A/N: Thank-you to all who are supporting this story. I was going to post this chapter in its entirety - until I realised at the last minute that it had ballooned out to 12,000 words. I know some people love long chapters but I'm trying to keep it down to roughly 8,000 words. So this chapter gets cut in half - 6,000 words but the cliff is solved...mostly. And on the bright side, creating the extra chapter gives me a buffer as I'm still working on the next chapter.

Warning: This is quite an action based chapter and there is quite a lot of questionable language.

Chapter 19 Day of the Jackal

Padfoot had gotten a snoutful of a scent that made him want to keel over in disgust.

It had become crystal clear why the faint scent he'd picked up when he was in his human form had been familiar to him on a subconscious level. It was one he'd unfortunately, been very conversant with since he'd spent many years forced to breathe in that stench of moral corruption. Imagine the vilest smell you could ever conceive of – in this case it was a human coprophagic (an individual who eats their own scat) and cross them with the juiciest of rotting corpses and multiply that odour by roughly 5,000. Then you'd get a vague idea how offensive the scent assaulting his sensitive odour molecules was for the canine animagous.

Not that he'd known precisely who belonged to that specific highly offensive scent during his sojourn in Casa Azkaban. Unlike a non-magical prison, the inmates didn't get out for daily exercise – their incarceration in their tiny cells were more analogous to being in solitary confinement.

So it had all fallen into place, and like a single raindrop in a puddle creates a pattern of ever increasing concentric circles, his quick brain had begun assembling the puzzle – microcosms morphing swiftly into the macrocosm as he drew the bigger picture. Why 'Padfoot' recognised the scent as familiar yet 'Sirius' hadn't. The dank mouldy air in Azkaban would have made it difficult for the wizard to identify individual scents, apart from the all-pervading smell of mould and mildew – even with Sirius' enhanced sense of smell. Padfoot's olfactory abilities were so much more sensitive (canines' ability to smell was between one thousand and ten thousand times more sensitive than a human) so it shouldn't come as a surprise that he'd recognising it instantly as belonging to a Death Eater from Azkaban.

However, he never got an introduction to all the Death Eaters who were inmates in Azkaban. Some of them he knew, obviously, since as a former Auror, he'd arrested quite a few them. Plus, his delightful cousin – Bellatrix, her husband Rudolphus Lestrange and his brother Radastan were incarcerated too. The trio's continual bragging about their exploits in the name of Voldermort totally sickened Sirius.

Apart from the fact that Dementors had much less effect on his emotions when in his animagus form - the Lestranges' were why Padfoot had convinced Sirius to let him bear the brunt of their depraved boasting over the years. Mind you, with such a highly developed sense of smell, his sacrifice for Sirius' emotional well-being came at a cost for Padfoot too.

Nonetheless, there remained more than a dozen Death Eaters who he'd never known their names and frankly, didn't care to, either. So, this threat to them was from an unknown Death Eater who'd served in Azkaban and that was bad because it raised a whole heap of questions. The most critical ones at this moment were – had this Death Eater been hiding out under a rock in the non-magical world over here in the US all these years? Had they somehow discovered his MOAS? Or had they'd followed Harry here from London and were after his god son

Either way, he'd concluded, this situation was about to get very messy when they apprehended him. He had Sirius yammering in his ear that they'd have to call in the American magical police.

As he'd worked his way stealthily towards Harry, he'd suddenly experienced a second burst of recognition.. Not an Azkaban alumni but someone he'd known since becoming Tony DiNozzo and it was an individual he hated passionately. On the up side, at least this answered one of his questions – the toxic pile of filth must have been hiding here in the US since the end of the second Blood War. Just like him! Plus, if he'd needed confirmation of the stalker's non-magical identity, the Death Eater spoke.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived. Although you're hardly a boy anymore, Potter," he sneered.

"The question I really want answered is why is Dumbledore's obsequious little toadie here in the US and exactly what's your connection to Anthony DiNozzo Junior?"

If only Padfoot had put in an appearance years ago when Tony was having to deal with that steaming pile of dog crap. Then he'd have instantly recognised the douche- bag as an escapee from Azkaban. The loathsome jackal had always made Tony's skin crawl and now he finally understood why that was.

