"One murder makes a villain, millions a hero. Numbers sanctify, my good fellow." Charlie Chaplin

AN; for the purposes of the plot the Fairmont is where the Royal Vauxhall pub in London is in real life.

Merry Christmas

February 2013

Voldemort and Dumbledore dueled away in the Ministry Atrium and it seemed Dumbledore took the upper hand for a few seconds as Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, trapped in Dumbledore's water orb. Then he was gone in a shockwave of magic, and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

Believing it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made to run out from his cover, but Dumbledore bellowed,

"Stay where you are, Harry!"

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why as the danger had passed. The hall was quite empty but for themselves. Then Harry's scar burst in pain. He knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance. He could feel his very blood boiling in his veins.

He was gone from the hall trapped in his mind held in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his being ended and the creature's began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape. Then the creature spoke, using Harry's mouth as a puppeteer would his toy, even in his agony Harry was startled as his jaw moved without his command . . .

"Kill me now, Dumbledore. . ."

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. Dumbledore watched horrified as Harry's body twisted towards him eyes glowing with power with a slight red ring that seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to fight its way towards his iris.

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy. . ."

Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us. . .

"End it, Dumbledore. . . Death is nothing compared to this. . ."

And I'll see Sirius again Harry thought. . .

As Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creature's coils loosened, and the pain receded. Voldemort appeared in his mind and the creature latched on to him, something he seemed oblivious to. Harry suspected it was a figment of his ailing mind. Lying facedown on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not polished wood he began to remember magic he couldn't remember studying with shocking familiarity as they settled into muscle memory. Theories on how magic worked, applications of wandless magic, applications of occlumency, international and wizarding law. . . Then just a quickly as it began it ended.

A vortex of his power expelled itself from Harry as Voldemort and the creature were forced out of his mind. Despite the failed possession, Voldemort seemed pleased as he stood over him.

"So weak, so vulnerable. You are a fool Harry Potter, and you will lose. Everything."

"I pity you, 50 years and you failed to rule magical England. A lifetime of mutilating your soul and now you've lost, again."

"You jest, but I shall enjoy taking everything away from you before I kill you. Death will be a kindness I shall bestow upon you. After all you are old friends." With that Voldemort cackled as his face morphed into Harry's own. "They adore you, you know," Voldemort said with Harry's face.

Harry looked up immediately and observed his doppelganger, a reflection of himself, the sclera of his eyes entirely blacked out, wearing his full battle dress and an Atlas cloak draped above it. "How easy it would be to have them fawn over you, do your bidding at your merest wish. All you must do is ask" His reflection smiled back at him, coming closer so he could se his face. He looked only a few years older, but there was a gnarly scar that ran down his neck and disappeared under his collar.

"You aren't real," Harry said defiantly. "You don't matter."

"How is that possible? I am you. You are me. Destiny cannot be denied by those touched by the Endless ."

Suddenly a familiar voice hauled Harry out of his dreams. "Are you all right, Harry? Your pupils are huge."

"Yes, just a dream... memory. I was startled."

"A nightmare?"

"No, just a memory of a pyrrhic victory. I'm going to step out for a drink."

"Want me to come along?"

"No, it's fine."

It wasn't often Harry came back to London, as while the wizarding world had locked itself up from outside influence he felt it wasn't necessary to poke the sleeping troll that was the Ministry by inviting them to look into his affairs. Parking his McLaren outside of The Fairmont which housed his favorite pub, the Beaufort Bar. Taking a seat in the far corner he let the waitress take his order, the Impressionist. It always amused him to watch the nitrogen pour out of the glass reminding him of his former potions classes. He gave a quick glance at an attractive woman sat at a table in the center of the pub.

This was an unusual Thursday night for Ana as she drank her Martini. It was nearly eleven p.m., and the bulk of the after-work crowd was long gone, but she always worked late on Thursday, putting together reports that were both tedious and stressful. To reward herself for her efforts, she had developed the habit of popping in here at the Beaufort pub for dinner, drinks, and gossip, before heading to the Tube and her flat in the East End. She'd been keeping up this ritual for a year, and by now knew all the regulars at the Beaufort Bar, if not by name, at least by sight.

