Disclaimer: Looks like I have a few more chapters of this, I don't know how long it will last and that is why it's in the 'Odd Ideas' if I figure out an end to this, I'll give it it's own story.

Old Soldiers Never Die Part 02

The Regiment

"Where to?" Stan eyed Harry as he stepped onto the bus.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry yawned as he handed over a few coins. "Wake me when we get there."

Harry walked to the back of the bus and made himself comfortable, tomorrow promised to be a very interesting day.

"We're here sir," Stan called out to wake his frightening passenger.

"Thank you," Harry stood up and walked out of the bus without a backward glance.

Every conversation ceased as Harry walked into the bar, and every eye turned to look at the famous scar on his forehead.

"Hello Tom," Harry ignored the watchers. "How are you tonight."

"Fine," the innkeeper smiled. "You want your usual room?"

"Please," Harry nodded. "And could you send up some food? I didn't get a chance to eat today."

"Right away," Tom nodded. "It'll be up as soon as I can get it made, what would you like?"

"Give me whatever you recommend," Harry smiled. "I know you wouldn't give me anything but the best."

"Yes sir," Tom straightened up. "Here's your ke y sir."

"Thank you Tom," Harry took the key with a smile. "You're one of the best."

Harry walked up the stairs to his room and pulled out a piece of parchment, he had no doubt that the Minister would fall over himself and give anything he asked for. He also knew that he was going to need to know a lot more if he was going to successfully bring his half thought out plans to life.

Mr. Smythe

I have recently read your book and I was hoping that you could recommend more books on using magic with firearms.

Signed

Harry James Potter

Harry looked at the letter, with luck the man would reply with a list of books or a place that he could get a bit of training.

Harry gave the letter to his owl and then sat down to reread one of the chapters, he had a feeling that he'd need to the information soon and he wanted to be as familiar with it as possible.

"Mr. Potter," Tom knocked on the door. "I have your dinner ready."

"Thank you Tom," Harry opened the door. "Come in."

"I made you quite a bit of food," Tom lifted the lid to reveal the dinner. "I hope you don't mind but you always look so thin and well . . . "

"It's alright Tom," Harry smiled. "I appreciate it, I'll try to eat as much as I can."

"Can I ask you a question?" Tom smiled nervously, "a man came in earlier and said you planned to leave the wizarding world."

"I'm considering it," Harry nodded. "After the last year . . . well, I'm just tired of all the slander and responsibility's."

"You'd really leave us to 'You-Know-Who?'" Tom asked nervously.

"I told the press that I'll no longer be so proactive unless I get paid," Harry held up his hand. "Preferably by the Ministry and they'll also have to grant me a few concisions, if I'm going to fight in this war then I'm going to do it my way."

"You're only interested in money?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I don't particularly care about money, but I can't fight alone. I'll need money for resources and to pay my bills. It's only fair isn't it? Aurors and Hit-Wizards don't do their jobs for free, and normal people aren't expected to go out looking for trouble."

"I suppose that's reasonable," Tom nodded slowly.

"All I was trying to do is tell Fudge that if he wants my help then he is going to have to let me do things my way," Harry smiled. "I just did it in the only way I thought a politician would understand."

"So you're not leaving us?" Tom wanted to make one thing sure.

"Not unless Fudge makes me," Harry smiled. "You're good people, and I will protect you if the Minister lets me."

"Thank you," Tom sagged in relief. "If you'll excuse me, I gotta go downstairs and straighten a few people out."

"Goodbye Tom," Harry smiled. "I enjoyed our talk."

Tom closed the door behind him and Harry started eating. Halfway through his meal, he was interupted by the return of his owl.

"Hello girl," Harry smiled. "How are you."

Hedwig held out her leg to present the letter she carried.

"What's this?" Harry took the letter and gave his owl a treat.

Mr. Potter

I am currently in a the Regimental Association building, this is a private club located two blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. I am available for a meeting now or at any time after five most nights, I await your reply or your presence.

Signed

Sergeant Major Smythe British Army ret.

Harry looked at the letter in shock, never in his wildest dreams did he imagination a reply like this. Throwing on his coat and shoving his pistol in his belt, Harry ran down the steps to the bar.

"Aurors get paid for this and have Ministry support," Tom was in the middle of a conversation when Harry walked into the main room.

"I'll be out for a bit Tom," Harry called out over his shoulder. "I've got an important meeting I need to go to."

"I'll put a heating charm on your dinner," Tom called out after him as he rushed through the front door.

"Excuse me sir," Harry stopped the first man he saw. "You wouldn't happen to know where the Regimental Association building is, would you?"

"Down the street and on the left," the man pointed. "It's easy to miss, so keep your eyes open."

"Thank you," Harry ran down the street and nearly missed the building. Gasping for breath, Harry walked up to the plain door and lifted the knocker.

"Yes?" The door cracked and a pair of eyes stared out suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"I have a meeting with Sergeant Major Smythe," Harry fought to keep his face impassive. "And I'd rather not keep him waiting."