Damn it, Pads was so glad Tony had cleaned his clock after the bastard tried to blow him up. Now, all the animagus could think about was how much he wanted to rip him apart, slowly and painfully. While Padfoot might seem like a docile and roguish big lug of a beast, underneath the thin veneer of domestication was a wolf with all its primitive instinctual drives. One of which was that the protection of his pack was paramount.

Knowing the lethality of the wizard they were dealing with; he'd zeroed in on his enemy as the killer crept up on Harry. Clearly the jackal assumed Harry was blissfully unaware of his presence. He was in for a very nasty surprise.

Padfoot assessed the situation via his dual scent processing systems which let him process two types of scent simultaneously, thus enabling him to detect a sharp rise in testosterone levels and a massive spike in pheromones. That indicated his preparedness to attack Harry and his depraved sexually arousal at the prospect, and seriously if that hadn't been disturbing enough to his canine perceptions, the foulest of smells was even more offensive up close.

Padfoot was in no doubt about of the assassin's murderous intent and he had no compunction in targeting his enemy's most vulnerable area. Flinging off the Potter cloak of invisibility he'd sprung at Trent Kort.

~o0o~

After he hung up on Gibbs several weeks ago when the bastard had called him asking for a favour, Kort had been shadowing DiNozzo. At first it was simply professional curiosity at knowing why on earth he'd been offered a directorship. Who in their right mind would offer such a nauseating white-hat as Gibbs' former 2IC such control over a federal agency? After all, if you wanted to sit in the big chair you needed a healthy streak of ruthlessness – plus the ability to look at the big picture and accept that collateral damage happened.

A good director needed to play the political game and DiNozzo was too damned idealistic to lie, cheat and tell people what they wanted to hear just to get a few steps ahead. He was a naïve, principled, credulous bleeding heart who didn't have the balls to command an agency.

Truth be told, Trent absolutely hated that precious little snowflake ever since the bastard punched him and broke his nose. He'd vowed to make DiNozzo pay for that one day.

Naturally he was insanely curious about who'd be stupid enough to hire DiNozzo, especially since there had been absolutely no chatter about it. It was extremely odd and just whetted his interest even more. He'd checked all his usually sources and they were as much in the dark as Gibbs and the former Marine's other intel. sources were. Not being able to find out where he was going to, just stirred Trent's determination even more.

After a couple of days of shadowing the ex-cop and still being none the wiser about the agency that had hired him, it ratcheted up his curiosity tenfold. Kort also learnt about the soap opera-like farce which was occurring on the Major Case Response Team, which had amused him greatly since Gibbs was always so damned bloody smug. The shambles had kicked off with Gibbs' outlandish lab rat ending up in the freako ward at Walter Reed. The rumour mill was raging about her attack on DiNozzo and whether she'd flipped out or was just faking it to get out of being charged with assaulting him.

Next, Gibbs was stood down as team leader until he received the psych clearance he should have obtained prior to his return to field duties after being shot in Iran last year. Kort smirked at hearing that news – typical bloody Gibbs. The man had balls the size of a bull pachyderm and a memory to match – never forgot a slight or forgave a grudge. Since the former Marine was a predator, Kort sometimes wondered if his outsized testicles ever got in his way while he was stalking his prey. Of course, as a Marine Scout Sniper waiting for hours just to take the shot, he probably dug them their own trench so they didn't get in his road.

However, they must be damned annoying dragging on the ground when he was running down a perp; did he ever get road-rash? And did that ever lead to road-rage? Stupid question – the man was born angry! The midwife probably took one look at little Leroy Jethro's furious visage and she burst into tears.

Still, road-rash probably explained why Jethro kept DiNozzo around – it was for the chase and take-downs, while he ran them down in the car. Trent wondered who would do the legwork now that DiNozzo was leaving? Inquiring minds want to know since McGee looked like he didn't have the strength to hold his head up, let alone run down a perp.

Remembering the pudgy younger version, Kort concluded the NCIS agent either had an eating disorder or a wasting illness. Oh, well…not his problem.

Still it was highly entertaining watching the sanctimonious old bastard's team self-destructing; the former CIA operative couldn't take his eyes off the train wreck. There was also the highly amusing situation that Gibbs had gotten his closest contacts into hot water when he'd asked them to find out who had hired Anthony DiNozzo. It just got better and better – can anyone say schadenfreude?

