"Yeah, I guess you're right, Harry. But at least we can usually stand each other when we get together for the kids at Christmas and stuff. We're probably better off as friends, anyway. Not everyone can have yours and Ginny's relationship." Harry grunted noncommittally as they got off at the second level and headed for the Auror office, the realm of their joint employment.
The office, which occasionally bustled with activity as the Aurors strove to track the movements and doings of Dark wizards throughout the UK and Ireland, was fairly sedate that morning, with only a handful of greetings chorused as the two entered. Ron retreated to his desk, which was surprisingly free of clutter, taking into account what one expected from his appearance, though his trash was overflowing from the boxes of Muggle frozen dinners, while Harry turned toward a door with his name on it.
"Mr. Potter, good morning! James and Al get on the train all right?" A pretty young blonde witch nearly exploding out of her low cut robes asked from her desk in front of that door. Harry smirked a bit as Ron stared hungrily at his secretary.
"Good morning, Stacy. What's on the queue for today, anything good?" Harry asked in a bored tone, grabbing two messages from his superiors in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He tossed both in the bin after cursory glances.
"Well, there were those two meetings with those French Aurors who came over for the week, that's at one this afternoon; and also the meeting with the Department of International Magical Cooperation at three. But Mr. Weasley was going to be your proxy for both of those, so I guess your afternoon is free for all that paperwork." She finished with a smile and a wink. Harry grinned ruefully and breathed out somewhat exasperatedly at the prospect.
"Ah yes, the exciting life of Head Auror, eh? Well, I'd best get started on it, if you're still up for those meetings, Ron?" His friend was still staring at the busty secretary as he distractedly agreed, so Harry just went into his office and silently secured the door, the frosted glass window providing him enough privacy.
He sat down at the gorgeous mahogany desk – a gift from a grateful Eastern European wizard after the return of his daughter from the clutches of a would-be Dark Lord in one of Harry's first tasks as Head; back then, far too many of the nations in that area had needed the help of Britain's renowned Auror team of Potter and Weasley to put down some threat or another – and didn't even budge as a voice suddenly sounded from behind him, "Good morning, Harry."
"Good morning, Mr. Croaker, and Happy Birthday." Harry said as he signed three documents without reading them and didn't turn around.
"Seeing as how my personal information has been removed from all records for nearly fifty years, I'm quite interested in how you know that, Harry." The voice, emanating from a face on what appeared to be a broken Muggle television in the rear corner of Harry's office, said somewhat threateningly.
"And because I hate ruining the mystery surrounding the Department of Mysteries, you know I'll never tell you. Besides, one old man keeping far too tight a leash on me was enough – I'll keep you guessing, I think. So to what do I owe this visit, Mr. Croaker?" Harry said, finally turning to face the television screen. The grey cloak and hood of the Unspeakable gave nothing away as it regarded Harry.
"Another job, Harry. One that requires…your particular style of finesse. The Portkey on your desk – the brass ring and usual activation word – will take you to a Nigerian rebel camp. These rebels, however, have been using a rogue Dark Wizard to help their strikes." Harry smiled coldly at this.
"Ooh, bad move there. He should have known better than to aid Muggles – draws too much international attention after Grindelwald." Harry said as Croaker nodded seriously.
"Indeed, she should know better. The usual contract applies; whatever you find on-site is yours, and you can turn it in if you want us to destroy it," Harry refrained from rolling his eyes – he'd never taken Croaker up on this offer, destroying everything or, more likely, keeping it as he saw fit – and the Unspeakable continued, "The hit on the mark is Twenty thousand galleons, Harry." Harry scowled and groaned.
"Twenty thousand? What do you think I am, some kid? Seriously, Croaker, my average over the past five takes is forty, and that included the Bulgarian bloke that I only took because it was a favor for Viktor."
"Ah yes, Dark wizard and political opponent. Cunning move on his part, really, bringing forward that evidence so soon before the election that another opponent couldn't be brought forward…this one's serious, Harry, or I would have just not bothered you. Four boys have tried and failed to bring her down, so I suspect that she's expecting some resistance. She could also mean some real trouble if things escalate in the region. She's a potential serious threat, even if she hasn't fully developed into the typical national scale type thing you're used to. We need the best, Harry." Croaker sounded sincere. Harry sighed rather petulantly before smirking.
"Yeah, yeah, 'You're the greatest, Harry,' 'I need you, Harry.' Fine, fine, get off your knees, I'll do it. Don't blame me if I end up in the poorhouse, though, because if you keep my prices that low –"
"Thank you Harry, always a pleasure. Intel's on the desk. It's Moriana Denours, Harry. I thought you should know. Nigeria's prison has received notice and is waiting for her." His face hardened slightly at the familiar name – the only hit he'd ever missed to another Agent. He silently vowed not to miss this time.
The mentioned parchment roll appeared a moment later on Harry's desk, and he put his feet up on the desk as he reviewed the details – camp layout, estimated forces and armament, response time of reinforcements, and so forth – before pointing his familiar holly wand at one of the side walls of his office. The blank white wall disappeared, replaced by a grey steel cabinet that Harry walked over to. He tore off his yellow Auror robes and reverently took down the tight, tough, leathery gear hanging within the cabinet. They were crafted of graphorn hide, the toughest spell-resistant armor used in the Wizarding world, making even dragon hide seem useless in comparison. Harry had confiscated the hide from a hit on an enormous graphorn that destroyed a village in Russia when it came down from the Ural Mountains; his reward for the take, along with a sixty thousand-galleons. The armor had probably saved his life several times, as he took Dark spells fairly regularly in his line of work.