Tonight, however, there was a new face in the crowd, and Ana's work thoughts trailed off quickly as soon as she saw him walk through the door. He was a tall man in his late twenties or early thirties, in a stylish gray suit that said money and class, and even the conservative cut of his jacket could not hide the physicality of his body underneath.

He was alone, and he found a seat in the corner of the bar area, unscrewed the tiny teal light bulb on the table, and sat down in the low light.

When the waitress came by a moment later he ordered, and soon a pint of premium lager was delivered to him. He looked at his beer while he drank it, checked his phone a couple of times, but otherwise he seemed lost in deep thought.

His disinterest and brooding appearance only increased his stock with Ana, who watched him from across the room. By the time, he started on his second pint, the woman from Cortes Consolidated was halfway through her third. She was no shrinking violet; usually, she would leave her chair immediately when she saw a good-looking target she wanted in the pub unencumbered by either a date or a wedding ring, but she hesitated.

Though he did not look angry or cruel, there were no cues in his body language that gave any indication of approachability. As the evening wore on it became something of a challenge as she observed him. Taking a final sip of her liquor, giving it only a few seconds to kick in, she stood up and made her way across the room.

Harry saw the curly haired brunette coming from twenty paces.

"Shit", he mumbled to himself. "I'm not in the mood." He looked into the golden lager in front of him, willing the woman to lose her nerve before she arrived at his table.

"Hello there" She said. Harry was greatly disappointed in his powers of psychic suggestion, but not desperate enough to resort to legilimency. "I thought I'd come and check on you. You fancy a fresh drink? Or how 'bout a fresh light bulb?" she joked.

Harry looked up at her without making much eye contact. He smiled a little at her joke, doing his best to be polite without appearing overly friendly.

"How are you tonight?"

Ana smiled. "I felt like I hadn't seen you here before. I was trying to guess your story."

Harry looked back to his beer. He knew he should feel flattered, but he wasn't, not tonight.

"Not much of a story, really. I'm here visiting in the city for a few days from the states. Haven't been home in awhile."

She extended a hand. "Ana. Pleased to meet you." Harry looked into her eyes for a quick moment, and determined her to be not quite inebriated, but not terribly far from it.

He shook her hand. "I'm Harry."

Ana brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I love America. Went over last year with my ex. Not ex-husband, no, nothing like that, just a bloke I dated for a while, before I realized what a narcissistic sod he was. A right bastard. Anyway, got a holiday out of him, at least, so he was good for something."

"That's nice. At least something came from it"

"Right! Where you from? Where do you call home?"

"Surrey actually, I move around pretty much to wherever work takes me, usually New York these days," he replied. She looked deeply into his eyes while he talked. Harry saw immediately that she registered a faint sense of recognition, and she was confused by this. She recovered and said, "That's East Coast, right? Near Washington, D.C. Haven't been to the East Coast. Me and my ex did the West Coast, quite loved San Francisco, but the traffic down in L.A. was bloody awful. Never did quite get used to driving on the right side of the—"

Ana's eyes widened suddenly, and she stopped talking.

Shit, Harry said to himself. Here we go.

"Oh . . . my . . . God."

"Please," said Harry, softly.

"You're Harry Potter."

"That's me."

"I don't believe it!"

Ana spoke louder this time, just below a shout. Harry reached out and gently took hold of her forearm.

"Ana. Please. I'd appreciate you not making a big deal out of it."

The redhead looked around the room quickly, seeing the attention her exclamation had attracted. Ana turned back to Harry and, with a conspiratorial nod, she said,

"Right. I understand. No problem. Your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks." The little miracles, Harry thought to himself again, but he smiled. Ana slipped into the booth, across from him. Damn.

They talked for a few minutes; she asked him a dozen rapid-fire questions about his life and what he was doing here and how it was that he was all by himself without any protection. He responded with short answers; again, he wasn't rude, he was simply trying to keep up with the Ana inquisition. She had conspicuously not pushed when he ducked around why he was alone or out so late. He learned how she became the sole heir of the Cortes Syndicate. Her parent's unfortunate death when she was 16 in a freak sinkhole accident left her emancipated and fabulously rich early in life. She remembered very little of her life before the accident and the event itself. Doctors claimed that while she had recovered from her injuries she was subconsciously repressing the trauma from the event. After dropping out of both Harvard and MIT she took to a more hands-on approach to her education and became one of the leading minds in the fields of robotics and nanotechnology.

