Okay, so the first version of this story didn't quite work out. This was, frankly, because I realised the story was split too much between the Street Fighter world and the Potterverse, and I'd have to sacrifice one to bolster the other. And that didn't seem right. So, instead, I decided, although I would keep the Blood Brandy beginning, it would have a post-Hogwarts Harry, and thus he and Cammy would be 18. Therefore, the only baggage he has from Hogwarts is psychological.

Thankfully, this version actually looks like it has legs, so we'll have Harry and Cammy venturing forth into the world of Street Fighter together. Keep an eye out for the next chapter tomorrow.

ZEN AND THE ART OF MAGICAL BONDING BETWEEN FORMER CHILD SOLDIERS (REVISED)

CHAPTER 1:

THE KILLER BEE AND THE BOY WHO LIVED

I'm surrounded by idiots, Bison thought to himself, struggling not to succumb to the urge to facepalm or pinch the bridge of his nose. He was the leader of the criminal syndicate known as Shadaloo, and would-be ruler of the world. The world, or at least those parts in the know, feared his name, trembled at it!

So why the fuck was this happening?!

He took a calming breath, and glared at the face on the video screen. Balrog, the boxer commonly nicknamed the Crazy Buffalo. A hulking African-American, one of the most famous boxers on the planet, and not for the right reasons either, not to mention a fool, though Bison didn't know whether that was due to an innate stupidity or just accumulated brain damage from boxing. Bison tolerated Balrog because the man was greedy, he followed orders as long as he was paid, and he was a good enforcer.

But Balrog was also a thug. His ambitions were fairly simple, and as long as they didn't threaten Bison or his leadership of Shadaloo, then they would be tolerated. But the man himself was also an unrepentant hedonist who didn't really care about consequences.

Which was why they were in this situation.

"Balrog," Bison said, his deep, resonant voice echoing around the control room he was taking the call in, "could you please explain to me how you believed giving Killer Bee alcohol was at all a good idea?"

Balrog shrugged, almost entirely unrepentant. "Girl looked too uptight. Yeah, I know, minimum drinkin' age here is 21, she's 18, so? I wasn't gonna touch her, I just let her have a little fun on her own. Gave her some cash, told her to try out the fruit machines. You know, fun? That thing you seem incapable of? Didn't you use to sneak drinks when you were a kid?"

Bison knew, judging by the hastily-stifled chuckles, that that blonde Spanish narcissist Vega was enjoying seeing Balrog getting dressed down. "My childhood is irrelevant, Balrog, though it was certainly not as misspent as yours. That is not the issue. The issue is that somehow, while she was inebriated, Killer Bee has disappeared. She was meant to be your minder. I would expect her to have to find you with a hangover, not the reverse."

"She'll be fine," Balrog said, waving off the complaint. "I know people in Vegas, they're looking for her as we speak."

"You had better hope they find her, for your own sake, Balrog," Bison said, glaring at the boxer. "I would hate to send any other Dolls to find her…or to punish you for your idiocy. Killer Bee is a valuable asset to Shadaloo, and if your foolishness has lost us that asset, I will ensure that you bitterly regret your indiscretions. Find her at once, and notify me when you do. Bison out." At last, there was some fear and regret on the dark-skinned boxer's face as the screen cut out. Too little, too late.

"Would you wish me to go to Nevada and retrieve our wayward Doll, Bison?" Vega asked. "Admittedly, I find the locale of Las Vegas to be rather gaudy and vulgar, but I feel something of a wanderlust, and the thought of something as beautiful as Killer Bee adrift in such tasteless surrounds is somewhat abhorrent."

"Not yet," Bison said with a wave of a hand. "And if you feel the need to get out of base, I'll find an assignment to occupy yourself with. How is our latest agent?"

"Oh, you mean Shadow? A rather pretentious, gauche name, but I suppose it is somewhat better than Charlie Nash. His martial prowess has not been hindered by the indoctrination, nor the channelling of Psycho Power. He almost makes me sweat. The Dolls have more potential, but they have admittedly been trained and indoctrinated for longer. Do you think that Killer Bee would be in any trouble?"