Just what was his line of work? He reflected as he donned the tight protective gear. He was an assassin, pure and simple. True, he liked to think that he had more morals about it than most who shared the name. True, he took as many of his opponents alive as he did their corpses – and indeed the live ones were all that gave him a challenge, any more. True, he only took marks from the Department of Mysteries, who somehow made use of the information provided by Auror departments around the globe to find the most dangerous Dark wizard threats and eliminate them. But still, he killed or incapacitated people for money.
But it was better than the alternative.
After three years working "the beat" as an Auror, Kingsley promoted Harry to Head, a job that Harry quickly found consisted of attending meetings and assigning work to Aurors. Junior Aurors get the trash work, Senior Aurors the interesting work. Every day, the same thing. Paperwork and meetings. After a year of it, Harry had drafted his resignation when he received an interesting message from the previously nonfunctional television he found in his office. The Department of Mysteries called and gave him their proposition – work abroad, hunt Dark Wizards and other things that threaten Jolly Old England and its allies.
Harry had agreed with barely a thought, so numb was his mind from his job as Head. It was a job he was used to, one he could sink his teeth into. Hell, he'd practically been born and raised for the job. His kids were happy and healthy, and lovely; he skipped out of the office constantly to be with them, since Winky did the Head's job anyway. He saw Ron every day – at least until he, too, got bored of being an Auror and quit to work at the joke shop – and everyone else at least weekly at the Burrow.
The only problem, of course, was Ginny.
Maybe they'd rushed into things. Maybe the spice and excitement – sneaking into and out of restaurants to avoid being recognized by the droves of fans each of them had, her being a National Quidditch Player and Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and him the Chosen One – of their youth had been all that held them together. He was an adrenaline junkie, he readily admitted – his Quidditch dives told anyone that – so perhaps it was him getting bored with her just as he'd gotten bored with the monotony of duties as Head Auror.
Their marriage had lost its spark; now it consisted of merely going through the motions every day, like a routine. Harry hated routines. So the two barely spoke except at dinner, which was, without James home at least, mostly quiet and had many awkward silences and failed attempts to start a conversation. After all, he couldn't exactly tell her about how he'd Portkeyed to Rwanda to fight back the hedge-wizard insurgents all by his lonesome and returned in time for a late lunch with Ron. And her job was even more boring than Head Auror – watching Quidditch every once in a while was fine, but daily? Merlin, how tiresome! He'd have quickly grown to despise Quidditch, if that was his routine. She must have picked up on it, because her own descriptions at the dinner table were much shorter, terse, almost, than the vivid descriptions she submitted to the Prophet. He'd never known she had such skill with writing, along with Quidditch. Must've picked it up as Hermione's best friend or something.
Harry pushed thoughts of his failing marriage aside and concentrated once more on emptying the cabinet, now that he'd forced his lean and tone body – he needed to be in shape, after all, to lead a Nundu hunt – into the armor. Over the graphorn hide, including tight booties for his feet, he put on a loose and simple black robe – he needed a new one after almost every mission, so they were cheap – and an array of other equipment. Inside the stylish black dragon hide boots, he stored a short spare wand on his left shin and a seven and a half inch Fairbairn-Sykes Fighting knife strapped to his left ankle. Two rings, neither a wedding band, adorned his left hand outside his glove. One was a plain silver band, while the other held a single large sapphire set into a petite gold ring. More feminine than Harry would have liked, but he had taken it off a corpse, not designed it himself. His right hand was even more bejeweled: a thick thumb-ring with triangular patterns of different colored gold encircling it, an even thicker ring on his middle finger that looked to be a dozen separate thin bands, and on his pinky the most delicate ring, platinum with three diamonds, one of them blackened and burned while the other two were unmarked.
He strapped on a wand holster and his holly wand to his right forearm, and immediately the dull gray material – reminiscent of a certain Invisibility Cloak his father had once owned – disappeared from sight. He took up the few final items remaining in the cabinet and secured within it the Auror robes he'd discarded before. He slipped the set of dog tags, each bearing the first name of one of his beloved children, under the loose black robe, and slipped on the grey Unspeakable cloak, raising the hood. Over that, he slipped into what looked to be the back harness for a Muggle shotgun.
"Winky," Harry called to the formerly homeless House Elf; he'd acquired her soon after he became Head Auror, but she'd proven most useful once he started his other job. He continued after she arrived with a 'pop'. "Go ahead and finish this paperwork for me, would you? I'll be gone all day, so don't answer the door or anything until I get back." Winky smiled brightly at him and nodded, immediately making her way towards the desk. She'd learned more about paperwork and Ministry subtleties working for Crouch than Harry would ever know, which even in limited amount was far more than he wished he knew.
Picking up the docket of intelligence and the large brass ring, gripped in a fist, he said, "Depart," and was whisked away from the room with a hook behind his navel.
"Typical men, Ginny, leaving without a thought for the kids. Ugh! Technically I could fire them both! And I should! Making me late for that meeting with Kingsley…" Hermione said on the platform as her ex-husband and best friend Disapparated from the Platform. Ginny inwardly sighed – her best friend was typically boring, complaining about the same damn arguments almost every day that they were together. Oh, the difficulties of single parenting! Oh, Ron is teaching my children such dreadful things! Oh, I emasculated every man I've dated after Ron, and haven't gotten a good shag in ten years! Did she even realize how petty everything was?
