As Harry Potter watched the bartender mix his third Tequila Sunrise, he noticed that the DJs had changed. The new music was even faster and louder than before, like a symphony of construction tools, which made it even less bearable. However, the concept of a pub had not made it to whatever this town was called, and his hotel had no decent bar, so random Muggle club it was. Ginny had taken him to a few similar venues, although the current one wasn't nearly as memorable or noteworthy as the Cold War bunker beneath Berlin, or that old American missile base. If anything, this club was a bit of a dive, and only the lack of an alternative kept him there. That, and the drinks made the music bearable. Say what you want about the place, the middle-aged man pouring the drinks in a blue shirt and brown apron clearly knew his craft.

He was not even supposed to be here, but after quitting his job and a few quick spells to stop Kingsley from contacting him, he went to the nearest Irish pub. A few drinks in, he had the brilliant idea to hop onto the next best plane, which happened to be bound for Denver. One diversion due to a medical emergency later, the copilot was over his maximum hours and the remaining passengers were stuck in a small town somewhere in Colorado. Since his journey was fuelled by the desire to get away from his old job rather than any desire to actually see Denver, this place suited him just fine. He declined the offers for a shuttle service or replacement flight and instead opted to get a room in the small hotel attached to the airport and sleep off his mid-morning hangover. The mountains were visible in the distance, close enough that he decided he'd go hiking before he'd return to good ol' England, if the weather permitted.

That would be reserved for the latter part of his stay, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Right now, he wanted to be among people who had no idea who he was, which together with a few bad decisions during the cab ride led him to a club called Steel Vibe. Built inside an old ironwork, it had a pleasant ambience, even if the music was not enjoyable. But given that no one recognised him, that no one was trying to get an endorsement or arrange some backroom deal, feeling like the most normal uninteresting bloke in the world, it was pure bliss. And it even came with a nice view.

Halfway between the stage and an emergency exit, a pillar supported not only the roof but also an extensive battery of spotlights and lasers. For some reason, the patrons seemed to avoid it like the plague. Everyone other than one woman. Harry blinked twice and at first thought that she must have been a metamorphmagus given the unnatural, green hue of her skin and eyes. But he dismissed the thought as fast as it appeared since the nearest known metamorph lived in Salem, Oregon, and the odds of running into her in whatever this town was called were nil. So it was probably just some fluorescent contact lenses and elaborate make up. Still, the result was stunning. And the luscious black hair didn't hurt either.

"Here's your drink, sir," the bartender's deep voice interrupted Harry's musings as the man with dark hair and a thick moustache put the cocktail down in front of him. There were not many things he blamed Ginny for, but getting him hooked on girly drinks was one of them.

"Thanks."

Following his gaze, the stout man saw whom his customer had been checking out. "Her name is Shego. She's a tough one."

"Oh, why is that?"

"No patience for fools, and probably knows fifty different ways to break your hand, so don't think to get handsy."

"I'd be barking up the wrong tree, then?" he asked, mildly curious now. Notoriety alone made her more interesting than anyone else in the club. Except for the man pouring the drinks. "That's a shame."

"Oh, she goes home with men, alright. But for everyone she takes home, she sends nine others to the ICU. So, if you are looking for something more –"

"Well, the only thing I am looking for right now is this drink," Harry said and sipped on his cocktail. However, now that the idea had been planted in his head, he had to admit that he was intrigued. The tale was clearly exaggerated, but the best lies held a seed of truth. Her crop top was barely longer than a bra, and her leather pants looked as if they were painted onto her shapely legs. Her ass looked spectacular, too, and her moves could rival Ginny's. She certainly was leagues better at dancing than him.

Did he really want to hit on some Muggle woman for no other reason than that she looked happy and the bartender told him she'd probably beat him up? That must have been the alcohol speaking.

If he had to wager a guess, he had two inches on her, and while she definitely was fit, she didn't look like she could beat up three hundred pounds of pure muscle, like the guy next to him throwing back shot after shot. Maybe she knew some form of martial arts, but unless she was a world championship boxer, he doubted the bartender's story. Perhaps she was just friends with the staff and the bouncers outside, so they thinned out the herd of fools for her. She definitely was a mystery, and Harry had become joined the Ministry to solve them. "Well, I'm feeling lucky today. What's her favourite drink?"

"A Moscow Mule," the bartender replied as he pocketed the bill and went to work. "It'll be your funeral, friend."

"I have a good feeling about this."

"This one is on me, friend. It's the good stuff," the bartender said and reached under the counter.

"Why?"

"Because either way, you will be my entertainment for the night."

"Thank you, but I don't swing that way," Harry chuckled and reached for the glass of amber liquid. It was some sort of spiced rum, and, given how ancient the bottle had looked, probably older than him. The bartender took a second to catch up, but then he shook his head with a booming laugh and poured Harry another one before returning to the cocktail preparation.