Bottom line - it seemed that anyone who was close to Gibbs was in danger of imploding as he flailed around like a human wrecking ball in the aftershock of a 14-year-old kid getting the better of him out in the field. It was like watching a trashy celebrity reality show; no… it was way better than that! And since Kort had been cut loose by the CIA, it wasn't as if he had anything more pressing than watching it unfold.

Plus, he really had to discover where DiNozzo was going because wherever it was, they carried one hellacious big stick if they could knobble that wizened old troll, Henrietta Lange so easily. She normally didn't kow-tow to anyone.

Imagine his surprise when he tailed DiNozzo and his ridiculous protection detail consisting of that has-been FBI agent, Tobias Fornell to the Hays Adams Hotel to meet with an entourage from Britain. An entourage who proved to be none other than the Minister for International Cooperation and her lackeys. He had to laugh when he heard that – how fortunate as a former Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries (DOM) that he knew her designation was nothing more than a cover for the Minister of Magic when they needed to interact with pathetic little muggles.

The question remained, why was DiNozzo meeting with such a powerful witch when there was no indication he had any connection to the Wizarding world, not here in the US and definitely not in the UK. Was he working on a case that was somehow connected to magic?

When one of the wizards from the Minister's entourage ended up staying with DiNozzo at his apartment and shadowing him at NCIS, the plot thickened. Clearly he had replaced Fornell as DiNozzo's body guard, which prompted him to do some digging on the fibbie. He was gobsmacked to find that his daughter, Emily Fornell was a witch, enrolled at a magical boarding school and suddenly the unthinkable began to be less incredible. Well no…it was still unbelievable… but it seemed that perhaps DiNozzo, had been hired by the DMLE to take over the directorship, since he had a dual American/British passport.

Trouble was that Kort couldn't find any suggestion that DiNozzo had any magical blood – there were no magical relatives. Trent resolved to surreptitiously try to check out his Paddington relatives in England and his Italian relatives back in the old country. That was before he noticed something distinctive about the bodyguard that made him forget everything else.

Kort had thought that the wizard looked kind of familiar but then, British magical society was quite insular and most pureblood wizards and witches were all distantly related. It was also relatively small in number and birth rates were in decline – or they had been before his precipitous departure from the UK after the war. When he worked in the Department of Mysteries as a spy for Lord Voldemort it was quite probable that he'd know and/or killed the wizard's father or shagged his mother, either voluntarily or with a little persuasion – thank Merlin for lust potions.

That was his thinking so, although he noted his familiarity in passing, the former CIA agent really didn't think that much about the bodyguard. His target was DiNozzo – he was still fretting, wondering how the hell he could've missed the fact that he was a wizard for Gellert's sake! Then everything had changed the morning when the pair emerged from DiNozzo's up market apartment to a rather blustery wind. While the NCIS agent clearly had product in his hair (hardly surprising since the vainglorious tool was highly invested in his appearance) the bodyguard didn't, judging by his unruly mop.

So, when he caught sight of a Zorro-like scar on the wizard's forehead, Kort realised instantly who he was looking at.

Instantly he forgot any plans he might have had to investigate Anthony DiNozzo since the reason he had to flee magical Britain was standing about 20 metres in front of him. Harry Fucking Potter had killed Lord Voldemort and started a mass panic amongst the Death Eaters. Not surprisingly they'd understood instinctively that without Dumbledore there to intercede on their behalf and plead for them to be giving a chance to redeem themselves, they were in deep shit. If the DMLE caught up with them post Dumbledore – they all faced the kiss or at best, life in Azkaban. Having already experienced the joys of Azkaban, and not been impressed with the facilities offered, he'd cried with joy when Voldemort had broken him out.

He knew that without the goat -loving old numpty alive to argue for his salvation, as an Azkaban escapee he would likely be sent through the veil. Luckily, when he was an Unspeakable in the DOM he'd worked with a half blood colleague fascinated by the muggle dark lord - Adolph Hitler. As a Death Eater and a spy, he'd immediately recognised similarities between the philosophies and had become a student of all thing related to the Fuhrer. That included how it was that so many of his underlings managed to slip under the radar when he topped himself when cornered.