"Don't worry about it, Hermione, I can take Hugo. Lily was going to head over to Hannah and Neville's to play with Chardonnay –"
"Chapucine, Ginny. It's French, derived from some flower or something. You know how Neville is. And I'd appreciate it, thank you. Merlin, Kingsley's going to hex me if I don't pick up that report before I leave. Hugo, dear, give mummy a hug! I love you, play nice with the girls, and have fun! Thanks, Ginny!" Hermione quickly Apparated away, leaving Ginny to smile at the children, surreptitiously make an illegal Portkey without anyone on the quickly thinning platform, or her children, knowing, and taking them to the Longbottom estate with that same Portkey.
Ginny thanked Hannah for taking the kids, whom she assured Ginny were no problem, and Ginny Apparated back to Godric's Hollow to their cottage. A quick wave of her wand cleaned up the kitchen where Harry had made breakfast that morning – he usually did – and she marched right through the house to the backyard, where she mounted her broom for a quick fly.
It had been years since she was a professional Quidditch player, having given it up when she'd gotten the news of her pregnancy with James, but she still kept her flying abilities in shape. It was not long after, almost immediately after Lily was born nine years ago, actually, that Ginny realized how boring things were. In Hogwarts, after all, it had been one exciting thing after another; adventures with Harry, stories from Hermione, her prat brothers, even. But all that was gone now; except for the weekly Sunday family get-togethers at the Burrow, she hardly even saw her brothers or Hermione. She'd needed a change, a job, something to do. She considered going back to the Harpies, even coaching, perhaps, when He contacted her.
Who He was, she never knew, could never find out, despite several attempts. But the proposition He offered was good, good enough for her to take it. 'Make a difference,' he'd tempted. 'Save lives.' So she did. What she found out was that working for the International Confederation of Wizards' Security Council as an Agent was the most demanding and rewarding work of her life. Throwing herself, wits and magic, against deadly foes nearly every week. It was thrilling, dangerous, and part-time. She could still raise her kids while earning a living. She even came up with the perfect cover when she hired a few young witches to work on covering the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet and paid their salaries out of the Prophet's payouts and, occasionally, her own pay.
Dragons gone wild in Romania. Erumpent stampede in Central Africa. Troll uprising in Mongolia. Dark Wizards in the jungles of Vietnam. It kept her on her toes, in fabulous shape, and prepared magically for every eventuality.
Now, the only thing wrong was Harry.
He was sweet, she supposed, and it wasn't like he was abusive or anything like that, Merlin no. He was just boring. Perfectly content with his job as a Ministry paper-pusher, just like Hermione. Maybe they were better for each other than they realized at Hogwarts, she thought with a bit of a bitter grin.
Not to get her wrong, she thought, their first few years together were amazing. Harry the young Auror, just out of training, darting all over the country – and world, when others heard of the Boy-Who-Lived becoming an Auror – and she the young Quidditch phenom of the Harpies – and soon after, Championship Enlgish National Team. They'd dropped into Muggle restaurants from their brooms, Apparated away from droves of news reporters, each worse than Rita Skeeter, and fallen terribly in love throughout their exciting exploits. Of course it couldn't last.
Harry had settled down quickly, when he was promoted. At first, he seemed to despise the job, complaining loudly and frequently of it being a "desk job", when he was still a young man craving action. She'd listened keenly, having started to think similarly in the year after Albus was born. But then, he'd grown used to it, becoming responsible, paper-pushing Harry. He acted like Percy, now, she thought bitterly. The Weasley pariah was on better terms with the family, attending functions and all that to satisfy Ma Weasley, but was still a prat.
Their marriage was on the rocks, she knew, but she just didn't think it mattered. It had been this way for nearly a decade, so what was going to change? A few quick spells from atop her broom later after a flyby and the targets beneath her hidden in the woods exploded one, two, three, four. Yeah, she still had it, she thought victoriously.
Her hairband, seemingly a typical Muggle piece of plastic, buzzed slightly. She tapped it with her wand and both sides extended, one over to her ear and the other further down, resembling a headset that Muggles used with electronics.
"Ginny, there's a new mission for you. Moriana Denours escaped from the prison you put her in two years ago in the Congo. She's stirring up trouble in Nigeria, now." Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously as she heard the news from Him.
"Alright, I accept the mission. This bitch is going down. Again."
"I was hoping you'd say that. The take is only twenty thousand…seems the African governments aren't yet concerned or impressed by her, but her actions could definitely destabilize the region. The Intel and Portkey should be at the usual place. Good luck." The hair band shrunk to normal size and she flew back to the cottage, retrieving the packet of intelligence work and small agate Portkey from a tree stump in the backyard where they always sent it. Giving it a quick look over, she headed into the shed where she kept a "broken broom" collection in honor of her Quidditch days. Or at least, so she'd told Harry.
