CodeName; Crimson Hare by wolfd890

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, and do not make any sort of mulla by writing.

A/N: I've touched up the first few chapters to help with flow and wordiness. Also, if you recognize the first phrase in the description then you get a gold star ;)

Happy reading

With the pull of a cigarette, a fleeting but brilliant orange glow illuminated the handsome features of a young man. He was leaning against the rough stone wall of a nondescript building lining the narrow, cobblestone faced street. The location had been chosen with care, he noted, between two poorly spaced street lights.

The pinprick of light went unseen in the dense fog that had overtaken the city in the hours following the sun's departure. It reminded the man enjoying the vice of his old home, loathe as though he was to be reminded of it.

It was damp and cold, unseasonably so for Summer, early though it was. A weather system pushing down from the north Atlantic perhaps? With a silent sigh, the bluish smoke escaped from between his lips, mixing with the water vapor hanging like a wet, heavy blanket around much of the French Capital.

Of course, no respectable member of society would be moving about this part of the city, especially at this hour. Good thing he wasn't here to meet anyone respectable then, he thought with a grin.

The sharp clicking of shoes on the rounded cobblestones echoed loudly through the street, alerting him that someone was approaching.

"You're early." A male voice stated in French, nothing more than a silhouette.

"Oui" he greeted back in the same tongue, pulling a thick manila envelope from his overcoat. "I'm sure you can appreciate not being made to wait out here any longer than need be."

The man wordlessly accepted the envelope, trusting its contents were to his satisfaction. Judging by the heft, they were. A single key was pressed into the smoking man's hand, along with a whispered set of words.

"Gare Du Nord Train Station, West Wing, First Floor."

A nod of gratitude followed though it went unseen by the already retreating figure, their transaction concluded. He stood there for a few moments longer, savoring the last of the Tobacco before finally flicking the lit butt towards the ground.

He'd always liked trains.

oOo

Ten years ago…

Click-click, click-click.

The soft, repetitive noise bleeding into the passenger compartment from the wheel assemblies below was threatening to lull him into a near hypnotic trance, as the High-speed train zipped through the picturesque landscape. They were somewhere between Lyon and Torino, according to the small screen hanging over the center aisle, but to be honest it didn't matter.

It was early evening, and the sun was low in the sky, bathing everything in its warm, yellow glow. The contrast between the golden, ever-moving fields of wheat, and the dark, menacing shadows cast by the surrounding woodland made for stunning contrasts. In the distance, a single stubby peak of a village church bell tower jutted past the motley collection of burnt red terra cotta, silhouetted against the sparrow blue sky. The light was doing marvelous things to the scenery, and everywhere one looked, there was a profound beauty to behold.

Click-click, click-click.

The thick steel tracks were laid in a bed of gravel, supported by concrete ties, and the two parallel lengths terminated in a staggered pattern to create the rhythmic transition when the wheels traveled over the welded joints.

His eyes were beginning to grow heavy. It hadn't been a particularly strenuous day, though he was beginning to understand what people meant when they said travel can be exhausting.

"Listen closely, my boy" the gravelly voice of his mentor, friend, and adopted father in all but name pulled his attention from the sights and sounds beyond the large glass window of their train carriage. He forced himself upright, the movement serving to pull him out of the fog that had settled in his mind.

He used to hate being called that, back when he was living with his Aunt and Uncle. But coming from the kind, grandfatherly man next to him, it sounded endearing. As always, he dedicated his full attention to the impromptu lesson, whenever they may present themselves.

Quite odd for a boy of one and ten, but then again, he'd never known the distraction of toys and games like most children had. But more importantly, he'd learned long ago that the man sitting across from him was unrivaled in his craft, considered far and wide to be the best at what he did.

And if he wanted to honor the boastful claim made on the first day they'd met, then hard work was going to be required.

"People are a thief's greatest asset, whether unwittingly or otherwise. The purpose of this trip is to meet with an old friend, but it is also to gain hold of a missing puzzle piece."

"A puzzle piece?" the boy repeated.

"Hmmm," the man rumbled in affirmation. "A puzzle piece of the mind." His index finger traveled to his temple, tapping it gently.

"Said piece could have easily been acquired through a simple phone call, perhaps a two-minute exercise. Far more efficient than a journey such as this, no?" He paused for a moment to gaze out of the window. "But then we wouldn't have had the opportunity to experience such a wonderful train ride."