"Come in," the old man opened the door.

"Thank you," Harry's breathing returned to normal.

"Come with me," the old man motioned for him to follow. "Sergeant Major Smythe is in the smoking room."

The old man led Harry over several thick red carpets and down a hall with ornate mahogany paneling and finally ended in front of a nondescript door with a brass plate that labeled it the smoking room.

"Sergeant Major Smythe," the old man opened the door and called out. "I have a visitor for you."

"Send him in," a deep voice called back. "And send up a bottle of Laphroaig."

"Right away Sergeant Major," the man nodded.

"Come in Mr. Potter," Sergeant Major Smythe waved Harry over. "And have a seat."

"Thank you," Harry took a seat. "I have to admit that I'm a bit surprised at how fast you replied."

"And I'm a bit surprised you came at all," the Sergeant Major laughed. "Why did you want to know more about small arms?"

"Because I killed four death eaters today," Harry replied bluntly. "And I don't think I could have done it so easily without my grandfather's pistol."

"You want to know more about firearms so you can kill more of them?"

"I want to know more about firearms so I can kill them all," Harry leaned back. "I've been in this war since I was a year old, I have no desire to be in this war for any longer than I have to."

"I see," Sergeant Major Smythe nodded. "You plan to do all this by yourself?"

"If I have to," Harry nodded. "I had some friends help me a few weeks ago, I think they'd be wiling to help me again."

"Children?"

"They're all I have," Harry frowned. "Most of the adults aren't willing to help, and I can't trust most of the adults that are wiling to help."

"Why not?" Sergeant Major Smythe held up his hand, "I'm not arguing with you I'm asking for information."

"They work for one of two people," Harry held up two fingers. "Albus Dumbledore or Minister Fudge, I wouldn't trust Fudge to pick his own nose. Asking for his help is worse than asking for none at all."

"Your Whiskey sir," the old man from before put a bottle and a couple glasses on the table then took his leave.

"And Dumbledore?" The Sergeant Major asked quietly.

"Is so blinded by the so called 'greater good' that he doesn't care much about the little people," Harry snorted. "Unless of course they're death eaters trying to 'redeem' themselves."

"Taking a bunch of untrained school children into the fight is the same as asking for them to be killed," Smythe smiled. "Hard experience has taught me that much."

"I don't have anyone else," Harry shook his head. "I wish I did, but there's no one else that can help."

"Look around you," the old man waved his hand. "Do you know where you are?"

"In a private club," Harry nodded. "Why?"

"In a private club for Squibs," Smythe corrected. "Squibs that left their family to serve the Empire, Squibs that spent years in the Military."

"Why so many?" Harry started to smile.

"It used to be the custom to send any sons without magic into the Army to get rid of them," Smythe smiled. "It was a way to get rid of unwanted sons for many people, the wizarding world just took advantage of it."

"Do they still do it?"

"No," the old man shook his head. "The Army and the Empire have both shrunk, and the death eaters made it a priority to eliminate any squib that they could find . . . the Squib's blood was tainteddon't you know."

"No offence," Harry smiled. "But do you really think a bunch of old men can make that much of a difference?"

"Your war with Voldemort," the old NCO smiled. "Is nothing to us, at best it's a minor insurgency. We know how to fight and we know how to kill."

"And you know about the wizarding world," Harry smiled. "I told them that I wouldn't fight unless they gave me pay, and a few concisions. Would everyone really be willing to fight with me?"

"Willing to fight and follow orders," Smythe nodded.

"Why would they follow my orders?" Harry blinked, "I'm just a kid."

"They're use to their officers being half trained children," Smythe smiled. "Just leave everything to me."

"They'll really join us?" Harry still couldn't believe it, "when they could stay here and enjoy their retirement?"

"I'm almost one hundred years old," the old man smiled coldly. "I retired from the army in the late nineteen fifty's and I was lucky to stay that long, I have two grandchildren and one great granddaughter in your school. You come here and you offer me a chance to go back to the Army, you sweeten the deal by offering me a shot at the men who want to hurt my cute little great granddaughter, and you expect me to turn you down? I'd pay you for a chance to do either one, and every man here would do the same."

"Can you tell me how to get a bit of training?" Harry gave a weak smile, "I did write to you in hopes of learning to use my pistol better."

"What kind of Pistol do you have?" The old solder leaned forward.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I could show it to you if you like."

"I'd like," Smythe nodded.

"One moment," Harry pulled out the large pistol and broke it open to unload it. "Your book said to always unload a firearm before handing it to someone." Harry explained as he set the revolver on the table.

"Glad you paid attention," Sergeant Major Smythe nodded. "It's a Webley Mk VI, fires .455 caliber bullet, you say this was your grandfather's?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "That's what my uncle said, he said that my grandfather was in the Army during and after the war and that he worked for something called the Special Air Service after the war."

"Sport and Social," the old man suppressed a laugh. "Do you know what his rank and name was?"