In actuality, a quick wave of her wand – her primary wand that she usually kept with her – revealed a shelf full of equipment that put a smirk on her face as she caught her appreciative eye. She stripped out of her casual clothing quickly, donning the sleeveless silvery-blue dragon hide top and matching pants. It was a good thing this job kept her in such great shape, because any weight would have made the armor nearly impossible to put on. On top of that she put on her black dragon hide boots and matching twin wand holsters, one on each forearm. She kept her hair band, which acted like a communication device, even though she'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of her way. She put in three different earrings – two mismatched studs, black and red stones in them, and one ring in the upper cartilage of her right ear – and slipped a heart pendant around her neck. On her right hand went a group of five silver rings that adorned each finger, linked together by a slender chain that sat in her palm; her left was fairly plain with only a single ring, not her wedding ring but a silver ring with a single, heart-shaped diamond set in it. On top of all that, she pulled on a mottled green robe, which had obviously been the subject of several repair charms and was at the end of its days, and a black leather floor-length coat.
She put away the robes she'd worn previously and reactivated the "broken broom" collection illusion before saying, "Activate," and disappearing instantly.
Harry found himself appearing in the middle of a fairly sweltering forest. The thick trees and bushy ground covering would have left a far too obvious trail if he cut them down, so he set off in the direction the map indicated the river was in as he trekked through the underbrush. It wasn't a rainforest, he didn't think, but a jungle not too far off from one either. Thank Merlin for the Cooling charms on his boots and cloak that kept the worst of the heat and humidity from him. He checked his docket, and sure enough it listed the Portkey destination – looked like a few miles from the nearest watchtower, to ensure that he didn't gather too much attention. He was right by the riverside – the Niger River, according to the map – which he surveyed carefully.
Nothing in sight, nor anyone; the reputed watchtower in the distance certainly wasn't visible through the foliage, so he assumed he would be safe. With a wave and a jab of his wand, a wide rowboat appeared in the river, so he jumped the two feet and got in. It was a bit crude, but then he'd never needed to fancy up his conjurations, so it suited him just fine. Plain steel, nearly five feet across and ten long, it should survive the ride. He whirled his wand quickly in a circle while muttering under his breath, and he saw the water stir underneath the boat.
It was a bit more delicate and powerful than the charm he'd seen Hagrid use when he was eleven, but it was much the same – which caused Harry to wonder what a half-giant with a second year education was doing with a spell similar to this one. Harry sped along up the river, heading northwest on the river, approaching the first watchtower from downwind. He stuck fairly close to the shore nearest the watchtower, so that the trees might provide some concealment.
The wind whipping in his face, mostly from the speed of the bouncing rowboat flying against the current of the river, Harry maneuvered the boat silently to the edge of the water, Vanishing it as he leapt off. He Disillusioned himself and with a silent wave of his wand was enveloped within a Silencing charm almost instantly, and stalked predatorily through the dense underbrush along the side of the river before it gave way to more manageable tall trees. The light, which had been bright as he boated up the river, was now blocked by the thick leafy canopy. He was thankful for that canopy, which would have made it difficult or impossible for the watchman on the nearby tower to know anything of his approach up the river.
He could see the construct now, high in a tree off in the distance, little more than a few boards lashed together into a floor from where the black man in robes looked out, rather bored. With his holly wand, Harry enveloped the platform in a silencing charm, immediately withdrawing the weapon he kept sheathed in the shotgun harness on his back. Inside was a decidedly odd looking device, which combined an enormous Muggle scope mounted on the stock of a rifle, including the trigger assembly. Instead of a long barrel and silencer, as one would expect from a typical sniper rifle, this only had a thin piece of wood taking the place of the barrel. Taking quick aim down the barrel, Harry sent two spells at the watchman, who'd immediately noticed the sudden silence of the jungle around him and panicked.
Harry loved the inexperienced peons employed by his adversaries, who lived to serve no purpose but to occasionally better the aim of a more inexperienced Hit Wizard. The Stunner and very weak Banishing charm allowed gravity to do its work as the lookout landed on his neck from the thirty-foot fall, eliminating the need for Harry cast anything Unforgivable. For an experienced wizard like Harry, shooting off those two spells that had ended the life of the lookout was hardly more complicated than breathing.
A quick Featherweight charm on himself, after Disillusioning the body of the unfortunate guard, and he climbed the tower like an energetic ape, keeping the odd bit of combined magic and technology ready. From the guard's tower, Harry could easily see the encampment of Moriana Denours' rebels. A close observation through the scope on his long-range sniper wand – though of course he set a Supersensory Charm around himself to keep him preternaturally alert to nearby danger – and he was all set up to scout out the positions and movements of the camp. Taking out a Muggle notebook and pen, he made a few careful sketches and indicated each movement to ensure that he properly kept track of them, meticulously noting each important element.
He had learned of the importance of this kind of work long ago, back even before he'd become the Head Auror. He'd been impatient, petulantly believing each conflict would end in a predictable duel like it had with Voldemort. Like it had with several other Dark wizards he'd tracked down and fought. But one clever muggle-born Dark wizard had shown him the error of that thought process. He had been thinking too much like a wizard, and it had cost him the lives of two friends, good Aurors. He was thankful that he hadn't been paired with Ron that night, and ashamed of that feeling as he stoically attended the funerals of the two fallen comrades.
The loss, however, clearly pointed out his stupidity. Yes, it turned out that he, or his two companions, could have out-dueled the Dark wizard. But the wizard had expected that, and had set Muggle bombs up to kill the Aurors who invaded his compound. Harry had eventually completed the mission alone, killing the wizard despite the Muggle guns and grenades possessed by his guards.