The boy smiled and his guardian chuckled.

"However, the true purpose of this visit is that friends, true friends, appreciate when others go out of their way for them. Remember that Harry, and should you ever find yourself in trouble, there will always be a safe port nearby to shield you from the storm."

oOo

The man he'd just interacted with certainly wasn't on Harry's friend list, though the small but kind gesture of being early might one day pay off. Who knew?

Walking away from the encounter, the young man passed underneath an amber streetlight, illuminating his handsome, youthful features to a camera lens jutting from a bush in a nearby green strip.

Though the orange light and fog made it difficult to tell for sure, he had short, dark hair, neatly trimmed at the sides and back, longer and more unruly at the top. He seemed of average height, though the large, wool overcoat made it difficult to determine build.

The narrow street soon merged into a larger, well-lit boulevard. Nearby, a street sweeping crew moved about slowly, two coverall clad men spraying down the filth that accumulated over the weeks since this area had last seen such a service.

The hissing of the pressurized water more than covered the shutter trip the half-dozen times.

Upon clearing the last building, the man moved towards a wide set of stone stairs that led to the lower walking path by the river, moving silently and at a brisk pace. Turning immediately after the last step, he ducked under an archway supporting the southern edge of the bridge. This area had seen generous amounts of city funding over the last few years, revitalizing the river shore and allowing pedestrian access to Seine.

From afar, both sides of the underpass were visible, and his pursuers were not concerned about losing him. A minute passed, then two. After the third, the two men, clad in black and wearing hats moved up, making sure to keep alert and out of sight.

Yet apart from a snoring bum lying on a cardboard mat, the underpass was deserted. There were no doors leading to the underground, which could often be found in such places, and the man didn't look like he'd willingly jumped into the frigid waters for a swim.

"La Vache, he got away." One of the two cursed, not pleased in the slightest. The other simply sighed at his vocal partner. "All right, let's mark this one as a possible Utilisateur Magie."

They glanced at the bum again, briefly entertaining the idea that it might be their man in disguise. The dirty street person, for all intents and purposes, seemed oblivious to the two men standing less than a meter away.

"C'mon, let's get out of here. Merde, the Boss is going to be pissed."

The cold, damp space grew silent once more, save for the snores from the passed out drunk. Fifteen feet above, Harry James Potter, formerly of England, undid the sticking charm on his back, allowing himself to be pulled towards the ground by gravity. He landed soundlessly and took his time straightening out from the deep crouch following the landing.

'Well then, wasn't this interesting' he thought to himself. Not five minutes after starting this venture in earnest, and he was already attracting the attention of les autorités.

Excellent.

Pulling a little black stick from his coat, he silently flicked a warming and cushioning charm at the less fortunate man resting by the wall. As an afterthought, he deposited a fifty franc note in his pocket. With a near-silent crack, the Wizard disappeared.

Then and only then did the last remaining person of this odd little encounter stir. The grime-covered face morphed into a heart-shaped one, framed by pink, shoulder-length hair.

A pleased grin formed on her pretty face, at odds with the shabby clothes she wore.

"I finally found you, kiddo."

oOo

Three weeks earlier:

The setting was an elaborately decorated if dated, office. Strange artifacts and oil-based paintings could be found aplenty. And in the center of the circular room, an ancient-looking man with snow-white beard could be found dozing in a high-backed wooden chair.

The piece of furniture did not look comfortable, but the man did not seem to mind. To his left, an impressive avian with orange plumage sat on a brass rod, its intelligent eye transfixed on the small bowl of treats on the desk.

It was going over the risk/reward scenario of making a run at the bowl when a light pecking echoed through the otherwise still rooms. The tapping was enough to wake the man, and he quickly identified the source of the disturbance.

Too tired for pleasantries, he let the postage own inside and offered up the bowl his familiar had been eyeing, much to its displeasure.

The brown bird carried a single white envelope, unmarked and unaddressed.

Of course, the man hadn't reached the impressive age of one hundred and thirty-two by carelessly opening up unknown mail, though there was a time in the distant past when such naivety could still be found within him. It truly was distant though. With but a gesture of his hand, the piece of stationary gently floated from the windowsill and onto the desk.

From there, he cast an array of detection based spells that could determine everything from poison to compulsion, and every nasty little thing in-between.

