May 1982

"Harry Hart."

At the sound of his name, Harry rose from his seat and made his way to the stage, accompanied by the sweet, joyful tune of applause. He shook hands with the chancellor, accepted his congratulations, and then- just like that- it was over. Harry walked off the stage with happiness and pride swelling in his heart. After four years, it was all over.

At last, he was an official graduate of Oxford University.

There had been no time onstage to look down at his peers in the audience. Everything had happened so quickly. Still, Harry tried to scan the crowd as he headed back to his seat, peering beyond the rapt faces of his graduating class to the swath of family and staff that filled out the hall. His gaze lingered on the overflowing audience, searching each person's face for a sign of recognition. It was very unlikely that they'd come- at least, Harry hadn't been previously informed of their arrival- but it certainly wasn't too late for surprises…

However, his quick search yielded no familiar faces, and Harry forced down a twinge of disappointment. He shouldn't have expected anything, really. It would have been a miracle if they'd bothered to show up, seeing as Harry had maintained little to no connection with the rest of his family for roughly two years now. They might not even know when the graduation ceremony was taking place.

Besides, Harry thought as he passed his fellow students on the way to his seat, it doesn't matter anyway. Not when his friends were applauding for him just as enthusiastically as his own family would. As if she had heard the thought, Susan swiveled her head around as soon as Harry had taken his seat and flashed him a bubbly, excited grin. Harry gave a small smile back, his eyes soft. With friends like his, he couldn't possibly need anyone else.

Though graduation rehearsal had been an exhausting ordeal, the rest of the actual ceremony flitted swiftly by. It seemed like no time at all before the last name had resounded across the room, the entire hall had exploded into a relieved, thunderous standing ovation, and the recessional had begun at last. Harry marched out of the hall with a light step, his head held high, ready to face the world as a new man. After a few drinks and dinner with his best mates, of course. Then onwards to whatever the future might bring.

The sun's glare blinded Harry as he left the hall, and he shaded his eyes with his hand, scoping out the throng of students. Susan and Martin's names came before Harry's in the alphabet, so they had surely been released already. And if Harry knew anything about them, he was sure they were also together. He wandered the edges of the crowd, scanning for any sign of his friends. Among the endless robe-clad figures, singling out just two people was hard. Perhaps they were hiding right smack in the middle of the crowd-

"Harry Hart!" a voice sounded behind him, immediately calling his attention. "Congratulations on your academic success."

There was something so incredibly familiar about that voice. Like a scene from a half-remembered dream- have I been here before? Do I know him?

Captivated by the voice, Harry turned, and found himself staring at an older man.

His suit caught Harry's eye immediately. A handsome chocolate shade, well-fitting, likely bespoke, and very tasteful. Next the flash of a signet ring called Harry's attention, though his brow furrowed to see it wrapped around the right pinky finger. That isn't how a signet should be worn, not traditionally…Then his eyes traveled up to the man's face- and a small shiver went through him.

Could it be…?

Though his face was obscured by tortoiseshell sunglasses, there was no mistaking that slim but imperial physique, the strong, pointed nose and creased cheeks. Harry blinked once, taking in the man's whole appearance. Then at last, he found his voice.

"Mr. Winthrop?"

"Just Basil now, if you please," the man said pleasantly, removing his sunglasses and stashing them in his breast pocket before holding his hand out to Harry. As soon as the glasses were off, Harry felt another shiver run through him, this one a bit stronger than the last. Yes, he had the right man. He knew those cornflower-blue eyes well.

Apparently, Harry's graduation had invited an unexpected figure from his past.

"Now that we're both adults, it hardly seems fair to get along on last-name basis," Mr. Winthrop- no, Basil- smoothly continued. "Unless of course you prefer it as such."

"It's fine," Harry murmured, finally shaking Basil's proffered hand. "You've always called me Harry." And "dear boy." And "your offspring." And… Dammit, just what was Basil doing here?

"So I have," Basil replied, the relaxed smile never leaving his face. "In that case, allow me to amend my statement. Congratulations on your success, Harry. I always knew you would turn out well."

Mother and Father wouldn't agree with you... Harry shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the thought. There was so much to say, so much to ask, and all of it was clamoring to be released from his tongue. Finally, Harry chose to unleash the most important question. "If I might ask, what's brought you here?"

"Business or pleasure, you mean?" Basil said evenly, meeting Harry's gaze with an unwavering blue stare. "Actually, it's neither- nothing more than mere curiosity. I haven't kept up with the Harts as much as I should lately, and I thought I would come by to see what you've made of yourself."

Harry stiffened slightly at Basil's words, remembering quite clearly what the rest of the Harts had thought of what he'd made of himself. The empty seats and unfamiliar faces in the audience rendered their point painfully obvious.

In a low voice, he questioned, "Have they sent you on their behalf?"