When the Puppet Master's little lapdog achieved the unthinkable, managing to defeat their Lord, he'd already known that he only had one option. If he wanted to have a life, he had to disappear!

When he surfaced in the US he'd discovered that the CIA wasn't fussy about what he'd been getting up to prior to them hiring him as an assassin. He suspected that the Central Intelligence Agency were completely aware of who and what he used to be – they just didn't care. Not while he was doing their dirty work for them but suddenly when he had a couple of ops go arse over tits, they'd terminate him. And when you were an assassin in the employ of the CIA, terminated didn't just mean fired.

He was currently watching his back – keeping track of all the company's on-the-books and more important, their off-the-books assassins (freelancers) knowing that sooner or later he would have to disappear again. This time he planned on heading to South American (where many former Nazi's had fled after the fall of the Third Reich) complete with a new identity. He was waiting for new ID documents and then Trent Kort would tragically die so he could assume his new identity in one of several military juntas, who'd in the past expressed an interest in acquiring his unique services.

Seeing that pissant little wanker so close he could kill him, Kort understood he'd been presented with a once in a life-time opportunity. Making Potter pay for ruining his life and forcing him into living as a muggle was too much of a temptation. He subsequently became obsessed with getting revenge but he wanted to be up close and personal when he killed him so the stupid fool realised that a Death Eater had gotten the last laugh, even if it had taken him 20 odd years to do it.

He wasn't sure if he would use his favourite muggle means of dispatching his prey – garrotting since you didn't get more up close and personal – or to take him out using a Killing Curse. It would be poetic justice to kill him with the very curse that Voldemort had twice tried and twice failed to dispatch him with! Then there was the delicious irony of him killing the wizard that had been sent to protect DiNozzo – it was wonderfully seductive. Kort felt himself growing hard at the mere thought of it.

Of course, since he'd failed to kill DiNozzo when he'd planted that bomb in his car, perhaps it would be amusing to kill him too and be a further insult to Potter's reputation that he failed to protect the future Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Perhaps he would vent his feelings with a cruciatus curse or two at him first, though.

By killing DiNozzo, he could easily justify it as a community service to future generations of pure blood wizards in Britain. Clearly he was a muggle-born wizard and his obnoxious father was at best, at con artist and a pecuniary vampire, sucking his friends, family and associates out of any money they possessed, although more accurately, Senior was nothing more than a white-collar crook. Plus, he was a pathetic gold-digger – marrying into the North Sea oil fortune of the Paddingtons. Not to mention, both his parents were drunken sods. A fine pedigree for the future Director of DMLE…NOT! Anthony DiNozzo Junior wasn't fit to shine a pure-blood's dragon-skin boots – Trent was merely taking out the trash.

Still, he couldn't say he was all that shocked that he'd been hired…not after learning the identity of the current Minister of Magic. She'd come to the US to meet with DiNozzo and he'd made it his business to snoop around in her suite as well as those of her team. After all, even though he was no longer working for the CIA, once a spook always spook.

He'd been utterly appalled when he discovered her identity; Hermione Granger, a bloody muggle who had helped Harry Potter to defeat his master – they'd even awarded the little bitch an Order of Merlin for it! What the fuck had the magical world come to since he'd left it; since when would they ever elect a mudblood to rule over purebloods, in the highest office in the realm? It was obscene…it was absolutely disgusting and she wanted another mudblood to become director of the DMLE because it to was patently obvious she had a secret agenda. She'd even gone so far as to only hire other mudbloods for her entourage – clearly her plan was for her 'filthy kind' to overthrow pureblood society and seize power. Voldemort and his minions must be having pink Kneasels. *

As he watched, DiNozzo and Potter approached and open the car doors to travel in to NCIS. A part of him desperately burned to pull the trigger on his gun and kill them immediately, however caution prevailed and he quelled the impulse – though with difficulty. His sense of propriety demanded that he put a crimp in that vile witch's political agenda, even if he wasn't living in magical Britain any more. And Potter and Granger were largely to blame for his exile so it was justice.

