A/N: Yeah... it's me again and another idea. This was proposed by a close friend of mine and well... I like the idea and continued upon it.

DISCLAIMER: NOT THE OWNER OF HARRY POTTER. NOPE, NO WAY IN HELL, THAT TITLE IS RESERVED ONLY FOR JK ROWLING.

The midnight full moon cast barely any light in the dark neighborhood that the jet-black Suburban that was currently speeding through. Tinted windows and as dark as the night itself, the onlookers paid no heed to the mysterious speeding vehicle. It wasn't their business to butt their noses into such business anyways.

A man wearing a pair of stereotypical black sunglasses and a black suit drove the Surburban that was currently heading towards one house. He had only one intention; infiltrate the house on 4 Privet Drive. He was debriefed not too long ago of his mission; a drive, drop, and drag. The three d's of his part; drive the team to the destination, drop the men there to do their work, and drag them back. Well, not literally drag them of course. What stumped the man was the reason for the mission; to secure a baby being targeted by terrorists. The man snorted at the thought; the terrorist leader must have had a brain transplant with a squirrel some time ago. Why the hell do you send your men to kill a mere baby?! Effing ridiculous, but the man didn't care; all he is paid for is to do his part and hopefully earn brownie points with his superiors for every successful mission that is executed.

A voice crackled through his earpiece, "Pierce! Report!"

The man replied, "On route to destination; ETA five minutes; on schedule."

A simple reply of, "Good" was heard and Pierce heard nothing else. He heard some of the men around him having similar conversations with the agent back in the command center.

Sixteen years later…

A dark clad man with a pair of dark glasses looked into the mirror as he started his day. A lightning bolt shaped scar adorned his head; the everlasting testament of his parent's bravery and sacrifice for him. It also was the everlasting testament of what terrorists can do. He had no clue how the scar is there and no doctor he met could give an explanation for the existence of the scar. But all he cared was that it is there and his parents are dead. Nothing is plainer and simpler than reality. Reality is reality; there is no substitution for reality. This is what drove him everyday; to help protect innocents like him. Adjusting his suit slightly, he walked out of his bedroom and grabbed a set of keys. Time for another day at the job.

The man drove in silence towards a building on the outskirts of the small town; a mere ten-thousand people live in the area twenty square miles. And he knew no one and his neighbors never bothered to know him either. He was just the silent guy next door dressed in black.

The man entered the fresh-smelling air-conditioned building and walked up to the receptionist's desk.

The man simply put a card on the table and the receptionist nodded as she quickly looked over it, "You may pass Agent H."

The man nodded and walked through a set of metal detectors and pass a pair of guards before arriving at an elevator. The doors automatically opening, the man walked inside and pressed the number nine.

A ding rang in the elevator and the doors opened. The man walked out of the elevator and walked into a well lit hall. Walking towards the sole door on the right wall in the hall, the man turned the door knob and took a seat inside.

A simply dressed man with blonde hair in his mid-thirties occupied the chair behind the lone desk in the white colored room. Piles of folders and papers were neatly stacked on the desk. Dual monitors sat on the desk, ever displaying information upon information. Looking up to see the new occupant of the room, the man simply sent a routine, "Good morning Agent H."

Agent H curtly nodded back, "Good morning sir."

The man shuffled some papers before grabbing a folder and looked up at the agent, "Are you willing to be flown to London and staying there for an extended period of time?"

The agent nodded, "Yes sir."

The man replied, "Good. Your mission will be simple; infiltrate and extricate information about the Death Eaters. Find out anything and grab any intel you can possibly get your hands on. If possible, identify the Death Eaters that you may meet. You will be given the information of their movements and you will be given the location of what seems to be their hideouts. As you will be operating in a foreign country, our agents cannot directly assist you unless it is an emergency. The British will not be informed at this point; avoid them at all costs. Also, avoid confrontations with the Death Eaters; your goal at this point is only to gather information and intelligence. You will be armed with a P90 with a silencer and the standard knife in the case a situation requires proper use of force; anytime you feel that you cannot handle the situation, retreat and keep yourself in one piece at all costs. You are to operate alone and we will not be able to help you if you are captured by the Death Eaters or by the British. Your comms will still function if you have any questions or queries. Are there any questions?"

The agent said, "No sir."

The man handed the agent a folder, "In here is the intel we have on their movements and their possible hideouts and a list of suspected Death Eaters for you to check on. Enclosed in that envelope will be a contact lens that will constantly record what you see. When you see a Death Eater, simply look at them and make sure you have a clear view of their face so the camera record their face. The video feed will be constantly sent back to HQ, so when you see a Death Eater, call in. That is all I have for you; meet Rossier for your weapons and prepare for the flight. Good luck."