"Physically? I doubt it. But the Dolls' intake of any psychoactive chemical outside of what we administer may be problematic. Leaving aside the fact that alcohol has many undesirable effects in a soldier normally, it may interfere with the neural pathways related to the indoctrination process and the memory erasure," the would-be dictator of the world mused. "It shouldn't be affected, the risk is minimal, but it is far from non-existent. In any case, I need to know where my most important subordinates are at all times, and Killer Bee going missing is problematic. We need to find her before she gets herself into anything inextricable…"

Never again. He was never going on a bender ever again. Not when this was what was going to happen. When his mouth felt dryer than the Australian Outback (and he could swear that whatever he was tasting would be worse than kangaroo shit), his bladder felt full, and his head felt like someone had stabbed an icicle through it and left it there. Oh, and there was an unfamiliar weight on his body, and he could hear someone else breathing gently in their sleep, and it was warm in bed thanks to two people being in it.

Wait, what?

He opened his eyes, only to shut them instantly. Merlin, why did the lights hate him enough to stab needles into his eyes? An involuntary groan of pain escaped his lips.

How did he end up in this mess in the first place? Oh, wait. Because he wanted to get away from Britain for a while. Because after everything was settled with Voldemort, well, he wanted to get away from it all. All the fame, the praise, the adulations from a public that had, at times, been all too-willing to condemn him.

Having inherited the Black fortune and the Potter fortune, he had money to burn. And he felt like going to Las Vegas. Hermione didn't want to come: besides disapproving of gambling, she also needed to track down her parents in Australia. Ron and Ginny had been forbidden from going by Molly, who had also told Harry he needed to finish his schooling.

But Harry wasn't sure he cared any more. Even with Voldemort dead, many of his supporters like the Malfoys were still going to get positions back in society. The old prejudices remained. He had let Ginny down gently after the final battle, and she understood. They all did. They hoped he would come back to them, true, but for now, Harry wanted to find himself. The real self, the one Dumbledore had screwed over in favour of creating his little weapon against Voldemort. With the best of intentions, but those were what the road to hell were paved with.

Of course, he was sure that hangovers also paved the road to hell. It reminded him a lot of the pain he often felt in Voldemort's presence. Only worse, because he could taste something foul, his head swam, and he needed to go to the toilet.

And people drink for fun?

Last night was something of a blur. He had managed to get drunk, thanks to a magical fake ID (drinking age being 21 here) Sirius had left in his vault for Harry ('Have some fun, Prongslet!', he had left in his will), got to gambling, ended up winning a lot, alongside some blonde girl about his age. He had vague memories of her joining him, with some burly-looking black man telling a croupier to let her play, let her enjoy herself. Wait, wasn't that the infamous boxer Balrog?

He vaguely remembered talking to her at a bar afterwards, drinks being on the house…along with what was the room he was in, as he opened his eyes bravely, and peered blearily. He looked down at his companion in bed. Even without his glasses, he could tell that his bed companion was easy on the eyes. Actually, she looked very cute asleep, her face relaxed, though that scar marring her left cheek was a bit worrying, as were the smaller scars dotting other parts of her body. Which was on the muscular side. Not grotesquely so, but clearly the girl used her body. A soldier, then? But she was only about his age.

Her eyes flickered open, revealing blue irises, which focused on him. Warring emotions flickered over her face, before he suddenly felt her forearm being pressed into his throat. "Who are you?!" she demanded, her accent apparently British.

"You're asking me…while trying to choke me?" he gasped out. As she released the pressure on his throat, he noticed something glinting on her hand…on her ring finger. Namely, a ring. Oh, crap, I slept with a married girl…wait…that looks familiar. That looks VERY familiar.

And then, another piece of memory swam treacherously into place. Elvis…or rather, an impersonator. In a chapel. He looked at his hand, and saw another ring there. A ring he had gotten from his family vault. The Potter family marriage ring.

Oh, fuck all kinds of duck.

She had noticed what had happened at about the same time as he did. She seemed about to choke him again, before she settled for holding up her hand, and indicated the ring. "Explain."

"I'm not sure there's an answer that's not going to get me choked again," he said. "Anyway, you asked me who I was. I'm Harry Potter. You?"