Satisfied it was safe to handle, he sliced open the top with his favorite letter opener. Inside was a small piece of parchment and a newspaper. He ignored both in favor of the container they arrived in. To cast an expansion charm on a paper envelope was no mean feat, and he took the time to appreciate the charms work that went into its creation.

Despite the note being the logical thing to read first, he couldn't help but notice that the paper was of French origin.

Opening the folded piece of stationary it read;

Page 7, bottom-most column

N.F

Hmmm, he knew his old friend didn't like to write, but this was getting ridiculous. Well, it had been some time since he'd indulged himself with anything written in the French language. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to brush up on it.

Unfolding the Le Monde, he was reminded of how novel it was to read a muggle publication. His brain was expecting to see movement, and it was distracting when there was none. Skipping the crossword, he focused on the page in question, and nearly choked on a sweet he'd been sucking on for the last thirty seconds.

After a mildly painful coughing fit, he scrutinized the still photo closely. The likeliness was uncanny, but of course, he couldn't be sure. The article below was about something wholly unrelated, but it did provide a location.

The Petit Palais Museum in Paris.

He leaned back into the chair, both fatigued and excited all at once. If it was really him, then it would be the first solid lead in almost fifteen years! He checked the paper again. Yesterday's issue. Excellent.

He made a mental note to send his old friend something extra special this Christmas as thanks, before sitting back down and subconsciously stroking his beard, something he often did when trying to work through a problem. And this one was bound to be tricky to navigate.

But what an unexpected stroke of luck! It seemed he was simply passing by in the background as the picture was taken.

Pulling a blank piece of parchment from the desk drawer, the elderly man scrawled out a quick note before handing it over to Fawkes.

"Please deliver this to Auror Tonks right away. It seems we have an urgent new assignment for her."

oOo

An identical copy of the same newspaper rested on a nigh black polished table of a richly decorated and spacious study, where it had lain, undisturbed, for the last twenty days. The handcrafted piece of furniture separated two men, one of whom was sitting, while the other kneeled.

"My lord, the transfer has been made. The informant has been silenced."

A snake, previously unseen, slid from under the floor-length curtains and straight-up one of the chair's legs. The hooded man swallowed, heart rate elevated and perspiring as he reported.

"What of the buyer?" the man hidden in the shadows hissed. His outline could be seen in the hearth fire's light.

The kneeling man slowly reached into his pocket, retrieving the slender vial containing a milky substance. Hands shaking, he offered up the memory without being prompted to do so, and more importantly keeping his mouth shut. He knew better than to make small talk now. The Dark Lord's orders were clear. Identify the would-be buyer for an object his master desired. The agent had done just that, and now he had delivered it post-haste.

The vial floated away before being snatched from the air by pale, bony fingers. Head lowered, the messenger patiently waited, not daring to rise, or even look up until dismissed.

"Tell the Rat to continue shadowing our… person of interest."

The man silently recalled a brief prayer for the poor sod who'd managed to attract his master's attention. From the chair, a brief glint of teeth could be seen, making him wonder if he'd accidentally said it out loud.

"You are dismissed." The same hand waved.

He bowed lower, face now close enough to make out the individual grains of the dark hardwood floorboards. "By your leave, my lord."

He waited for the door to click shut, lovingly caressing the smooth, scaly skin of his familiar. With but a mental prompt, a spinning disk of liquid appeared, and the contents were tipped inside.

With more than a little disgust, he found himself emersed in the damp, wet streets of Paris. The Rat emerged from a curbside storm sewer grate and scurried down the sidewalk, its behavior mimicking that of an actual rodent perfectly.

How fitting.

It led him to the two men as they completed the switch. Pausing the memory, he leaned in close as the location was revealed.

Gare Du Nord Train Station.

The lack of light meant the two were nothing but humanoid-shaped shadows. He followed the key's recipient and paused the memory once again when he passed under a streetlight.

Oh, how the gods of fortune must smile upon him, he mused, mood lifted to such a degree that he actually laughed.

oOo

Two petite, yet solid hands slammed into the rich hardwood desktop with enough force to shake the large, ornate sneakoscope, causing it to jingle musically, though not in the way they remembered.

You see, the owner of the device never revealed its purpose to her subordinates until it actually became active. Only then were they made privy that no form of deception within the office's four walls was possible, or tolerated.