However, he'd never been one of Voldemort's imbecilic Death Eaters - brainless lumps of testosterone and muscles who did as they were told like Edgus Crabbe and Walgert Goyle, Lucius Malfoy's sidekicks. No doubt that pair would have had a brain infarct if someone asked them to add two and two together. Trent, on the other hand, had been one of Voldemort's most successful spy's during his first reign of terror, until he was sold out by that scrotum-scum Karkaroff, desperate to save his own miserable arse by dobbing in his fellow Death Eaters.

The former CIA assassin knew that the only sane way to do this was to wait until his new identity papers were ready and then to take Potter and DiNozzo out it a lightening attack, just before he hopped on a plane to his new residence. Still, he continued to stalk the two wizards' every move, watching, waiting, fantasising about their deaths whenever he saw a perfect opportunity to ambush them, even while exercising ironclad self-control, knowing his time was nigh.

And today was the day…finally. He'd picked up his false papers last night for a small fortune - which was worth every cent but also meant he was going to have to get a job in his new country. Working ensured that he'd continue to live in the style to which he'd become accustomed over the years in the muggle world. And the new identity papers couldn't have come at a more opportune time. It was time to go – he'd learnt only yesterday that an ex SAS freelancer had been hired by the Company to take him out.

Although he cursed his bad luck, as he was now pushed for time to be able to carry out his final kills in the USA as Trent Kort, he knew that acting prematurely would have been disastrous. Unfortunately, with his time running out fast, literally if he didn't haul arse he'd be dead – for real. He didn't have time to wait around for the perfect opportunity. He also wasn't foolish enough to try to strike when the conditions were less than perfect.

Since he had no intention of scuttling off, tail between his legs and letting the complacent little prick and the pious bleeding-heart twat off the hook, there was only one option. He needed to engineer a crime scene and lure the MCRT out into the open and ambush them. Luckily, for someone of his extensive talent and experience this would not pose a problem.

Acquiring the 'body' of someone was easy enough. He picked her up off the street luring her into his car; it was as easy as shelling peas. If time hadn't been so damned tight he might have shagged her stupid prior to strangling her but there'd be plenty of time for recreational activities once he relocated further south.

After dressing the bottle-blonde whore in a navy ensign's uniform he'd acquired, and placing the bait in a very remote area of Rock Creek Park, he'd made an anonymous call on one of his burn phones to the cops, reporting the dead body. Waiting up in a tree as first the cops arrived and called in NCIS, he heaved a sigh of relief seeing DiNozzo pull up with his team, plus Potter.

Now it was simply a case of waiting for the opportunity to present itself but he was confident he would get a chance – even if he had to make one. While he preferred just to take out the two wizards, if it was at all possible, he was also prepared for collateral damage if that's what it took to achieve his goal. Truly the only one that he might feel a flicker of regret about was the pretty little blonde former NSA analyst who'd replaced David. She looked like she would be a great lay if only he had more time, especially if she was as kinky about food as the rumours suggested.

Trent decided that it must be his lucky day when DiNozzo sent McGee and the new chick back to the main track to guide the MEs to the crime scene. While Trent felt a momentary flicker of suspicion at how serendipitous that seemed, he swiftly discounted his misgivings since it was a well-known fact that the doddering old chatterbox, Donald Mallard was famous for getting lost on his way to a crime scene. Considering there were several forks in the trail it was entirely credible that the ex-detective would send the two others to escort them back to the crime scene. The ridiculous regard that the old ME seemed to be held in by the entire team, which considering what he knew about Mallard's Army background, was rather laughable.

Luck continued to be on his side when Potter started taking photos of the crime scene and DiNozzo set off to the crime scene truck to locate the digital fingerprint scanner. McGee probably hid it to get under DiNozzo's skin since word was that he was furious that Sciuto had been fired. Not that he minded, since it gave him the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

That said, he would need to be quick. Once DiNozzo took the whore's fingerprints and realised the 'Ensign" was not in the navy, they'd turn the case back over to the coppers. Using his impressive stealth skills (honed through a great deal of practice pursuing his targets) Kort stalked the clueless wizard taking photos. Honestly, he couldn't understand how this fool had managed to defeat Voldemort, who was a first-class duellist and a vicious predator to boot.

Unable to resist a little gloating before he killed Potter he sneered at him, "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived. Although you're hardly a boy anymore, Potter.

"The question I really want answered is why is Dumbledore's obsequious little toadie here in the US and exactly what's your connection to Anthony DiNozzo Junior?"