The agent stood up and said, "Thank you sir."

Before the agent was two steps away from his superior, the man said, "I know you have a personal vendetta against the Death Eaters Agent H; do not let your emotions control you during this mission. If I am to hear that you instigated a rampage against the Death Eaters, you will be punished accordingly Agent H no matter how many of the bastards you take out. I am aware of your personal past Agent H and I am sorry about what the Death Eaters took from you… But it is my job to keep my men straight; my occupation does not allow petty personal issues to be an obstacle in a mission. Do we have an understanding?"

The agent resolutely nodded, "Yes-sir."

The agent closed the door behind him and calmed himself down. It's simple; just go in, take intel, get the hell out and no one is the wiser. After taking a few moments, the agent walked to the elevator and pressed for floor 1.

A ding pierced the air and the elevator doors parted. The agent walked out and headed towards a door labeled, "PYROMANICS WELCOME! HATE PYROS… GO FUCK OFF!"

The agent slightly smiled at that. Rossier's work no doubt. Opening the door, he was greeted by a grinning dark-haired man. In his late twenties and wearing a casual suit and tie, he looked like your average office worker in a metropolitan city. Except he was carrying a case of weapons and his surroundings was guns, explosives, knives, bullets… anything you can practically think of. Anyhow, the agent gently felt the P90 that was in front of him. The cold steel met his warm fingers, causing a slight tingle to flow through the agent. This was it. This was the beginning of another mission. He closed his eyes as he cherished the moment.

A rude cough broke the agent from his reverie, "Ahem! Are you going to stand there all day long like some Stonehedge head or are you going to move your ass so that I can continue my work?"

The agent grinned, "Would it matter Rossier?"

The man rolled his eyes, "Somewhat. Now get your gear and get out; I got things to do Harry; not just bullshit."

"Like figuring how to stuff a dozen pipe bombs in the cemetery so that people think there are "ghosts " there trying to blow tombs up?"

Rossier looked with mock worry, "What?! Ghosts in the cemetery! We must call in Channel 9! This is serious business exploding tombstones and all; it's a disgrace and shame for the deceased!"

The agent snorted, "Yeah and tomorrow someone's going to wave a stick at me shouting AVADA KEDAVRA and I die; very believable Rossier."

Rossier smirked at that comment, "You never know Harry. It's called-"

The agent snorted again and waved his hands wildly and contorted his face in what seemed like intense concentration, "Magic… Pixies and fairies, froggies and snoggies, I condone thy Rossier to become a dreary crinkled lady!"

Rossier shook his head, "Whatever Harry. But seriously; get the hell out of here and do your job."

The agent nodded, "That's something we both agree on Rossier."

Taking the case that was now laying on the table, Harry was about to leave when Rossier spoke up, "Come back in one piece Harry! I would hate to create and desecrate your tomb you know!"

The drone of the twin jet engines drowned out any thought Harry was having. The rainstorm they were flying in covered most of the surroundings with a grey mist and the unmistakable occasional lightning followed by thunder. Funny how this was the starting of a new mission; now that Harry thought about it. Who are these Death Eaters? Harry had heard rumors from fellow agents that whoever was sent to investigate further on these Death Eaters mysteriously… disappeared. Kind of like the Bermuda Triangle, except that it was in the middle of Britain. Now that was another mystery too; agents sent by the British couldn't be found either. It was as if this Death Eater organization… sucked any onlookers in and never spit them out. Well, wasn't there someone named Banks that managed to come back? But he was nearly dead; full of broken bones and his memories were gone somehow. But Harry didn't care; this was for the sake of the nation. This was the sake for the people. And above all; the sake of his deceased parents that sacrificed their lives for him and the agents that had lost their lives before himself. Harry closed his eyes as he imagined how things would be if the Death Eaters never entered his life. He would have parents obviously; probably playing tennis or something of the like. Have friends, maybe a girlfriend for the matter. But now he was in a plane heading towards a foreign country for an assignment for the government. In his lap was a P90 and in his jacket was his concealed knife; this is reality my friends. In his hands, a cross was gripped tightly and Harry prayed, "Dear God…"

Harry kept his attention to the outside as the weather cleared and the sun shone brilliantly. The seemingly never-ending blue sea below him reminded him that he was flying away from home. Flying towards another country that was more than likely full of danger; flying towards the killers. And at that moment, Harry realized this also maybe his trip to his own funeral. He dryly laughed; at least his life was already as fucked up as it is. He told himself it wouldn't matter if he died to be frank; he really had no big purpose in life. It was just him, a bag of vengeance, and the idea of protecting innocent people.