"You mean to tell me you lost our first solid lead on Crimson Hare in the last three months? I should fire you for incompetence!" the shrill, and young voice shouted in French, causing the nearby staff outside the office to cringe and whisper a silent prayer for their colleges currently receiving the sound tongue lashing.

"Mademoiselle please, we followed procedure to the letter! He moved out of our direct line of sight and simply disappeared!"

Both briefly glanced at the device again, grateful it remained silent. Little white lies were so common that people tended to weave them into everyday conversation, sometimes without even being aware.

"He?" she asked, her voice now calm. Oddly enough, the change in volume only served to cause them more distress.

"Oui, Mademoiselle." He produced a crisp headshot of the suspect, taken when he was moving under the street light. They'd had the wherewithal to visit the development studio first and at least bring her what little information they'd been able to gather.

The brunette studied the image for almost a minute, curious at first. But her beautiful features soon turned into a frown once more.

"What of the other? Have you identified him?"

"Jaque Rene." Her subordinate immediately supplied, glad to be moving past the unpleasant news from earlier. "The second team tracked him to his apartment and is standing by. We are awaiting your instructions."

"Bring him in for questioning." The Woman ordered, still looking at the picture.

"Right away!" They both stood and saluted, before beating a hasty retreat.

Inspector Hermione Jean Granger continued to lean over the still shot, a single strand of Curley, light brown hair that had found its way out of her tight bun hanging loose. She ignored it. There was something familiar about this man. He was young, perhaps enough to have attended school with her. Her officer's preliminary report suggested possible Magic-user. That would certainly explain how he'd given them the slip so easily.

They were muggles, although competent ones. Even if it didn't seem like it most of the time. She mentally chastised herself for thinking like that.

Her gaze though never left the picture. She was sure she'd have remembered him if he'd gone to Beauxbatons… her eyes widened in recognition.

Moving towards the computerized workstation, her slender fingers blurred over the keyboard, accessing Europol's internal databanks with her personal user code and pulling up security footage files.

The person of interest in the Petit Palais Robbery.

It took her twenty minutes of watching footage from a certain camera but finally struck pay dirt. It was a ten-second window, but the man in question actually made it easy for her. He walked into its field of view, and proceeded to look right at the camera up above the mob of people, and smirked. Actually smirked.

She froze the shot and compared it to the image on her desk just to be sure.

Having near-perfect memory helped, but the action of this unknown visitor, shortly before the theft, raised an automatic flag that was easily recalled.

Her eyes narrowed, annoyed at the audacity of this thief. Hubris would be his downfall, and she would be the one to seal his fate. There was a reason she had achieved such a prestigious position at such a young age. She was meticulous, smart, and above all, driven.

A deep-seated hatred for thieves helped immensely, of course, focusing all that energy and wit and sheer intelligence into a crime-fighting package that made even her co-workers step back from the intensity.

Her superiors allowed her a great deal of operational freedom because she got results. The office had multiple Inspectors like herself, each with their own teams. In her six months working for Europol's property and priceless art theft division, she'd locked up no less than two dozen perpetrators, including Italian National Leonardo Notarbatelo and his gang, a mere two weeks after they'd done what was thought impossible and robbed the Antwerp Diamond Center in Brussels.

Of course, personal reasons would do that to you. And it didn't get much more personal than senselessly losing your younger sister to a botched robbery attempt while on vacation with your parents.

Thieves.

In her mind, they were every bit as despicable as murderers and rapists. And she would make sure every single one of them was locked up, magical or otherwise.

oOo

The Raven haired man appeared in a modern, if plainly furnished hotel room, a stone's throw from the Arc de Triomphe. The location made this particular room quite expensive, but the view more than made up for it. Or would have, were it not so foggy!

He shrugged off the bulky overcoat, revealing a sharply dressed and slim figure. He haphazardly kicked off his shoes and sighed in delight as the cool air soothed the stifling heat around his feet.

They were new and needed to be worn in, so it couldn't be helped. Walking over to the mini bar, he cracked open one of the atrociously expensive hard liquor bottles and poured the contents into a chilled glass.

With a freshly unbuttoned collar, he sank into one of the chairs, wand still in his holster and a pistol butt peeking out from underneath one arm.

He sipped on the drink, savoring the stillness and, oddly enough, the poor flavor of the amber liquid.

