Author: Center of Stone

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or the xXx film.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Harry Potter/Xander Cage

Note: This is a response to Serpent in the Shadow's Challenge #8. Ignores Harry Potter books after the Order of Phoenix.

Beta Reader: TheEveningStar

---Secondary Note: After a far too long stop from updating this fanfiction, I have returned. However, I edited and rewrote some sections of the story and am sorry for the inconvenience. I took in consideration various comments and advice that my reviewers left me and I sincerely believe this version is better. Sorry it took so long. Life is full of good and bad things and mine more than most. However, I've finally outline the entire story, figured out how HP will win the war, and things should be easy skating until the end. For those of you who've been with me the entire time, thank you so much! For the new arrivals, I hope you enjoy. –

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The first time the Dark Lord Voldemort fell out of power, Harry James Potter was an orphaned child and a savior to an entire world. The first time that world ever contacted the Boy-Who-Lived; they ignored the silent bruised eyes that watched them go. The first time the twenty-five year old survivor watched one of his friends die, his heart shattered into pieces.

They say it is the first time that you always remember. No one ever speaks of the seconds, thirds, and so on that cling to your memory just as well.

It was the third time that so very cold green eyes watched a friend fall that he made up his mind. It was the second time the Ministry fell to corrupt hands that he started to make his move. It was the last time that he stood in front of the bastard gloating of victory that Harry James Potter disappeared from Britain all together.

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:: Surrey, England ::

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Thud.

Blue eyes snapping open, twenty-five Dudley Dursley almost panted in terror. Making not a noise, he glanced hurriedly around his room, trying not to wake Leslie, his wife of four years. He'd met her after finishing school, working in her father's garage. She was kind, beautiful, and knew nothing of what lurked outside normalcy.

The portly man quickly shuffled out of bed and gripped the baseball bat he kept nearby. Magic, his father used to whisper to him in warning when the boy had gone to school, was the tool of the devil and was not something to be tolerated. Vernon Dursley, Dudley now admitted, was a delusional fanatical man who was lucky enough to have passed from a heart attack before he saw that his only son grew doubting of his wisdom. His mother, always fretting and worrying about the image of their family, was not much better before she passed.

Tip-toeing as well as a man of his size could, Dudley made his way out of the master bedroom of his childhood home. When his father died and his mother took ill, he couldn't leave the place. Now, with Leslie, it seemed like the only place that made sense to start a family. Turning down the stairs, his shoulders tensed and he prayed that whatever it was had only been a figment of his imagination. Grip tight on the bat; he turned into the kitchen, ears straining for the sound of movement.

There a swish of cloth and Dudley spun quickly, bat raised to the intruder in his home.

"Daddy?"

There in front of him was Mary, little Mary. Sighing in relief, Dudley put down his bat and hugged his little girl close. The child, no more than four, was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Almost every day, Dudley thanked whatever power was out there that she didn't inherit his sour disposition.

"Oh, sugar-plum. You scared me."

Lifting his child up, he grabbed the bat and turned to walk back up the stairs. Smiling slightly, he rubbed his noses with the sleepy smiling light of his life. "Lovely, what were you doing up and down here?"

With a bright smile, and a tug on her daddy's sleeve, Mary ignored his question and whispered in his ear. "Who is that, Daddy?"

Heart racing, Dudley spun around again, throat clenching in fear. There, near the cupboard under the stairs, was the boy, emerald eyes watching the sugar-coated scene in distain. Fear clenched in his bones and Dudley gripped onto the bat and Mary, hoping beyond hope that this was only a dream.

Harry Potter was no longer what anyone would call a boy. Standing there silently, the wizard looked cold and far more intimidating then anyone Dudley had ever seen before. Cold eyes flickered from him to Mary, a hint of surprise there, and then closed off. His stance was easy, hands empty but resting near thighs where, dear god, a long thin rod of wood strapped on one and a glimmer of sharp metal on the other.

Breath caught in his throat, Dudley stuttered out his response. "Mary, this is U-uncle Harry."

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Had anyone asked him, Harry would have told you that Dudley Dursley having spawn would be a really horrible thing right up there with kicking puppies. The only memories the wizard ever had of his cousin were of bullying and, then later on, cowardice as tendrils of the magic world reached in to rip Harry from the normal life the Dursley's so cherished. Now, he was not so sure.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he watched as Dudley calmed down his child, gave her a drink of water, and waited as he went to tuck the toddler back in bed. Strange was the sight of Dudley being motherly. Swirling his tea, he took a sip as footsteps announced that his cousin was back.

Eyes flicking up, he watched as the large muggle gingerly sat across from him, analyzing the figure of his last blood relative. The baseball bat was gone, but Dudley had to be a fool to think that he didn't know what the large lump hidden under his shirt was. Hand gun. Small. Compact. Lethal. A brush to Dudley's mind confirmed it. His cousin had high taste. A Glock 19, compact, strong enough to put a hole through any human, muggle or not.

"Nice kid." His voice came out cold and humorless.

"Why are you here, Potter?" Dudley said weakly, not daring to look away from the wizard in fear of something, anything, happening. "Why did you come back?"

Holding back a burst of mocking laughter, Harry closed his eyes for a moment. His bones ached and his body refused to relax, standing alert. He could practically smell Dudley's fear in the air, and hated the fact that he really did not have time for this shit.