The shot tasted better than he would have expected, and while it burned, it was nowhere near Firewhiskey. The second one was already smoother, and with that kind of liquid luck thrown back, Harry slid another banknote across the counter, grabbed the cocktail from the bar and made his way across the dance floor. From right next to her, her physique looked even more impressive, and the pale green tint was artfully done. The muscles beneath her light green skin rippled alluringly. He had to admit, he felt a spark of fear travel up his spine when he repeated the bartender's words in his mind again.

"Miss Shego, I bought you something that goes with your top," Harry said and held out the glass with the pale green drink.

"Smooth," she replied flatly, but with a sly grin and took a sip through the blue straw. "And you were smart enough not to try anything funny."

"Does that happen often?"

"Why, Mr Bond, surely you must know that fools are a dime a dozen."

"Mr Bond?"

"It's the bow tie and the accent. The vest is a bit too casual, but showing up in a full suit would have been overdressing for this place."

"James is my second name. But my friends call me Harry."

"Very smooth," she admitted, now with a seductive purr. "What do your lovers call you?"

"They are calling out for that Jesus bloke. Quite rude, really."

A smile flashed across her face, and suddenly, her eyes looked almost predatory. "Hmm, maybe you will get the opportunity to make me forget your name too, Harry."

He gulped at the task as much as at her tone. Despite the best efforts of a few friends he made in New York, he was no master of picking up women in bars or clubs. And his last relationship had ended two years ago when he and Ginny called it quits. Not to mention, that this Shego quickly switched who was the predator and who the prey.

But if there was one thing he learned in New York, it was that confidence was half the game. And faking confidence in spite of overwhelming odds was a skill he had mastered at Hogwarts. After all, if he could face a fire-breathing dragon on a wooden broom, a pretty woman should be easy, right? He was surprised that he managed to come up with the wordplay on his second name, but that could simply be his luck deciding to repay him with interest. So, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Conversely, the dance floor was no place for deep conversations. Only for a different kind of language. One that Ginny had taught him quite extensively. And so he started dancing, close enough that the woman in green could feel his presence, but not actually touching her. The next step would be up to her, and as the tracks changed, she leaned back a little so that they were brushing against each other. Barely. A sinful temptation, a promise of more to come.

Harry tried to remember the wisdom passed on to him about women, but Shego's intentions were an easy code to break. After the next song ended, she spun around and pressed her lips onto his, her hands running over his body. Had his blood still been in his head, he would have noticed that her movements were precise, almost clinical. Not a woman trying to get an idea of the body of a potential good time, but someone searching for hidden weapons and valuables.

Five years ago, Harry would have a gaping idiot. And while his brain was still short-circuiting, there was enough primal instinct left to pull her flush against him and into a searing kiss. Their battle for dominance did not last long as Shego broke his hold and laughed, her grin suddenly very dangerous. An apex predator eyeing its next meal. She spun around so that he faced her back, and then she took a step back. The scent of limes and mint was strong as her hair and one thin layer of leather became the only thing stopping this whole affair from being completely indecent. Unlike him, she seemed to feel the beat to her very bone as she pushed back more and more.

Getting a standing lap dance from a stranger had not been within Harry's expectations for the night, but as he ran his hands up and down her sides, he was not about to complain. Two could play this game, and he made sure that his hands moved closer and closer to her breasts and waistband, without ever doing more than slight brushes. The grin she flashed at him in return made his pants feel even tighter, but then she took a step away until they were at a more respectable distance. Shego was clearly toying with him, but he was not about to complain. At least for a moment, as the tracks flowed into each other. The hunt was on, but who was the hunter, and who was the prey?

"I hope your place is nearby," Shego whispered half an hour later, her cheeks flushed from the physical activity, her eyes hooded, and the purr in her voice made Harry consider if perhaps he should just ignore the Statute of Secrecy and pull out his magical tent in the nearest closet. That, and another tent was starting to become a pressing issue.

"I'm not from around here," he replied instead. "But how about we get a nice hotel room?"

"I hope you don't expect me to follow you to some dump."

"You can pick the place."

"A dangerous proposition," she hissed through her bared teeth. "At least for your wallet. I have exquisite taste."

"I was hoping for an exquisite taste myself," Harry said with a roguish grin. "As long as we rent a room and not buy the whole building. Being in her Majesty's Secret Service comes with a few perks."

"Cocky, aren't you, James? I like that."

"I should hope so," Harry deadpanned without missing a beat, and pushed his hips against her. Shego's grin turned into a wide smile.

"Don't write checks that your wallet can't cash."

"Oh, don't worry, I have a wand that cannot be defeated," he replied with the confidence and thoughtlessness born from alcohol.

"I have one of those at home."

"I wasn't talking about the one made in Japan."

"So you are a wizard then?"

"Let's just say that I know a few magic tricks," Harry said quietly into her ear and felt his heart skip a beat as the woman leaning onto him shivered.

"Cab! Now!"

Two hours later, they were sprawled out on a large bed in a hotel Harry could not even remember the name of. One hand was playing with a strand of flowing ebony hair, the other traced patterns across Shego's toned stomach and wide hips.