"Not at all," Basil said right away. "I came on my own accord. To tell the truth, I was greatly hoping you'd be able to spare some time after the ceremony. Just to catch up, like old friends."

Such a statement should have eased Harry's mind, but instead he grew mildly suspicious. Harry of all the Harts was unlikely to be considered "an old friend." Basil had only ever known him as a child. Harry couldn't shake the thought that his parents had sent Basil, not to celebrate and congratulate in their place, but to keep an eye on him now that he'd finished school. Surely they were anxious to know what Harry was planning on doing with his life- and Harry wasn't exactly keen on letting them find out.

My life is my own. And it had been such for a little over two years. Nothing was going to change that, not even Basil Winthrop's inexplicable appearance.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Have you caught up with my parents as well?"

Basil nodded. "Always a pleasure to see them."

"Then I assume they were the ones to inform you of my graduation ceremony," Harry stated, trying to figure out exactly what Basil was playing at.

He half-expected- and even half-hoped- that Basil would confirm this assumption, but Basil shook his head. "No, all they mentioned was that you had gone off to Oxford a few years back. I had to do the rest of the work myself. Such a shame they… chose not to attend."

A small lick of flame sizzled through Harry's chest, and he had to clench his fists briefly to keep himself in check. Of course they did. Of COURSE they did…

"Might I ask w-" he began, but a raised hand from Basil silenced him. There was no smile on his face, but he looked… content. Pleased, even. His blue eyes were warm and friendly as he gazed down at Harry.

"To be honest, Harry, I came to this ceremony for more than one reason. I have a job offer that you might fancy taking up. There's a wealth of opportunities for a young graduate like you, and I wanted to be the first to present you with one."

Harry stared back at Basil, confusion flickering through his mind. This wasn't what he had expected to hear. Of all the people to offer him a job… Basil Winthrop?

"You're asking if I want to join you at Kingsman?" he said, trying to make sure he understood the prospect.

"Not exactly," Basil replied evenly. "You will be working at Kingsman, but you won't be in the shop."

"An administrative position, then?" Harry shook his head in what he hoped was a polite refusal. "I'm sorry, M- Basil, I… I'd prefer for you to contact me later in regards to your offer. I greatly appreciate your thinking of me, but I'm not ready to make a sudden decision."

"I understand," Basil said mildly, idly tapping his fingers against the walking stick clutched in his right hand. "You don't want to work in a field outside your major. You want to apply the knowledge from your studies in the real world."

"No," Harry blurted, bristling at once in defense. How can he simply assume—? "I'm declining your offer because I'd rather make a difference in the 'real world,' instead of being stuck behind a desk all day."

He decided not to mention that he would also rather not spend the rest of his days helping clothe the pampered rich in their increasingly luxurious splendor. Though Harry had little desire to partake in the snobbery that had contributed in driving him from his family, he didn't want to openly disrespect Basil's line of work. For as long as he'd known Basil, the man had been associated with Kingsman, and it was clear that he wouldn't trade his job for anything in the world.

Basil did not seem particularly fazed by Harry's outburst. He simply sighed through his nose and cocked his head, his gaze piercing straight through Harry. "Harry, I assure you that the position I'm offering has nothing to do with being stuck behind a desk. Far from it. That's not even getting into all the benefits that come with the job. If you'll hear me out, I'd be delighted to discuss the matter further."

Harry realized then that Basil had no intention of dropping the subject. He's persistent, I'll give him that. Mentally he relented- he might as well learn more about the offer before thoroughly declining it. Surely it wouldn't take long…

"If you'll excuse me," Harry said, gesturing to the crowd that was beginning to thin out around them. "Once my business here is done, I'll be happy to go over the matter. But right now, I should be looking for someone."

"Don't bother," Basil replied immediately, straightening his walking stick and leaning on it. "This offer is not something to be discussed in the open. Come along with me, and I'll show you what I mean." His free hand reached out to grasp Harry's shoulder, and Harry tried not to flinch at the touch.

"You can tell your friends," intoned Basil, "that Kingsman has called for you."

The train swayed along the tracks, and Harry swayed with it, clutching tightly to the back of Basil's seat. If he had known that Basil intended on taking him to the shop in London, he wouldn't have agreed so readily to hear his offer. With every mile, his mind filled with more questions. Just what was so important about Basil's offer that it had to be explained in the shop, in private? And why Harry of all people, whose legal studies were as far removed from tailoring as possible?

At every stop on the train's route, the inevitable congratulations came from boarding passengers who caught sight of Harry's graduation robes. He thanked them politely, but his mind was performing acrobatics, trying to guess Basil's hidden intentions. There was no point in asking Basil, who was busy staring rapturously up at the train's ceiling as if utterly fascinated by it. He hadn't said a word to Harry since they got on board, except to thank him when Harry let him have the last empty seat in the carriage.