Apparently, Potter wasn't totally stupid since he whirled around, his wand already in his dominant hand, ready to cast. Not that Kort was worried. This was Harry Potter; he'd been trained by Albus Bloody Dumbledore; unlike predators such as himself, Ziva David and Jethro Gibbs who would always shoot first and ask questions later. The goody-two-shoes wizard, the Hero-of- the-Light would attempt to talk him down and that would prove to be his downfall.

Potter, when all was said and done, would forever remain Dumbledore's faithful little acolyte – so of course he would attempt to arrest Kort. All Trent had to do was to engage him, keep him off balance with what he knew about him, make him lose his temper and strike when he'd gain the upper hand.

Seeing Harry's momentary look of panic – no doubt worried about how his identity was known - Kort reached for his own wand. Of course, he could shoot Voldemort's killer, but he wanted Potter not just dead. He needed the rest of the magical world to know that the Boy-Who-Lived had been taken out by a wizard who was better than he was. Trent couldn't wait 'til the split second the obsequious twat realised the Avada Kedavra curse heading towards him was going to kill him, just as it killed his blood-traitor father and mudblood mother.

Plus, firing a shot would tip his hand and put DiNozzo on his guard, which was not a desirable situation - that man had proved annoyingly hard to kill. Of course, if he was a bloody wizard that might explain a lot about his ability to survive. Better the soon-to-be former agent not know in advance that his time had come. He'd been trained by Gibbs to shoot to kill, so it made sense to take him seriously.

As Trent divided his attention momentarily to check out the NCIS crime scene truck, making sure DiNozzo was still inside, out of the corner of his eye a large black blur come flying through the air. Instantly he had a flashback to Azkaban and the Dementors pouncing on an unfortunate escapee pleading for mercy, except in this case there was no freezing cold breath accompanying the blur.

The next thing he knew as he drew his wand out of his anorak was an excruciating pain crushing his throat. It rapidly began to making him lightheaded as oxygen into his lung started to run out. Intellectually, Kort recognised that his larynx was being savagely crushed in the brute's iron jaws and in a last-ditch effort to save himself, he tried to aim his wand at the monster's bloody maw.

Unfortunately for him, he'd forgotten about Potter who'd kept his cool and used the summoning charm 'Accio' to disarm the assassin, summoning Kort's wand and leaving him in dire straits. Feeling frothy blood collecting on his lips, he choked, desperately trying to access air and shake off the fiendish grip which was crushing the life out of him; he knew 'it' had fractured his larynx. The assassin knew he had very little time left to free himself; his life was hanging in the balance.

In a superhuman effort, he managed to reach his knife and stabbed the demon-like predator before his vision greyed over and finally he knew no more.

~o0o~

Harry watched in horror as Padfoot dropped the murderous wizard like a piece of garbage on the ground, shaking his head to rid his muzzle of the killer's blood and flesh. Noting that the blood and tissue spatter landed in an arc which unfortunately included himself, he quickly stowed his wand on his person. Ignoring the obviously dead piece of scum, Harry quickly rushed to check on Sirius. He was distressed to find that the haft of a knife was sticking out of his godfather's upper torso.

Harry was starting to panic – wondering how in Merlin's beard he could explain this tableau to the rest of the team who were likely to return any minute now. He could deal with a crime scene as an Auror but this was not the magical world and he was out of his depth. Seemingly reading his mind, his godfather shifted back into his human form, looking pale and shocky as he dragged himself a few feet away from the corpse.

"What are you doing, Pads? You know you'll heal quicker if you stay in your mutt form." He joked, rather shakily. This attempt on his god father's life was far too close for comfort.

"Yeah… and how do we explain Padfoot to the team? Plus, how do you explain where I am and Kort's dead body?"

"Yeah, good point. Wait… do you know who this is?"

"Unfortunately, I do. CIA spook and assassin. But Padfoot recognised his scent from before… from Azkaban."

"When was he imprisoned and what was he in for?" the Auror queried automatically

'He was in the same wing as myself and the Death Eaters and I think he was sent away about the same time as the Lestranges- give or take. Not sure who he was though. Guess we need to find out who's still on the DMLE most wanted Death Eater list."