Harry looked on in silence as he gently accelerated the Ford Fiesta in the bustling city of London. He kept his eyes on the road and followed the directions the GPS would blare at the right occasion. Turing into an alley, he was met with a rather odd happening. A group of no less than a dozen hooded and masked men with sticks aimed at a pink-haired woman who was likewise doing the same. WTF?! Harry didn't care though; it's them! The Death Eaters! But why are they pointing sticks at each other…

BOOM!

BANG!

WTF?!

Harry saw jets of lights stream out from the sticks in the hands of the Death Eaters and the woman. It was very apparent to Harry's position that the woman was going to be cut down very fast if he wasn't going to intervene. Grabbing his P90, Harry groaned as he remembered the silencer was not attached yet. Oh well… climbing out of the Fiesta, Harry aimed his P90 at the closest Death Eater and made a headshot.

BANG!

The recoil slightly rocked his arms, but he was used to it. The unmistakeable splatter of blood and gore sprayed slightly as the bullet made a precise entrance and exit out of the head of one of the Death Eaters. The Death Eater promptly fell to the ground and Harry took his next shot.

BANG!

Another one down.

Harry quickly ducked as a jet of green light headed towards his head. A loud BOOM behind him could be heard an a chunk of a building fell. Harry quickly aimed.

BANG!

Third head down, more to go.

At this time, Harry saw the woman had long gone; that was good. The bad? Now the Death Eater group had their full attention on him. Shit.

Harry knew this was no time for conservation of bullets. Switching to fully automatic, he fired.

The Death Eaters had no chance. Harry saw that most likely, they had no Kevlar or any armor for the matter; all they had were these weird sticks that could make things go kaboom. Harry saw that he managed to mow down most of their number, but he saw two quicker thinking ones diving behind a dumpster. Reloading in the short time of respite, Harry saw that he was already halfway through his current ammo supply. Crap, he was going to make every bullet count. Before Harry could think further, one of them pointed his stick at the Fiesta. Rolling and ducking behind a dumpster conveniently located behind the Fiesta, Harry saw to his amazement the Fiesta blown apart into smithereens. Holy fucking shit!

Harry though didn't dwell, he just knew that if he stayed in one place too long, he would meet the fate of his ride. Quickly zigzagging forwards, he saw jets of light streak past him causing explosions behind him. With years of trained agility, Harry propelled his body over the small dumpster the two Death Eaters were hiding behind and opened fire at point blank range.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Harry managed to unload a good part of the clip in the short period of time and two Death Eaters slumped as they lost their lives to his P90. Blood started to pool and Harry backed away from them. Looking around, he saw the bodies of the Death Eaters littering the alley and very unmistakable pools of blood, rubble that littered the alley, and his Fiesta that was now turned in mangled pieces of metal. Sirens could be heard in the background. Shit. Harry quickly pocketed his P90 and ran out of the alley. Finding himself a good couple blocks away, he called in, "Joyce, can you hear me?"

It took a moment before a female voice replied, "I hear you Agent H."

Harry quickly relayed the situation to Joyce and received a curt, "I will inform Kennedy of your situation."

Harry waited a moment and heard his superior's voice over the earpiece, "You ok kiddo?"

Harry replied, "Yes sir."

"Good. It looks like these Death Eaters are getting bolder by the day… do not worry Agent H; the video proves that you acted in self-defense so there will be no reprimands."

Harry knew that was the answer, but politely replied, "Thank you sir. Now how do I proceed?"

"We will have an agent in the area pick you up and bring you back to a nearby base and get you another ride. At this time, remain inconspicuous and keep your head out of trouble. Your camera will provide your location, so you will not need to worry about informing us of your location. The agent should arrive in no later than five more minutes."

The call ended and Harry walked down the busy sidewalk, putting behind him the carnage and the dozen police cars that surrounded the alley. What he didn't know was that in reality, a dozen brown trench coated men and women were waving sticks at the police, wiping their memories, repairing the damage, and retrieving the bodies of the Death Eaters. Among the hubbub of activity, the pink-haired woman mingled among them helping out, mainly looking for the body of the black-clad man with a gun. But she found no such body; only Death Eaters. Obviously, this perplexed her; a muggle that managed to survive the onslaught of a dozen Death Eaters?

A/N: I know this won't be my typical story... but oh well. Thanks for reading and any reviews and support are appreciated!