"Urgh, sacrebleu." He muttered with a grimace, preferring the French word over his normal English. There was just something wonderful about swearing-in that particular tongue. Of course with the amount of traveling he did, Harry was fluent in German as well, with a smattering of Portuguese and Spanish whenever work drew him that far west.

Ah, work. It was quite fulfilling, though sometimes the hours could be quite demanding. Lots of all-nighters, he thought with a smirk, taking another sip.

Of course, the pay was excellent. But he wasn't in it for the money, though it was nice. No, he wished to build himself a reputation. One on par with that of his mentor.

He pulled the key from his trouser pocket and inspected it. And this was going to help him achieve it.

oOo

She typed up a short summary of the progress in the case, though perhaps a better word was 'developments'. This wasn't her first run-in with this particular thief. He was confident, skilled, and had been active since at least '98.

Hermione looked at the clock and sighed. Ten past nine in the morning. She liked arriving early, mainly because she wasn't allowed to throw up silencing charms around her office to block out the unavoidable volume of noise a building such as Europol Paris headquarters generated.

The other reason she liked arriving early was to avoid him.

"Knock, knock." he said, poking his head inside her office door.

"McLaggen." She greeted wearily. Cormac McLaggen. The English transfer from Scotland Yard. He'd arrived only three weeks ago and through some stroke of bad luck, she'd somehow attracted his attention. Perhaps because she was the only Witch in the department.

Regardless, the man arrived every morning around this time, coffee in hand. She'd made the mistake of telling him how she preferred the drink early on before she'd realized his infatuation with her.

"Here you are." He deposited the cup on her desk and seated himself despite not having received an invitation to do so, just like every other day. He was, of course, a wizard, rather tall and well built, with tight, curly blonde hair and a reasonably handsome face.

"Merci" she took a sip one-handed, her other typing on the keyboard once more, now pulling the relevant information for her upcoming questioning of Jaque Rene. Before she'd even shed her coat this morning, an update detailing the successful apprehension of the man sat waiting on her otherwise spotless desk.

"I think I heard you all the way down in the break area this time," he quipped, referring to her little outburst at her own men last night. The Englishman rotated the picture of her main suspect around to look at. He seemed like nothing special.

"Yes, and you should be wary." She warned. "I may soon do the same to you if you keep this up. Congratulations by the way. I heard you've nabbed your man. Does this mean you'll be returning to England soon?" there may have been a smidgen of hope in her voice.

"Thank you." He smiled, quite happy to receive praise from one of the best and most beautiful Inspectors in all of Paris.

"As for my remaining here, I'm afraid I've taken a liking to…the scenery here." He said, managing to make eye contact at the end. "My transfer request to your division of Europol has been accepted as of today."

"Congratulations" she repeated, growing tired of the word and lamenting her rotten luck.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. "I was thinking, why don't we celebrate? I'd love to take you out for dinner some time."

"Cormac." She warned. "I'm sure you're aware of the regulations regarding departmental relationships."

"Yes of course. Fear not, Mademoiselle." She cringed slightly as he butchered the pronunciation. "I simply wish to take you out for a meal, nothing more."

She stared at him.

"I'll consider it."

McLaggen jumped up, all sense of composure lost. "Really?" he coughed. "I mean, that sounds wonderful. I'll sms you this afternoon."

"I said consider!" she nearly shouted, but McLaggen was already gone.

She groaned in annoyance. "Merde, what have I done?"

oOo

Jaque Rene was nervous, and rightfully so. Not because he was sitting in an interrogation room with his handcuffed to a bare metal table. Oh no, he'd been in, and out of this sort of situation plenty of times before. And if he could be proud of one thing, it was keeping his mouth shut.

He was a middleman after all. Whether it was information or items, if someone needed to pass a message discreetly and without garnering attention, he was your man. The 'was' it seemed, was now literal.

He would, in all likelihood, be unable to buy his way out of trouble with this one. But what concerned him was that his business associate was dead, as he'd just been told by the most frightening Woman to ever have the misfortune of meeting.

The worst part was that there were no signs of trauma on the body. That meant them. He really turned pale when it became apparent that Claude, the person whose picture was before him, had come to the police to provide information about the meeting between himself and the Crimson Hare.

Rene knew he didn't murder his (former) friend. But did they? The girl. She knew he was a squib. She also didn't seem surprised about the condition of Claude's body. Was she one of them?