"Harry . . . would it be forward of me to ask you if you'd like to go somewhere else where we can talk?"

Harry stifled a slight smile. "Yes. Though normally I would agree, but I have to get going."

"Oh, well . . . that's fine."

The young woman was taken aback, not sure what to make of the British wizards response. Before she could speak, Harry said, "I'm sorry. I've got a really early morning tomorrow. But you know, I think there's this little project of mine in your field of expertise you could help me with."

Ana said she understood, and looked intrigued by the following statement. Harry pulled out a small address book and red fountain.
"Really, no phone?" Ana quipped as she took the pen.
"Sometimes old school is better, can't better, can't be hacked."

"Can be stolen though." Not with anti-theft hexes Harry thought.

In reality the address book was the brainchild of one Ronald Weasley whose paranoia at times would have put off even Mad Eye. On the rear of each page of the address book was a magically binding contract written in demiguise blood, leaving it invisible to the naked eye. The pen was Hermione's improved version of the blood quill, it drew the blood far more subtly and expelled a liquid that resembled ink more than blood. A highly illegal piece of blood magic in Britain but it had been a long time since Harry had treated magical Britain's laws as more than annoying suggestions.

Once she was done Harry in turn took out a business card and scribbled his personal number on the back and handed it to her. She took it with a ecstatic smile

"I hope I can give you a call when you aren't too busy. I'd love for you to show me around town. Since you were born and raised here, and I could do worse for a tour guide."

"Sure. I'll give a call sometime soon."

"It's truly amazing what you do for the world Harry, helping people be healthier, live longer. Even some of the… shadier, things I've heard about Firebird, I can see. Why they're necessary." Ana said as he stood to leave

"Everyone is worth saving. Even the useless, even the demons. Everyone is worth saving in the face of darkness that has threatened our would as of late. Captain America fought against the darkness and was a beacon of light for the world. I believe there are some beings in the world you need to drag into the light and let the world judge them as they are. Even if sometimes I have to be the hand in the dark pushing them into the light."

"Well that wasn't cryptic at all," Ana whipped back sardonically. "But I think I understand."

"That project of mine will require us to fly out of town FYI."

"Not a problem, give me a call anytime Lovely to meet you, Harry."

"Likewise."

Ana reluctantly headed back to her table, and Harry finished of his drink. He slipped her card into his coat; removed his wallet and threw done a few bills. and left

As he left, Harry glanced toward Ana's table, and gave her a small smile.

Marcus Scarlotti could not believe his eyes. At first, he did not even think it was possible, but he was not mistaken.

The man in the overcoat was the Head of Atlas himself Harry Potter. He was on the list of individuals all agents were told to keep an eye out for. He could not create a panic as it would give him the opportunity to escape. Choosing to handle this quietly, and quickly he signaled his specialist unit into action. He gave the signal that he had spotted a possible target. Without another word, he commanded them to converge towards the entrance of the bar along the eastern walls of the lobby. As they drew closer, he recognized the woman watching Potter from within the pub.

Was that Cortes? Of The Syndicate? Here! Why? He raised his hand and closed his fist. All the members of her elite stopped, each giving her brief glances in her direction.

"Hispanic woman with brown hair standing by the door of the pub re-entering the pub...see her?" he whispered into his headpiece. "She's a possible high value hostages. Proceed with extreme caution. Neutralize the man with the black overcoat for questioning as soon as he is out of her sight. Engage the silencer on your weapons. We cannot have a panic in this close to the Secret Intelligence Service headquarters, that will end badly, understood?"

"All right...you tell us when." Agent Michael radioed back.

"I have a visual on both the target and non-hostiles. He's entering the water closet by the door. At this angle, I should be able to intercept and prevent further escalation of the situation. Do I have the green light?" Agent Collins responded.

"No. We need to get in close. We can't let him slip away. If you miss, that may be the sole chance we get."

"Understood- I'm ready when you are."

