Disclaimer: I do not own 'Harry Potter' or 'NCIS'

Very sleep deprived so please excuse the common writing mistakes (:

Frustration wouldn't be the word he'd use to describe how he felt at the moment. More like royally pissed off. Ok, imagine being kicked in the balls or punched in the boob for no reason whatsoever. You're just minding your own business when wham! Fist to the delicates.

Well that's what happened to Harry but instead of the delicates below the equator taking a hit its his luck. Always the luck. It comes and goes with no warm welcome. Then again he wasn't exactly minding his own business. On the contrary he was stepping over that rather delicate line called 'personal space'. For a good reason though.

If you call a future assassination a good reason to investigate that is.

No he's not going to assassinate some poor twat. More like wondering why said twat is gonna be assassinated. Call it open curiosity. One day he just happens to overhear a conversation in a bar about somebody going to kill somebody – let's call him 'poor twat' - for a certain amount of money. Now he just knows if that assassin – and a terrible one at that – knew he was listening in he would be dead. At least, they would try to kill him.

Now you must be wondering who 'him' or 'he' is. The person who is the subject of this story. Well his name is Harry Potter.

And right now, Harry's pissed. Royally, so.

Now Harry doesn't normally butt in on other people's assassinations. In fact he tries to avoid them at all costs. But after hearing the drunken slurs about this 'amazing' assassination job on this 'poor twat' he just had to know. He blames this god-forsaken curiosity on Hermione. Remembering the 'poor twat's name Harry immediately hunted him down to a stingy motel room. Easily getting a room under an alias next to 'poor twat' he waited for the fireworks.

And they came. With a less than exciting spectacle he had hoped for. There were no shoot outs. No fighting. Just…a bomb.

So now Harry was staring at the charred remains of 'poor twat' surrounded by dust and fiery remains of his and 'poor twat's room. Feeling pissed to hell.

Not at the disappointing display of a so called 'assassination' but the fact that the police were here and he was in handcuffs being led to a police car. Honestly his luck was blessed by Satan. He was also pissed that his suit was partially burned. And that he's late for his first day at work.

All this because he had to accidentally overhear a conversation. Sighing deeply he rested his head against the car seat wondering how on Earth he was going to explain this to his new boss.

Especially due to the fact that 'poor twat' was a navy lieutenant. Hearing the car door open he kept his gaze straight forward. Not giving any reaction to the cop who was wearing a very confused expression.

"Erm…Agent Evans?"

"Yes?"

"Your director's asked me to bring you back to the office." Detecting the anxiety Harry turned and raised an eyebrow.

"And…?" he pressed the young cop.

"And you're to be questioned by a Mr Gibbs?..." Harry sighed. This cop was a ball of nerves – wait…he closed his eyes and would have screamed out in frustration if he didn't care so much about reputation. First day at work and he's already a freaking suspect.

Just dandy!

Oh Ron's going to get a laugh out of this. Hermione…a shiver went down his spine. He's going to get quite a lecture.

Gibbs was pissed. Royally, so.

"Where is Evans?" He growled at Mcgee for the tenth time in five minutes. The agent's eyes widened at the tone. Still not used to the rage his boss permits.

"I don't know boss. I've already tried to call him, but he isn't picking up." Gibbs growled under his breath. If there's anything he hates most about new teammates is them being late. Especially on their first day.

If this was a way of Evans making an impression then he sure has a strange way of doing it.

Then again Tony's first impression on him was tackling him to the ground thinking he was a drug dealer. He shook off those nasty thought of being reasonable and decided on brooding.

Along with plotting to smack Evans extra hard on the head.

"Then call him again." He told Mcgee who immediately dialed the number.

"Um…Boss?" Tony's nervous voice felt like a sag of bricks hitting him on the head. Gibbs knew that tone and internally groaned. "Evans was found at a crime scene by police."

"He's dead?!" shrieked Ziva in total shock. Almost dropping the knife she was flipping in her hands. Tony shook his head quickly, relieving Gibbs of the terror he felt.

"No, but the body he was found with is."

Gibbs closed his eyes painfully before hearing his phone ring. Flipping it open he felt the eyes of his team burning into him.

"Yeah?"

"This is Detective Raymond with the DCPD. We've got a Navy Lieutenant Carlton Dallos burned up like a fried piece of beacon in room 12 at Motel Stacy along with a very much alive and suspicious NCIS Agent Harrison Evans. He one of yours?" Gibbs rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, he's mine." He managed to grind out through his teeth. At his desk Tony winced and shared a look between him and the others. The look saying 'Evans is in deep shit'.

"Do you want us to take him in or you pick him up?"

"Bring him here for interrogation because if I take him myself I might accidentally unload a round in my gun." Slamming his phone shut Gibbs quickly got his gear and stormed to the elevator. His team keeping their distance.

"Boss do you want me to drive?" DiNozzo asked cautiously with a lopsided grin. "Because I don't exactly want to get into a car accident right about now – I'm shutting up." He quickly said as Gibbs shot him a look saying 'shut up now before I hit you too hard on the head'.

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