The doors to the secret office of the Department, known only to a few outside of the researchers employed by them, slammed open as a man wearing an Auror's yellow cloak over the tatters of other garments strode in.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" A man Harry recognized as Croaker asked him calmly in his guttural tone. Croaker was one person who the Aurors frequently had contact with
"Yes. I need to see you in your office." Harry said brusquely; he was in quite a bit of pain despite the Pain-Numbing Potion, a more potent Pain-Relieving Potion, that he'd taken after he'd sustained the burns and other injuries.
"I keep few secrets from my employees. I assure you, you may trust them with whatever you have to say." Croaker remained calm despite the obvious frustration and anger emanating from Harry.
"Fine. I need a favor."
"Inter-departmental cooperation was never a specialty of ours, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid I rather doubt we can help you much." Croaker said in a dismissive tone. Harry could almost see the Malfoy-esque smirk behind the obscuring charm on his cloak, and it made him want to take off the smug man's head.
"It involves a rather challenging research project that I think your men might enjoy." Harry said temptingly. He knew from dealing with Hermione all those years that to a scientist such as the Department was rumored to employ, challenges couldn't go passed up.
"…We're listening, Mr. Potter." And they took the bait, just as he knew they would. Smug bastards.
"In the fight today, two good Aurors, my partners, were killed by modified Muggle weaponry. It was crude, though, magical triggers for Muggle bombs and that sort of thing." Several other Unspeakables had left their desks and were closer to Harry – he noticed quill and parchment moving as he spoke.
"I think that you boys could do much better, have more complex things inspired from Muggles, who are quite ingenious in their methods of killing each other. I have a few ideas, of course. Simple ones like making something similar to a grenade – basically a Blasting charm or ten – put on a small object, I suppose. Protection from further Muggle weaponry would also be good, I think…and finally, I need a long-range wand." At this, Harry could almost see several of the Muggle-born researchers' faces light up – apparently some of them knew what a sniper rifle was.
"This does promise to be most interesting, Mr. Potter…an entire new realm of research for us, into Muggle objects…we can make no promises, of course, but you may hear back from us in the future." Croaker said in dismissal. Harry grinned and left the Department to file the official report for the attack with the Auror Office.
Three months later, he remembered, two researchers from the Department of Mysteries had delivered to him in his private office – perk of being one of the most successful Senior Aurors on the force – the prototype that he carried to this day.
"And you two are the only ones who know about this prototype?" Harry asked carefully after finishing the inspection and shooting off a few spells. The wand didn't suit him as well as his trusty holly and phoenix feather wand, but neither was it a terrible fit, with as much modification as they had been forced to do.
"Absolutely, this could be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands, so its production would be carefully monitored." Harry nodded in agreement before whispering, "Imperio" twice in rapid succession at each of the researchers, who buckled to his will. Harry didn't often use the Unforgivable Curses, but since he gained familiarity with this particular curse back when he was seventeen, he'd used it from time to time when he saw no alternative.
"Draw Pensieve memories of the creation process of the long-range wand." He said calmly as they both complied.
"Obliviate," He said as both of their faces went blank underneath the Obscuring charms on their cloaks. "Yes, well thank you gentlemen for the update. I understand the difficulty you must have had with that research, and it must have been frustrating for it to have been in vain."
"Of course, Mr. Potter. We could continue, if you'd like." One of them said, perfectly in line with the false memories he'd implanted as he erased the true ones.
"No, that won't be necessary. Give Mr. Croaker my regards." Harry said with a smile as he waved them out.
Harry was fairly certain that Croaker knew what he had done and didn't particularly care, which suited Harry just fine. Those two particular researchers should have learned to be more wary, any way, he reasoned, especially after Harry joined the Department in a more frequent fashion; he'd strived to learn the identity of almost everyone he worked with, and those two – Duncan Inglebee and Penelope Clearwater – had attended Hogwarts with him, both Ravenclaws. Most of the rest of the Department was older, but Harry had found that the two youngest, often paired together and possibly romantically linked – Harry's intelligence sources were uncertain – often were inspired with the cleverest ideas from modern Muggle devices and worked overtime to finish prototypes faster. Coincidentally, he had extracted Pensieve memories and Obliviated the pair many times throughout his career as an assassin.
Finally, Harry's observations of the target camp were at an end and he was ready to begin his assault. "Homenum Revelio" he said one last time, sweeping the area for any last-minute invisible arrivals. Sighting down the scope and focusing the reticule on the body – much more effective target for magic than the small head that Muggle snipers often targeted – fifty meters away. He muttered "Avada Kedavra" and a sickly green light glowed brightly on the end of the long-range wand. He waited until the sentry approached the one part of his route that couldn't be seen by the rest of the camp until he gently squeezed the trigger and sent off the curse, which flew from his wand and struck the man dead; his fall was almost noiseless, and Harry smirked at his success.
His assault began, he whispered the Killing Curse again as the green light lit up the end of the wand. He was just about to release it when a previously unseen figure in a black duster swooped down from the sky flying on a broom and launching curses with abandon.
"Bugger it all to bloody hell," he swore violently, enraged by the hours of observation work now all shot to hell by some foolish bint – likely a family member or some damn thing out for revenge.
He dropped out of his tower after silently putting a Featherweight charm on himself so that his impact with the ground was negligible and hit the ground running; from twenty meters, he cut the first resistance he met in half with a nonverbal Sectumsempra and ran on. Little did his vapid wife know, but he only suggested the middle name of his youngest boy because of many times he'd used the bastard's spells.
He quickly came under fire from around the perimeter; the three watchtowers other than the one he'd been in had spotted him, and decided to attempt to kill him. How quaint.