The question seemed to baffle her. Eventually, she said, quietly, "I don't have a name. You may call me Killer Bee."

Okay, that's fucking ominous, Harry thought. Out loud, he said, "Any other name?"

"…For this mission, I was given the cover name of Camelia."

Cover name? So she is a soldier or a spy? "Nice to meet you, Camelia. Gimme a moment." He got off the bed, rather shakily, and staggered over to a bag, grateful that he had bought some hangover potions in advance. He also noted some opened condom packets, and found himself grateful for that, even while drunk, he hadn't forgotten protection. He popped one open, drank it down (ugh, it tasted like cow shit smelled!), and tossed another vial to Camelia. "It'll taste disgusting, but it'll make the hangover go away."

Camelia glared at him suspiciously, before she downed the vial, and then grimaced. However, her eyes cleared, and she shook her head. "That worked faster than I thought," she said. She pursed her lips in thought as she sat up in bed, giving him an unprecedented view (at least while sober) of her streamlined body. "In fact, I'm not sure I've ever thought so clearly in my life. What did you do to me?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Harry asked, indicating the bed and the used packets of prophylactics. "I think we got married."

"I grasped that. I want to know what you did to my head," she said, glaring at him.

Her head? Harry frowned in thought. Ah. He was beginning to understand. The Potter family rings, while they looked like simple gold wedding bands, were marvels of magical engineering, according to the Goblins (who had managed to forgive him for that incident where he stole that Horcrux…in exchange for a good chunk of his vaults). They would only bind someone in matrimony if they were compatible, otherwise, it would be merely a form of chattel slavery by marriage(1). What was more, they had passive effects on the wearers, including wards that helped people keep a clear mind (though that only helped mitigate rather than prevent the effects of inebriation or intoxication), especially where things like the Imperius were concerned. Hell, they were even good at helping mitigate mental illness to a degree.

A memory came to him unbidden. While in the bar with him, Camelia…no, she had called herself Cammy then, had broken down, confessing she had killed a man for her employer, and she couldn't disobey, indicating something like the Imperius. Someone called…Tyson(2)? He had let her have a shoulder to lean on, gently comforting her.

"You killed someone, didn't you?" he asked.

She looked up sharply, before her face fell. "I've killed many people," she confessed. "I…why do I feel anything about it now?"

"I dunno. Were you under the Imperius?"

She looked at him sharply. "A wizard…" she murmured.

Oh, good. That meant he didn't need to worry about breaking the Statute of Secrecy. That made things easier. "Okay, well, these are my family rings. The bad news is, the marriage is irrevocable. The good news is, it wouldn't have done this if we weren't compatible. What's more, it clears the wearers' minds, so…maybe that's what cleared your head of the Imperius."

She shook her head. "Not the Imperius, no. Listen to me…Harry, was it? You and I are in the most terrible danger. We need to get dressed, find your associates, and get out of here. And don't make any jokes about an elopement."

"It hasn't crossed my mind," Harry said, swept along with Cammy's urgency. "But why?"

"What do you know of Shadaloo?"

Harry recognised the name as he hurriedly dressed. An international crime syndicate, noted for trafficking of weapons, drugs, and people, along with assassinations all over the world. It was rumoured to be based in Thailand, though it had influence all over the world…especially in South-East Asia.

"Are they after you?" Then, after a moment, he asked, horrified, "Were you part of them?"

"Were being the operative term. I don't want to be part of them any longer," Cammy said. "We'll discuss this…marriage later. Right now, we've got to get out of here."

"Are they going to come after you?" Harry asked as he used spells to pack his bag.

"Almost certainly. I was assigned to liaise with Balrog while he was here in Vegas, but he decided I needed…loosening up." She was dressing in a severe suit.

There was a massive thump on the door. "Oi! Cammy! You in there? Open up!" roared a voice. "It's me, Balrog! The clerk at this hotel told me you were here with some Limey brat!"

Cammy sighed, before schooling her features, setting them into a blank expression. "I'll try to bluff him," she said quietly, before she walked to the door, setting the chain up, and opening it, revealing the boxer. "I'm busy, Balrog."