"I didn't come back for you, cousin." He snapped out, eyes opening again to stare at the muggle. "I left a few things here last time I came back and I need them. It is not in my intentions to stay. So, don't worry about it."

Dudley stared more, taking in Potter's weary state. The wizard was taller now, reaching almost 1.8 meters. Slender and lithe, he cut an imposing figure sitting there on Dudley's kitchen chair. Legs encompassed in a thick material that, for a moment and Dudley's shock, looked like leather. The robes Harry had for school was nothing like those he wore now. Instead, the long thatch of black cloth resembled a more of a trench coat then those silly uniform deals. Not for the first time, Dudley wondered what the hell happened to his cousin.

Tossing back the rest of the tea, Harry quickly made his way to his feet, moving back towards the cupboard. Over the last few years, he'd left stuff in his childhood room, knowing that few wizards would ever think to go back to his hated family's house. Inside that small dark space laid his way out of this godforsaken country.

"Harry." Dudley's voice was soft and, for the first time that night, without a tremor of fear. "What's going on?"

Pausing, Harry turned to his cousin, eyes shadowed. He might as well warn his cousin, if only for the child that rested peacefully above. "We are at war, Dudley."

Shocked watery blue eyes stared at him in fear and Harry could only look back in detached wonder. Had he himself looked so forlorn and green when this nightmare started? Starting, he continued on, his last words to his cousin almost echoing in the silent kitchen.

"I'd get the hell out of Europe, if I were you."

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:: Parliament, England ::

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"Sir?"

The Prime Minister of England was a man of many facets. Smiling geniality at his assistant, the graying man accepted the letter with an ease that hid his inner turmoil. The official seal that stood sharply against high quality parchment tempted him to just throw it away and forget the news it was sure to give him.

Magic was a dangerous thing.

The first time he ever saw magic was when he was a child, growing up to the stories and fears of post-war Europe. His crush, Victoria, so beautiful and mysterious, had fallen from a tree and broken her neck. The entire village had mourned for the child, however, the next day she was up and about again, fully healed. Victoria and her family were chased out of his life, neighbors proclaiming that they were devil-worshippers. He'd always thought it was a miracle and weren't miracles the work of God?

He found out about magic the night he became Prime Minister of England. The Ministry of Magic lacked subtly and tact in his opinion. They declared that they existed, they would always exist, and they might, just might (as if it were some barely considered option), need his help one day. Arrogant beyond all, the whole lot of them.

Oh, how those self-important wizards and witches would cringe to know how many loyal British subjects they had within their ranks. Muggles, they called them of all things. After his assistant left the office, the mask of smiles and elderly wisdom left the Prime Minister's face.

He was not as ignorant of the wizarding world as the Ministry of Magic might wish. Cracking the seal, he browsed the letter. He knew the law, the history, and thus the weaknesses of the Ministry and its subjects. Lord Voldemort was not as intimidating as he might wish. An eyebrow rose as he read the news that was so urgently sprawled on the page.

So, that explains the lack of communication. With the Minister of Magic now being Lucius Malfoy, the game of intrigue and politics was just beginning. How better to start it with the perfect challenge. A wicked smirk briefly crossed the Prime Minister's face as he decided his next move. Harry Potter was on the run, taking his power and skills with him. The key pawn in taking down Tom Riddle's reign of terror had decided to high-tail it.

Let's see who catches him, wizards.

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:: Somewhere on the West Coast of United States of America::

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"Fuckin' Brits."

The red-headed American Auror cursed as he trudged through yet another muggle airport. His partner, a feisty blonde bomb-shell of a witch glared at him and flicked a red-coated nail in his direction. Sandy O'Toole was in no way a patient woman.

"Shut the hell up, Davis, and do your damn job."

The British, Thomas Davis swore, only caused bad things. They had bad teeth, spoke English the wrong way, and now had let loose Harry Fuckin' Potter in their backyard. Who was supposed to clean up the mess before the British self-named psycho Voldemort came to visit? They were.

Pulling out his badge with a glamour to look like the FBI's, which in Davis's mind was far cooler then the American Aurors' badge, he stopped in front of the girl waiting at customs. Overly dyed blonde hair, brown eyes surrounded by far too much kohl, mouth furiously chomping on a wad of bubblegum. All in all, the average high school drop out that worked at these digs.

"Ma'am?"

Cow eyes looked up at him, apathy practically dripping from them as the witness blew another bubble. Restraining from hexing the woman, he flashed his badge and painted on a charming smile. "We are here about your report."

Heavenly God above, Davis hated the Brits.

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:: O-something California / Xander Cage's Loft ::

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Buzzt. Buzzt.

The sound of his cell phone vibrating was not something Xander Cage was excited to hear. In fact, it was one of the last things on earth he wanted to listen to this god-damn early in the morning. Groaning, he fumbled around with one arm, searching for it on his night stand.

An annoyed feminine moan startled him for a moment and he turned dark eyes to eye the sleeping chick perched on his other arm. Mentally cursing, he managed to free his arm and grab his phone. Standing up, he flicked it open, growling a greeting as he eyed the unknown woman. What the hell had he done last night? Well, other than her. Head pounding, he just barely caught the voice on the other end.

"X, I have something for you."

Eyes narrowing, the reluctant agent cursed his luck.

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