"Confringo," he loudly called three times, centering each massive explosion on the top of one of the towers. Each was engulfed, and the lives of the rebellious terrorists ended in matching hellacious fireballs. He had barely halted his advance upon the encampment, but quickly resumed it, his robe flowing behind him sinisterly.
Finally, he came upon what must have been one of the leaders of the terrorist cell, because the man was a fair duelist, turning aside two Harry's spells. Smirking at the challenge – not that it was much of one – he decided to play a little.
He threw two harmless hexes – Rictumsempra – while simultaneously bundling them with Transfiguration spells, which basically disguised them. It was a trick he'd learned after he'd captured Antonin Dolohov in Basque territory six years ago. The cunning Death Eater was the most challenging opponent that Harry had ever faced – he'd faced down Kingsley, Tonks, and even Mad-Eye single-handedly, and was likely the number three Death Eater behind Malfoy and Bellatrix – so Harry kept him alive in acknowledgement of his skill. Of course, the lessons the old man had taught Harry, under coercion while he was his prisoner, had helped to encourage Harry's first and only pro-bono work – raiding Malfoy manor and killing Lucius in a vicious duel that left the still-respected Malfoy scion naked, splayed open with his entrails strewn across the master bedroom, and four bodyguards also naked and dead in the room with him. It had been quite the tale, reported in the Prophet the next day, of how Lucius' torrid affairs with several of his guards had come to light and the jealous lovers killed each other, Lucius himself, and themselves.
In either case, the reflected Transfiguration spells did their job and the tree on the left of the opponent and the supply cart on his right sprung into action. The tree wrapped five branches around him, immobilizing him, while one of the cart's handles slammed like a bat onto his right arm, loudly breaking it and causing him to drop his wand. Harry smirked as he nonverbally sent out Dolohov's favorite Rupturing Curse and a burst of purple flame impacted his enemy, who dropped like a rock.
The curse brought back memories, like it always did, of the battle in the Department of Mysteries where Hermione and himself were both struck by the deadly curse. His nostalgia, however, was soon cut short as three curses were sent at his back.
An upwards flick of his wand and a thought of Locomotor sent those curses flying wildly up to bother the mysterious flying guest who'd interrupted his carefully laid assault, and a broad slice of his own wand along with a thought of Sectumsempra ended the lives of the three attackers as they were brutally eviscerated, despite raising paltry shields. He grinned once more from the adrenaline buzzing in his veins and ran inside the building that was being aerially assaulted.
His counterpart in the air – she must have been some sort of amateur assassin sent after Moriana – had obviously come to the same conclusion that Harry himself did while surveying the camp as to the location of the Dark leader. And apparently she also wasn't quite as incompetent as he expected, because he had felt the familiar force of an Anti-Apparition Jinx when he attempted to Apparate up to the Dark witch's location. Likely a similar prevention for a Portkey escape was in place. Harry snapped one off anyway, just in case, as he ran up the stairs; two guards had died quickly on his run from the door to the stairs.
"Ah, it is you, Mr. Mysterious." His quarry said in her sultry voice, the hint of a French accent masking her English. Moriana had called him that once, those many years ago, when he refused to give up his name to her. Thankfully it hadn't spread to any other criminal elements – what an embarrassing nickname. She, like many, loved the pre-battle banter. Harry forewent that for pre-battle killing; it was cleaner.
To demonstrate his preference, he snapped off a quick, "Avada Kedavra" at one of the chanting guards. It was some kind of shield chant, he thought, which was likely holding off the bombardment. The lone remaining chanter sweated just a bit more as the spell became more difficult to maintain alone.
"Ah, always the quiet one. Never any fun, not like her. You were much more skilled, though." She was, of course, referring to his last attempt to get her. It was much like this, he reflected in an instant, only his carefully laid out strategic slaughter was completed before he was interrupted. After a furious duel with Moriana where he easily had the upper hand, he was distracted as a previously unseen attacker blasted both of them with a well-cast Blasting Curse, knocking him over for a moment before he got back up. Momentarily disoriented, he was stunned by the skilled assailant from a blow to the head – the only area not covered by Dragon hide, at the time – and left to wake up, alone, four hours later. He'd been informed that Moriana was turned over to Nurmengard prison by someone and the bounty given to them.
He gave Moriana no satisfaction of a response, but merely nonverbally set up his own Anti-Apparition Jinx and a few other surprises for anyone who might curse him unexpectedly, this time.
"Oh yes, you were, and I told her as much. If she hadn't surprised you, she never would have gotten me. I think I also told her that she might want to stay away from you, from then on, because you'd have tried to kill her." Harry remained silent, merely staring at her coldly, his wand poised and ready to finally end her life. Anyone else would have feared to meet her gaze – she was an accomplished Legilimens – but Harry's Occlumency was as unshakably solid as it had been when he was seventeen; more so, with so much practice. Moriana's eyes flashed, suddenly, and she grinned maliciously.
"I guess she didn't listen, because she's out there – it's her, on the broom." It was only for an instant, and he would curse himself later for doing it, but his eyes unconsciously glanced over to the window she indicated.
It was long enough for the Dark witch, however, who shot a deep red curse – Harry would later know it to be Exarmo, the Disarming charm that Dark wizards preferred, as it usually blasted off a few fingers or an entire hand if it connected – at him in his distraction. He snapped a shield up, of course – he was the fastest wand of anyone he'd met, after all – at the same time that an explosion rocked the building.