"Toro, use the cloaking device to follow him in and get in position at the northern corner, Collins and I'll enter from the doorway. Michael, you make sure no one enters after us, stand watch at the door," Scarlotti commanded as they approached the toilets. Collins and Scarlotti took positions at the doorway to the corridor leading down to the toilets. He knew there were two doors on the left, one for male and one for female, and on the right was probably a service closet for cleaning equipment. He could not see down the entire length of the narrow room without actually poking his head around the corner, but from what he could see, it was clear.

He nodded.

Scarlotti issued the command the three specialists to enter the corridor after seeing the door close behind Potter and Toro, Collins and Scarlotti taking either side of the 3-foot wide doorway. waited a few moments.

They entered only to find Toro slumped in the far corner against the wall, seemingly unconscious, possibly dead. Harry's muscles and magic were slightly strained as maintained his invisibility, hid his body signature from the snatch teams scanners and kept reapplying the charm allowing him to stand perpendicular to the wall above the door. Luckily for him the STRIKE agents rushed in quickly, just as Michaels took his position to guard the door there was the rustle of a coat as Harry dropped from his perch, landing right on top of Micheals, instantly knocking him out with a dull thud.

Scarlotti didn't hesitate as he leveled his weapon. Quick as he thought he was, the target was much faster. Potter spun away from the rifle yanking it out his grasp and ripping the strap of his chest, he launched it at Collins for it to connect brutally on his neck only to follow it up with blue energy beam catching him by surprise and that had Colins gasping before presumably falling unconscious. In another swift movement Potter took a hold of Scarlotti's wrist and grabbed his right hand, wringing his arm counter clockwise as he stepped behind him. Taking a firm grip on his collar Potter yanked hard on his neck while forcing him off balance using his right thigh. His body weight worked against him as he kicked away his right ankle, and caused his unbalanced tumble. Slightly releasing the collar eased the choke hold he had on him, he was forced back up against him, Potter effectively locked his left leg with his and wrapped his forearm around his neck, cutting off his air supply once again. His right hand came up and blocked his mouth, preventing any attempt to yell for assistance, not that he was inclined to. He struggled trying to reach his secondary weapon on his thigh, but the wizard simply put some pressure on the leg lock and on his neck at the same time and Scarlotti's struggles put more strain on his throat instead of effectively getting himself free.

"I did not come here to fight any of you," said a soft whisper at his ear.

It was the first time Scarlotti had the displeasure of hearing Harry's voice. It was deep, more composed, yet carried an undeniable death threat in it's calm whisper. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that he was now helpless, caught in the grip of the world's finest warriors. His team was supposed to be amongst the 'Elite' already hyper-selective STRIKE (Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies). Yet they were taken out without even making a sound. Even though they were enemies, he had to commend Potter on his skill. It was so quick, he now understood why Fury had ordered his agents to stand down when it came to Potter, but Marcus had different orders from his real boss.

"You would have had me, had I been drunk and inattentive. But you have much to learn yet," he said artfully. "Seeing as I can't hold you like this forever…."

Harry brought him down with a simple hip toss. On his way down Marcus felt a sharp blow to the back of his neck and blackness took over. Scarlotti slumped to the floor and Harry gently let him fall so he didn't make any more noise than necessary. Listening to make sure he had not attracted any unwanted attention, he levitated the down operators towards the last stall. Opening it, he propped Marcus up inside, then went to retrieve his two fallen comrades. Locking them inside the tiny room, Harry wiped a single trail of perspiration off his face with the sleeve of his cloak. It was a long time he had broken out in a sweat.

Raising his hand to his ear Harry called into his earpiece, "Decima, send in a team, we have four guests looking for lessons in extraordinary rendition, no need for transfer tubes.

A female voice acknowledged his order. Taking a deep breath, exited the bathroom.

Avenger's Tower

"Sir, you asked me to inform you if anything unusual came up with the Atlas Corporation."

"Yes, what is it."

"Intelligence report's indicate several rockets have been launched from the islands of Cape Verde. They seem to be deploying a satellite network of some sort."

"They have space launch capabilities?"

"It would seem so sir."

"Maintain surveillance JARVIS and forward this to Black Beard and Cap, I'm sure SHIELD will be interested."