"My uncle said he was a Major," Harry licked his lips. "And he would have been named Evans, that was my mothers name."

"Evans?" The old soldier nodded, "I might have known an officer by that name. It'll help you to have had him in your family."

"Why?" Harry was a bit confused.

"Blood will tell," Smythe smirked. "Some of the men will feel better knowing that you had officers in the family, they're old and they still have the idea that the young gentleman is special."

"Oh . . . is there anything I can do to prepare?" Harry was not going to let these men down, "I'm sure the Minister will cave to my demands and I don't think it will take him much time to do it."

"First thing's first," Sargent Major Smythe stood up. "O'Henry, Jones, McLain., get over here."

"What do you need Smythe?" A man with a scar going across the bridge of his nose gave Harry a curious glance.

"What would you give me to get back into the Army?" Smythe grinned.

"Well," one of the men began. "I already gave my left hand so what do you want?"

"I'm going to give all of you a chance to reenlist," Smythe smiled. "We're forming a regiment and our young gentleman here was kind enough to offer me the post of Regimental Sergeant Major"

"We're in," the third man replied quickly. "Anything is better than spending the rest of my life rotting away here, give me a purpose again and I promise that you won't be disappointed."

"I called you over here because you all retired as senior Non Commissioned Officers, and everyone knows that good Sergeants make a good unit." Smythe smiled, "Mr. Potter has agreed to give me free hand with the enlisted men and I've decided that I want the three of you to help me get things started."

"Do we come in with our old ranks?" One of the old men asked seriously.

"That's all yet to be decided," Smythe took a sip. "Mr. Potter is still in talks with the government, but I expect that he'll be able to tell us more soon. I just wanted to give you an idea of what's happening ahead of time so you could prepare for it."

"Thank you Mr. Potter," one of the old men had tears in his eyes. "You won't regret giving us this opportunity."

"I know," Harry smiled. "You're the best the Empire produced, I'm just lucky for the chance to command you."

"To the Regiment," Smythe held up his glass.

"The Regiment," the others held up their glasses.

"You men spread the word," Smythe commanded. "I want everyone to be ready for when Mr. Potter decides to give the green light."

"So tell me Mr. Potter," Sergeant Major Smythe waited until the other men left. "What are your plans?"

"Now?" Harry exhaled. "I don't know, everything seemed so clear and now it's all moving so fast."

"Get a plan sir," Smythe looked Harry in the eye. "That's your job, you plan things and inspire the men. I take orders and make things happen."

"Ok," Harry's eyes lost focus. "There are military people that march in parades right?"

"Yes there are," Smythe agreed.

"Why don't we be those?" Harry smiled, "it would make it easier for us to carry guns wouldn't it?"

"No . . . but you might be on to something sir," Smythe nodded. "It might give us legitimacy, they might let us back into the Army if we tell them we want that we were a ceremonial unit."

"Good," Harry nodded. "I was also thinking that if we were to get some nice uniforms, we might be able to put men around some of the places that have a high risk of attack. With nice uniforms they'd just be decorations, no one would notice them right?"

"Oh they'd notice them," Smythe nodded. "They don't become invisible for quite a while, but I think the idea has merit. Any other ideas."

"Your book mentioned that a well trained rifleman could hit a target at eight hundred yards?" Harry licked his lips, "could we . . . could we put men on the rooftops? That way if there's an attack they'd be out of sight and could shoot down at the death eaters."

"So you want us to fight a defensive war then?" Smythe nodded.

"At first," Harry admitted. "I think it might be a while before we start fighting back."

"I agree," Smythe nodded. "I think . . ."

A regal looking owl interrupted the man by landing on the table.

" . . . that you have a message," Smythe finished with a smile.

"Hmmm," Harry read the message. "Minister Fudge wants to speak with me, he wants to know what he can do to get me to return to the wizarding world."

"When does he want to meet?" Smythe grinned, he was going to enjoy working with this boy.

"Right away," Harry read the last lines of the letter. "He wants to hold a public meeting at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Tell him that you'll be there in fifteen minutes," Smythe advised. "With your permission I'd like to come with you, might be a good idea to have one of the lads come too."

"Do it," Harry nodded. "Any idea how I should handle this?"

"With your permission sir," Smythe smiled. "We'll give them a show, you walk in and me and . . . say McLain will trail behind you. You sit through the meeting and look annoyed and we'll make any suggestions that need to be made."

"That sounds fine," Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"Yes sir," Smythe stood up. "McLain, get over here."

"You called?"

"We're going to go to a meeting with Mr. Potter," Smythe smiled. "Shouldn't be too difficult, Mr. Potter has these bums over a barrel and with luck they won't be too difficult."

"So why are we coming?"

"I've found that its much easier to negotiate with too evil looking thugs standing behind me . . . well, provided they're my thugs of course." Smythe grinned, "Mr. Potter tells me that the current Minister is a worm."

"Spineless," McLain nodded. "I'm in, sounds like fun."

AN: Now you know why it has that title.