Thinking quickly, he fell to the ground as he slid his wand back into his holster and drew his shorter wand from his left shin holster, more concealable, from his boot before the dust could clear. When the short wand was hidden up his sleeve, it gave the impression of being unarmed; if there was something that Harry loved most about fighting, it was when enemies underestimated him. He pretended to cough from the dust, and saw that the entire roof had been blown off, and the chanting guard was now dead.
It took quite a bit longer than Ginny expected for her to overwhelm the shield erected by the guards around Moriana's building. And apparently there was even competition: someone who took advantage of her assault and was killing off all of the wizards and witches around the camp. Ginny paid the second-rate glory thief little mind as she blasted the shield with Confringo explosions.
"Bloody hell!" She swore under her breath as three curses narrowly missed her, and only then thanks to a sharp dive on her Firebolt. She must have been complacent in her broom evasion flight pattern – it would take a frightening skill to actually hit her while she was flying, after all, unless hundreds of wizards just randomly lit up the sky with curses. No, it must have been a mistake on her part; certainly none of the little resistance group was at all skilled like that.
Another glance down at the ground, as she continued her assault on the surprisingly resilient shield, showed that the other hitter had just killed three men on the ground with a single curse. It splayed them open rather demonstrably, in fact, and she had to admire his obvious skill.
A moment later, he had run into the building she was bombarding, and the light from two curses signified more death within. She quickly paused in her attack to strengthen the Anti-Apparition Jinx and Anti-Portkey Jinx that she'd cast earlier, and then continued. Almost instantly, she felt that she was making progress on the shield – had that other assassin killed some of the casters or something? His quick progress was at least mildly disconcerting to the flying witch, who briefly considered that she might be outclassed.
Another minute and the shield was gone, victim to her assault, and then the roof exploded from two nearly simultaneous Blasting Curses at opposite ends. Ginny flew threw the open hole wand blazing, quickly tying up and disarming Moriana.
"Ah, Moriana Denours, such a pleasure to see you again!" Ginny said with mock excitement, though an eager light did shine in her eyes. The other assassin, on the ground and unarmed – what an amateur! – was quickly tied up. Ginny almost wished she could see the look on his face behind the Obscuring Charm he wore. It was standard for an assassin to wear such a thing, of course, though her own was only marginally effective, her brilliant red hair giving away a visible clue to anyone who got too terribly close.
"Sorry, there, kid, but I got here first and I'm clearly more than a bit more skilled. Better luck next time," she said, addressing the other assassin. His grey cloak hid any distinguishing marks or anything else she might use to identify him – at least he'd gotten that right in his training.
"But don't you recognize him, Miss Scarlet?" She barely fought the urge to Bat-Bogey Moriana for using that most ridiculous nickname she'd come up with; the other assassin snorted lightly.
"You two have quite the history, for international assassins, after all." Ginny took one more look at Grey Cloak and remembered another assassin wearing such a cloak four years ago. Another assassin she'd gotten the better of and left unconscious, if she correctly recalled.
"Oh…wow! You're still alive? Kinda surprising, considering how sloppy you were four years ago. Guess you're lucky…so I'll call you Lucky!" Ginny said brightly; the other did not even acknowledge her with as much as a movement, staying deathly still and just watching her from behind his Obscuring charm.
"As I told you years ago, Scarlet, he is your better. Last time, you merely got the jump on him after a furious duel. I daresay you won't be as good fortuned this time." Moriana was obviously deluded. She already had him tied up and defenseless, what more could she need luck for?
And then, he moved.
It wasn't to struggle with the bonds she'd placed on him, for he'd somehow cut those and was merely holding the illusion of being bound.
Oh no, his movement was to cast a spell with the wand in his right hand that was clearly empty only a fraction of a second earlier. Damn, he was good.
And fast. The Bludgeoning spell hit her like a wayward freight car, flinging her out through the rubble of wall that remained on the floor of the building. She heard ribs crack at the initial impact of the spell, and thought she heard a few more snap from behind as she landed, hard, on the burning remains of a wooden cart outside. Everything went black for a moment as she fought the urge to lose consciousness and focused on the pain around her thoracic cavity as a focus, a reminder that she was alive.
A tingling in her left arm made her open her eyes, only to see that she'd had the good fortune to remain mostly out of reach of the flames, except that arm, which had already reddened to the point of blistering. She yelped and tried to jump up, only succeeding in moving her arm at least out of the fire and having the world swim around her as consciousness threatened to slip away again.
She saw two figures levitate gently out of the building she'd blown to hell, and drew her twin wands menacingly. Few wizards or witches fought with two wands, which lent her an unusual style that surprised many of her foes, lending her an upper hand in battle.
"Oh good, you're still alive. I told you it was far too easy." Moriana said to the silent assassin, who had bound the Dark witch nearly head to toe in thick black ropes, making her look somewhat comical. His wand turned to focus on her as she recognized the motions of an Anti-Apparition Jinx and an Anti-Portkey Jinx.
"Confringo!" She led with her right wand, the immediately brought up her left and silently thought, Sectumsempra. Once again, her nontraditional style won the day, as her opponents right shoulder took a graze from her spell. He looked at it, then back to her, his expression inscrutable underneath the Obscruing charm.
Curses flew with abandon from his wand as she fought in vain to keep them at bay. Her back and ribs burned with every wave of her two wands. Her pathetic attempts at offensive spells with her right wand while she kept up a variety of specialized shields with her right only ended when a curse from him hit her like electricity across her left arm, causing it to spasm erratically.