"Mr. Rene, I'll cut to the chase." She said, her creamy smooth legs crossed at the knee as she sat opposite him. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but stare, though not for long of fear that she'd notice.

"It seems someone is trying to keep this meeting between this man-" she produced another image, this one of the male he'd given the train station key to. "-and yourself, quiet. Perhaps they already know you're here in this building being questioned. Perhaps not. It would be unfortunate if they came to the wrong conclusion after we release you, no?"

He swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat in the last few minutes.

"We can provide you with protection." She stopped. "Of course, if you can tell us what it is you gave to this man" she tapped the picture, "and what his next move is."

Yes, his career as a middle man was over. If word got out that he'd burned a client, no one in their right mind would use him. Jaque knew he was screwed. If the wand wavers wanted him dead, the Muggle Police would be inadequate to protect him. But the Aurors?

The middle-aged Frenchman leaned forward, trying to retain an ounce of control of his rapidly disintegrating life. 'Damn you to hell Claude! If you weren't already dead I'd have done the deed myself!'

"If you can guarantee my safety, I'll tell you everything."

Inspector Granger smiled viciously. "Of course, Mr. Rene."

oOo

"Team One in position." The radio crackled in the makeshift command center, which so happened to be the magically expanded cargo area of a Citroen H Van parked outside the train station. Inspector Granger held a certain fondness towards the ugly corrugated metal-clad vehicle. It was something none of the staff understood but also didn't question.

"Team two in position. No sign of the target."

The dozen or so television screens were directly tied into the station's CCTV system though a single cable leaving the front grille of the vehicle and snaking its way towards the building. The surveillance team had full temporary control, allowing them to pan, zoom, and record directly from the mobile, if somewhat cramped command center.

"Roger that" she responded, keeping the chatter to a minimum. The noon hour emergency meeting following Rene's questioning had mainly focused on the planning side for this operation, meaning orders relayed over the radio were unnecessary. Her team knew the drill. They were good; if perhaps a little green behind the ears. But all had good heads on their shoulders.

Their suspect would hopefully retrieve the contents of the storage locker today, and when he did, they were going to nab the guy!

Their mark proved to be a bit of a sadist though, only arriving sometime after seven in the evening and looking supremely unconcerned. She had to admit, observing him through the screen as he walked in through the main entrance, he certainly knew how to blend in. The two Gendarme at the kiosk didn't even give him a second glance as he walked by.

He seemed like any other evening commuter, with a stylish wool overcoat, dress pants, and polished shoes.

By the time he'd chosen to finally make an appearance, the crowds had lessened considerably, and the workday rush-hour mob had thinned enough for her agents to stick out more than she'd have liked. Undeterred, or perhaps unconcerned, their suspect moved in, locating the locker and opening it without much fanfare.

Before she could order her men to move in though, it all went to hell.

oOo

Before Harry even walked into the building, he was aware of the dinky little van sitting in the express parking stall out front. It looked ordinary enough, though the age certainly didn't help it blend in much. No, what caught his attention was what the mage sight he'd briefly flicked on had revealed.

The thing was covered in magic. At first glance, he concluded it had space expansion charms on it. While that in itself wasn't terribly uncommon, especially on cargo vehicles, the fact that they were layered with noise dampening and even more strangely, impervious charms on the metal made him take a second look.

A peek through the small, heavily tinted back window showed two women and a man. Two were sitting in front of multiple screens, all showing the station's interior.

'Ah, so they'd picked up Rene.' He smirked, instantly thinking of a good way to deal with any potential repercussions, at least from the occupants inside. There were bound to be more waiting for him in the Station. Making sure he wasn't being watched, Harry pulled his wand and cast a Parsel specific locking charm both on the back and side doors.

With a grin, he walked away from the vehicle, slightly anxious but also excited at the prospect of some interference. It was getting boring running circles around les autorités.

With a rough idea in his head, he moved inside and towards the West wing. A few people were moving about, but it wasn't crowded. It also made the six men 'casually' lounging around the locker he was here to loot stick out like sore thumbs.

Without further ado, he moved in. They didn't react until he'd already inserted the key into the lock.

The locker was empty save for a single folded piece of parchment. He frowned, slightly annoyed at how elaborate this game was becoming. Well, it's not like it happened every day. He could play along.