"So, Mr Bond, what do you do for a living?"

"I actually worked in law enforcement," Harry said and noted the instant narrowing of her eyes, as well as the tensing of her muscles. Interesting. "Don't get your knickers in a twist Miss, I quit this morning – yesterday, actually."

"Did you, now? How convenient," Shego replied dryly, subtly shifting to get ready for a fight. However, unlike earlier that night, now there was no urgent need to distract him from noticing.

"Even if I hadn't, I worked for Her Majesty, not whatever letter soup agency you are in trouble with."

"Her Majesty? So a British Cop quit his job and ended up in Middleton a few hours later? I find that hard to believe."

"I was working in New York, which was half the reason why I quit. That posting already cost me my engagement, and after another meeting with the letter soups and inflated egos, I couldn't take it anymore. So I walked out, had brunch, got smashed, took the first flight out of LaGuardia and got diverted to wherever this place is," Harry explained, conveniently leaving out that his meeting had been with MACUSA and not the FBI.

"And they just let you leave?"

"Oh, I expect that my boss will be furious. But to be honest, I couldn't care less. I went from a war straight to the Ministry –"

"The Ministry?"

"My boss was the Minister of Administrative Affairs, or as you might know him, the Home Secretary," Harry improvised, silently thanking Hermione for introducing him to Yes Minister. His story seemed convincing enough, because after a tense moment, Shego relaxed and dropped back against his side. However, an unnatural tingle ran down his spine a second later. "What was that?"

"Just a localised EMP to make sure you don't have any trackers or bugs on you."

It must have been the remaining alcohol. Or the fact that most of his blood was in the wrong head again since his lover was now on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. Which resulted in a very distracting view of her perky breasts and her surprisingly dark nippels. There was no other explanation, because a sane, sober person would have run at that moment. Then again, for all he knew, her wristband gadget was just the spark plug wired to a battery and not some device that sounded like it was taken from Star Trek.

If this really was some sort of honey trap or a mob extortion, he'd be mad. Mad enough to manifest a certain heirloom of Gryffindor across the pond. Then again, for all he knew, Shego, or whatever her real name was, was just some eccentric inventor from Silicon Valley, wanted for tax fraud or corporate espionage.

"So, Mister British Cop, how about I show you the might of the dark side?"

Scratch that, it looked like he wasn't the one who was summoning a sword.

Shego woke up to the smell of fresh coffee, naked and deliciously sore. The sun was shining onto her face, and she could hear that she was not alone, which prompted her to break through her light hangover and remember what had happened the previous evening. Beyond the obvious.

"Why are you still here?"

"Good morning to you, too, Miss Sunshine," Harry chuckled in response. "I know I'm supposed to disappear in this kind of arrangement, but the room is booked under my name, and I didn't want to wake you. Brunch?"

"My, my, that almost sounds like an invitation to a date."

"It's room service. I figured you'd want to eat something once you woke up."

Shego stretched like a cat, the blanket sliding off her bare torso. "How late is it?"

"Two in the afternoon."

"Crap."

"You missed work?"

"Nah, but I try to practise each day, usually before noon."

"Practise?"

"I do mixed martial arts. I'm good at it, but that's because I stay sharp," Shego replied with natural confidence he had rarely seen before. It almost reminded him of Draco Malfoy, except that the woman clearly put in the work to justify it.

"If you want a workout, I can lend you a hand."

"I think you would prefer to lend me something else for that workout."

"I'm happy to help you in any way you need. After brunch."

"A true gentleman," Shego laughed and slipped out from under the covers. She strode across the room naked as the day she was born, the spring in her step having quite the effect on Harry and the additional sway in her hips only enhanced the confidence she seemed to ooze. Even with her hair messy and a handful of hickeys, she had the grace of a queen, of a goddess of debauchery.

"Not fair."

"Life's not fair, that's why I am on top."

"Oh, I was not complaining about that," Harry said and pulled her into a hug, his hands dropping low along her back.

"Pervert."

"Says the woman sitting naked at the breakfast table," he said, even if she was currently sitting in his lap. Shego answered with a roguish grin.

"I thought it was brunch."

AN:

Beta'ed by doenerkint/Babidibupi.

The idea for this struck me when I was down a fandom rabbit hole, and I wasn't even drunk. So here you go, the first Harry/Shego fic, if Ao3 and FFN are to be believed. I have most of the story written, and it will be 3 or 4 chapters long. It is canon compliant up until the Battle of Hogwarts, and in case this was unclear, I went for an amicable split between Harry and Ginny. They are still friends, and Ginny will even make an appearance later on.

Kim Possible only has one reference to a specific date, and that is on the royalty check Ron gets in Season 2 (dated 10/02/03). So while this in theory lines up, it is probably more plausible for Harry's character arc for this fic to start in 2004 or 2005, so 6–7 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, rather than 5. This puts Harry in his early-mid 20s, and Shego in her late 20s. Her age was never specified, but we know she holds a fully credentialed degree in Child Development, which takes a few years to get, on top of her career of villainy.