"You're not terrible, so I'm going to give you some advice," he said calmly, the first words he spoke, as he easily kept her on the defensive with a blistering hail of curses. It was only because she was already so injured that it was easy for him, she insisted.
"Wielding two wands is almost unheard of for a reason. It slows down your casting, because you have to focus on which wand you want each curse to come out of. Though I admit it allows for a surprise every now and again." He finished with another Bludgeoning spell, this time hitting her right in the skull. Ginny dropped heavily to the ground, her last sight that of Moriana's smirking face atop a bundle of black ropes.
"Well, it looks like our time together is coming to an end." Moriana said with a bit of a sigh and a sultry look at Harry, who rolled his eyes behind the Obscuring Charm.
"Shut up, or I'll Bludgeon your head like that girl's. Now, get in the cell." The Nigerian prison was quite unlike what Harry expected – it was state of the art, utilizing Muggle technology as well as complex magical protections. Both were probably bought from Gringott's, who'd expanded quickly into the Muggle world of investments and thus was a crucial link for many wizards to Muggle technologies.
"Oh yes, you were a bit rough with her," Harry didn't favor her with a response as she paused here, so she continued, "But you didn't kill her, I noticed. You must be going soft on me, Mr. Mysterious." She hadn't gotten in the cell as Harry told her, so a quick silent Expulso tossed her painfully past the ten feet to the wall. She got back up with a smirk as Harry turned, and called out to him as he left.
"We'll be seeing each other again soon!" Had he been intending to Apparate back to England, he would likely have left half of himself as she distracted him. As it was, the first Portkey he attempted to make was a total failure, and he glanced back at her from under his hood. She gave nothing away, only smirking cruelly in her superiority as he finally left when the Portkey departed.
Once more in his Head Auror office, Harry found a neat pile of all the day's paperwork completed and filled out. Winky probably managed it with a snap of her fingers in the first five minutes.
Harry was half out of his graphorn hide armor – once again, it had served him well, he had barely a bruise despite taking that Blasting Curse that had left a sizable burn in another of his cheap black robes – when a knock on the door nearly caused him to curse aloud.
"Harry Potter! Open this door! Harry! Damnit, I'm your boss!" Hermione's voice screeched. Harry threw on his Auror robes over his graphorn pants, closed the closet door, and opened the door.
"Well, finally you open the door, thank you so much!" She said, barging in. Stacy the secretary shot an apologetic look at Harry as he looked at both her and Ron quickly. Ron had obviously been eating his first lunch, which had been quickly been put away in some drawer in his desk when his ex-wife and Department Head burst into the Auror office.
"Unavailable all day, Harry? Just what paperwork did you need to do, anyway?" Hermione demanded. Harry wearily pushed Winky's completed pile over to her, acting as though he'd just spend three hours filling it out, instead of fighting a terrorist camp.
"Oh…well, that is a full day, isn't it? And you got this all done this morning?" Hermione looked mildly impressed at him.
"What can I do for you today, Director?" Harry said snidely.
"I find out you're skiving off two meetings today, Harry, and that makes ten in the past three weeks. Kingsley's started asking questions, and I can't cover your arse any more!" Hermione must be serious, if she resorts to profanity, "What is it you need? Another secretary to just do paperwork? More Aurors – even though we have twice the number we used to? I need you at those meetings, Harry, as Head Auror it's your job."
"I hate meetings, Hermione. Nothing gets done, all people do is talk, while I can be here actually getting some work done. Ron gives me a few reports on what you need, and I do it. I think it's a good system." Harry said amicably to his friend, leaning back in his high-backed cushy chair with his hands behind his head casually.
"Harry, you're Head Auror. You need to be there to make decisions, give opinions…you're the expert in your field, and you need to be on hand for meetings!" Hermione said, still flustered. Harry knew exactly what the problem was, not that she'd admit it – Ron had spent the entire meeting focused on her, and probably asked her out afterward. Ron was the best mate a guy could hope for, but he got pretty pathetic when his ex-wife was around.
"Hermione, Ron has full authority to make decisions as my proxy, and he's an expert for opinions, too. Now what's the real problem?" Harry asked with a smirk.
"Ron Weasley is not Head Auror, you are!" She squeaked. Harry smiled at her frustration and leaned forward in his chair.
"Hermione, I like to give my employees ample opportunity for advancement. I'm grooming Ron for an Assistant Head, and I think that the bureaucracy will be an important element of that position, so I need to prepare him for it." Harry said happily. This only infuriated his friend even more.
"Harry Potter, you are not shirking your duties by creating a position and promoting Ron! I'm your boss, and I'm overruling you!" Hermione said, red-faced. Harry was silent for a moment, then leaned back once more in his big chair.
"Hermione, I'm really busy today; at two, I've got to induct that potion-brewer into the Order of Merlin for that wound-closing potion that saved Dawson and Hicks three months ago. So if you are finished complaining about your problems with your ex-husband, I'll go over your head and get Ron's new position approved by Kingsley and we can finish this meeting." Hermione's mouth opened in argument just before Harry Banished a Portkey teddy bear that took her back to her own office.
A job well done in minimizing the time spent in a meeting, Harry threw some Floo powder into his fire grate and set about making it official that he never attended another Ministry meeting with a short call to Kingsley.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed, on to the last!