Or so he thought. Knowing he was surrounded, the young Wizard kept his attention split between his task of retrieving the next clue and scanning his surroundings.

That helped him avoid the bright green unforgivable that smashed into the back of the open locker, punching a ragged hole into the sheet metal.

Wide-eyed, he stepped aside almost on instinct, his hand moving to the concealed weapon on his side.

Merde, he hadn't expected that! Scanning his immediate surroundings, he identified the perpetrator easily enough.

Black robes, white mask. Yeah, he'd seen these guys before. In the newspaper that is. It looks like the fine policemen around him hadn't anticipated such a vile attack either, judging from their expressions. Four were going for their service revolvers. Two held wands.

None were aimed at him though.

The Death Eater, if that was actually what he was, didn't have a chance to follow up on the missed shot. The two Wizards in the apprehension team fired red stunners at him, forcing him to shield.

Harry saw the chance for what it was and ran amid the pop, pop, pop of gunfire and the snapping of spells hitting shields, marble, and flesh. It wasn't the way he'd envisioned this situation unfolding, but wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

oOo

The Back door of the Citroen blew off its hinges with the force of cannon. The backup team swiftly moved across the parking lot and into the Station, guns drawn, while Hermione Granger disapparated directly into the still unfolding scene the second her feet touched the pavement.

She was livid.

Two of her agents were down. She chose her destination with care, emerging behind le bâtard and swiftly finished the unexpected skirmish with a stunner to the neck.

She didn't have much time to spare and immediately sprinted in the direction their target had run off towards, shouting orders for the others to tend to the injured.

Damn it all! If he got away, she'd hex that masked fool into the next life!

oOo

Harry was reasonably sure he'd given his pursuers the slip. The sounds of what was no doubt a pitched battle ebbed as he made his way up the wide stairs and onto the exit concourse way spanning across the multiple rail lines below.

Halfway up, he tapped his coat, changing the color from black to dark green. A conjured hat and cane instantly made him appear twice his age, at least from afar. Matching the pace of the people around, he would bet a galleon that it was just as good, if not better than a notice me not.

Of course, old man Murphy must have read his mind, as not a second later his shoulder was tagged by an Incarcerous. The ropes wrapped around him like an amorous snake, fixing his arms painfully to his side. Thank the maker he'd retained his wand, just in case. Holding it awkwardly, a light cutter tore through the bindings and probably a good portion of his coat, but it allowed Harry to roll to the left, just as a red light splashed over the spot he'd just vacated.

"Arrêtez!" a female voice demanded. The few travelers around moved aside quickly, singling him out without difficulty. As if the old fashioned ropes he'd been struggling to shed weren't responsible for that already.

He could have, no should have just apparated away, but felt compelled to look at the fair creature who'd managed to track him despite the sudden chaos. She was to be commended after all.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, can I help you?" he lifted his hat, grinning madly. She was quite the beauty, with light brown hair and fair skin. Such a shame that expression was so angry looking at the moment.

"You will come with me," she stated, her wand pointing squarely at him.

He chuckled. "A tempting offer indeed, but I'm afraid I must decline."

Her response was an impressive and highly unusual array of spells meant to incapacitate but not harm, he noted. Most Harry was able to avoid, their effects bypassed by fluidly moving, twisting and dodging around. Unfortunately, the Persian silk constriction ribbons required a wand to deflect.

"Tut-tut" he waggled his index finger, wand still in the same hand. "Such spirit. You are as beautiful as you are skilled."

His mentor stressed quite often in the past that he needed to give pretty girls compliments, and Harry was happy to state that his efforts had born fruit many, many times over the years.

There was a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks but not much of a reaction. Perhaps he had imagined it? Alas, this time it was not meant to be. Perhaps that made her worth perusing further?

"Enough!" she shouted, renewing her attempts to subdue this infuriatingly mysterious and disturbingly competent wizard.

Partway through the third spell, a body bind, a fierce wind knocked her back. Said wind carried with it a deluge of rose pedals, thousands upon thousands of them.

Hermione was forced to shield her face with her arm before eventually throwing up a shield, fully expecting him to strike back. But then the gale force winds ebbed, and no attack had materialized. She found herself alone, ankle-deep in red.

A football-sized red crystal Hare stood atop a transfigured pillar where the stranger had been but a moment before.

"Bon Sang." She muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.