"What? Oh, okay. That's cool. Did you have a good night, at least?" he asked, grinning lecherously.

"It was…novel."

"Cool. Might do you good to unwind a little every now and then. Anyway, the boss wants you to contact him ASAP. He got pissy about me trying to get you to have fun for some reason. When you're done, call him. He'll be waiting on the phone. Don't keep him waitin', okay? You know what he's like when he's left hanging. See you later." And with that, he left, with Cammy closing the door after him, and sighing.

"That was close," Harry said.

"You're telling me," Cammy said. "Before I leave with you, I had best contact Bison. At least then, I can reassure him. I'll need you to be out of sight, though. It is a video phone system."

"Gimme a moment," Harry said, before taking out the Invisibility Cloak and draping it over himself.

Cammy then plucked put a laptop, opening it, concealing her hand (the one with the ring on it) from the laptop's camera. "Agent Killer Bee reporting, sir."

"Hmm. Better late than never. Status?" The voice from the laptop's speakers was a low growl.

"Ready for duty, sir."

After a moment, Harry heard the voice say, "Are you with anyone?"

"They're out of the room at the moment, sir. My cover is not compromised."

There was another pause. Eventually, the man said, "Then it is time you left. I am reassigning you. Agent Juli has reported that one of our targets, the Ansatsuken user Ryu, is heading to the United States. In all likelihood, he will be rendezvousing with Ken Masters in San Francisco. I want you to take over surveillance on Ryu and his associates."

"Understood."

"Good. Report to me once you reach San Francisco. And Killer Bee? In future, if Balrog wishes for you to do something outside of your orders, refuse. I am your commanding officer, not Balrog. If he presses the issue in future occurrences, feel free to show him the error of his ways. Bison out."

The call finished, and Cammy closed the laptop with a sigh. Harry took the Cloak off. "That was your boss? Sounds like a real charmer."

"Yes. I'll go along with this for now. Maybe I may be able to warn them about Bison," Cammy said.

"Then I'm coming with you. I know you could probably handle yourself, but…"

After a moment, Cammy nodded. "I appreciate it. And maybe you could help me with something else. Freeing my sisters from bondage…"

Unseen by either of them, an elegant woman with purple hair and a crystal ball watched on from afar, and smiled gently. So, it seems that Killer Bee has awoken to her true nature, long-suppressed by Bison, she thought. Instead of a ruthless killer, she may yet become a protector of people, even in full command of her abilities, and joined with yet another protector of people. Darkness may taint her soul, but it has not yet corrupted it fully. You have lost one of your pawns, Bison. And soon, you will lose your little game…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So…another Vegas Vacation ends with Harry hitched to a someone who can soundly kick his arse and has certainly complicated his life. Only, it seems that his dalliance has had more unforeseen consequences than merely getting irrevocably hitched.

I very nearly had Balrog get into a fight with Harry, only for Cammy to fight him off, but decided having her trick Balrog was better. We'll have more opportunity for Cammy to kick arse later. Plus, we'll also have other elements of the Street Fighter story later, based on the Udon comics.

In the original version of this story, Harry and Cammy were 16. Here, they (and the Dolls) are 18.

Semi-random musing: You know, it's ironic that, in the episodes of Death Battle they had, Cammy and Harry came off second best. A shame, that.

1. One of the complaints about the whole irrevocable marriage trope that these Vegas Vacation stories have was this very thing, pointed out in a review for my first Vegas Vacation story, One Flew Into the Cuckoos' Nest. I hastily wrote this stuff in, and have made it my personal fanon for anything involving magically-binding marriage. Not that the latter came up in canon anyway.

2. This is actually a bit of a cheeky nod to the name changes in Street Fighter II. Long story short, in Japan, Balrog's name is Mike Bison or 'M Bison', as a reference to Mike Tyson. In order to avoid a possible lawsuit from Tyson, as well as Street Fighter II being localised at around the same time as a rape trial around the boxer, three of the last bosses had their names switched around for the English version. The boxer M Bison became Balrog, the Spanish claw-wielding assassin Balrog became Vega, and the dictator head of Shadaloo Vega became M Bison.