"After we clean up this pile of dragon dung," he indicated the body, "What's our next move – apart from getting you some help for that bloody knife sticking out of you." Harry frowned, feeling unsure what to do since if he was home he'd be calling in Auror reinforcements.

Tony told him to retrieve his cell phone from the truck - which Harry did magically, not wanting to leave his godfather on his own. "Call Fornell to explain the situation. He can liaise with the magical cops here in the US and call Hermione, too. Plus, Tobias is the best one to run interference with Vance and the CIA."

Harry nodded. He called in reinforcements and following Sirius' instructions, also called NCIS dispatch to request a secondary team to help process the crime scene and called for an ambulance. He then had him call McGee to find out their ETA with Ducky and Palmer to the crime site and deliver a SitRep.

While they were waiting, they discussed what to say, agreeing that they would say that Kort tried to kill them both. A huge black dog appeared out of nowhere, leapt to their defence and killed the CIA spy who unfortunately had still managed to stab DiNozzo just before he died. All of which was true – they would just leave out a few crucial details because it was need-to-know. Last, but not least, he had Harry confiscate Kort's wand and per Sirius' instructions, slipped it into an evidence bag before hiding it on his person so he could surrender it to the magical cops for testing later.

Looking at his godfather, Harry hoped he hadn't been too badly injured. He wished he could call in magical healers to treat his wound. Unfortunately, as Sirius pointed out, that would raise far too many suspicions if Tony didn't go to a hospital, especially with the two medical examiners and Vance. Still, he was horrified that Sirius was going to have to endure such primitive nonmagical treatment.

"From here on in, we're going to be under enormous scrutiny, thanks to that slimy sack of excrement," Tony grumbled, with a wave of his hand at the corpse as sweat started materialising on his forehead.

Harry grimaced. "Hermione will go feral when she finds out that you got injured," he predicted darkly.

Tony chuckled carefully, since he had a knife sticking out of his chest. "Not when she finds out we caught ourselves a real-life Death Eater. That's gotta count for something on my CV – make all the critics who didn't want her hiring a foreigner, eat their words."

Seeing Harry's shocked expression, he grinned viciously. "C'mon Pup, I don't need to be a seer to know that the naysayers are going to be criticising her bigtime for not giving the job to someone within the ministry. Things haven't changed that much, have they? All the Debbie Downers haven't drowned in their own negativity since my departure, have they?"

His godson shook his head before snickering. "Debbie Downer? Really Snuffles!"

He was saved from responding by the appearance of the ME's van pulling up at the perimeter of the crime scene – the original one – not the new one. Being prewarned, they avoided contaminating the area where Harry and Tony awaited assistance.

Despite having a knife sticking out of his upper chest, Tony swung into agent mode – relating what had happened (as much as they could reveal of course) and in the intervening hours, didn't the NCIS bunch pout when informed that some of the facts were above their pay grade. He thought Director Vance would swallow his toothpick he was so put out, and Gibbs, who turned up at the hospital demanding to be read in wasn't any happier. He threw a massive wobbly - his rationale being that the MCRT was his team so it was his rules. When Tony refused to share, Harry half expected them both to stroke out.

Frankly he was thankful that Tony seemed to be a so quick on his feet, despite being injured. It was a relief, since Harry was absolute rubbish at duplicity unless he had time to rehearse and a script to follow. He couldn't just make it up as he went. Maybe that's why Ginny was so furious about his five-week trip to the States – she knew that he was hiding something.

She wrongly assumed that he and Hermione were planning to have a torrid affair while they were overseas, when the reality was he was keeping secret the fact that Sirius had been found alive. He was going to have to do better at hiding it when they went home. Thank goodness 'Tony' was a wizard, or she would assume the worst and get jealous, although on second thoughts, knowing her pathological jealousy she'd probably still think that they were shagging.

Putting aside her jealousy, he really wished he wasn't such an open book for Ginny to read sometimes, since he often couldn't discuss missions with her. That inevitably created dramas. He supposed that Sirius' excellent poker face and his ability to be convincing was part of what made Sirius so good at undercover work. Lucky, since it was a skill he'd needed so perhaps he'd consider giving the benefit of his wisdom.

End Notes:

* A Kneazle is a magical feline creature which is a relative of the cat. They have fur which is speckled, roan or spotted, large ears and plumed tail.