By the time the train pulled up at its final stop at London Paddington Station, the confusion was beginning to fade from Harry's mind- there was no use in letting his imagination run rampant until they got to the tailor shop, where Basil claimed that all would be revealed. But he still wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or excited about this "job offer." Basil lurched to his feet and wove his way through the throng of departing passengers, briefly grabbing Harry's arm to guide him in the right direction. Harry followed along, idly wondering how his friends' graduation dinner was going, and whether they were missing him. He hadn't gotten to congratulate a single one of them before Basil whisked him away.

Even fewer words were spoken as they clambered into a conveniently waiting black cab. As he settled into the leather seats, Harry began to mull over the exact nature of Basil's offer. The fact that he had gone to such lengths to find Harry specifically, and then to carefully bring him all the way to London, hinted at intentions far beyond asking him to work at the shop. There HAS to be more to this job than he's letting on... But if that was true, then Basil was certainly keeping quiet about it. The older man slipped his glasses on as the taxi pulled away from the curb and leaned back, resting his head against the seat.

Reluctant to disturb Basil, Harry instead took to gazing out the window. Most of the buildings were unmarked, save for the street signs at each corner, but every now and then a brand name leaped out at him- newer commodities engulfing aged architecture. The glow emanating from each window lit up the city as the overcast afternoon slipped gradually into dusky evening. It was a sight Harry was all too familiar with, thanks to his many excursions to London throughout his life- not in the least the occasional trips his family had taken him on to visit people such as Basil. Or rather Mr. Winthrop, back then. If Harry closed his eyes, just for a few seconds, he could remember the fine sitting room where Basil and his parents had talked over their wine glasses, while he and his siblings played on the carpet nearby, petting Basil's cocker spaniel and admiring his intriguing assortment of curios.

Presently the cab came to a halt on Savile Row. Harry didn't need to glance at the glittering gold letters in the window to know where he was- Kingsman, Tailors. He offered a hand to help Basil out of the cab, but Basil waved him off and made it out with no trouble at all. "Come on, Harry," he said as he easily bounded up the steps to the entrance. "We'll talk inside the shop."

Harry dipped his head and followed along, crossing the threshold into the darkened room. With the flip of a few switches, the lamps were soon ablaze- not noticeable enough to be seen from the street, but shedding enough light so that the shop interiors were visible. Without looking back at Harry, Basil strode towards the fitting rooms, so full of energy that he no longer leaned on his walking stick. "This job offer deals with a very important position," he said, while Harry slowly trailed behind, taking in the sights and smells of the shop. "So naturally, before you accept anything it's necessary for you to understand what you're getting into." With a flourish, Basil threw open the door to one of the fitting rooms and finally glanced back at Harry with a proud grin. "Follow me. There's something I've got to show you."

Concern and excitement again warred for dominance within Harry. He hesitated for a second- had Basil ALWAYS been this odd? Should he be trusted?

But he had made it this far— he might as well find out what Basil was on about. Harry followed him into the fitting room and watched impatiently as Basil went to the coat rack. Nothing struck him as particularly out of the ordinary.

"What-"

"Shh," was all Basil said, not looking at Harry, still bearing his wide grin. He pushed down on one of the coat hooks- and a section of the wall swung inwards.

In itself, the secret compartment was a shock. Harry found himself staring, utterly perplexed. Once Basil had beckoned him in, though, the contents of the secret compartment left him even more bewildered.

Arranged neatly in racks along the walls were what appeared to Harry to be the shop's extra stock of accessories. He spied all manner of walking sticks just like Basil's, as well as signet rings, watches, pens, glasses frames, and of course, endless shoes- oxfords, brogues, slippers… But as Harry's gaze moved along the walls, incongruous items leapt out at him. Namely, firearms and bullets alongside them.

Curious, he drew closer to the illuminated racks, staring at the glistening metal. Rifles, shotguns, pistols- every gun Harry could imagine was there, waiting for a worthy owner to use them. Harry stood before the weapons, spellbound, his imagination sparking and running wild. He'd guessed correctly- this was definitely no ordinary job offer. Whatever it really was probably didn't involve tailoring at all.

"Admiring the view?" Basil's voice rang out. Harry turned on his heel to see Basil hanging back by the entrance, casually clutching his walking stick in both hands. His expression was cool, but Harry could almost feel an air of self-satisfaction radiating from him.

Harry swallowed and asked the first question that came to mind, the only one that made sense. "Is your shop affiliated with the military in some way?"

Basil shook his head and strode forward, discarding his walking stick along the way. Without it, his step grew stronger and surer, belying the fragility of his appearance. He also straightened up, squaring his shoulders and holding his chin high.

"We're not associated with any government, though we are based in London. We have countless units operating all over the globe." Basil came to a stop in front of Harry and struck a warm, knowledgeable smile. "Kingsman is more wide-reaching than you think, Harry."

Harry instantly voiced the logical question:

"What is Kingsman?"

Instead of responding right away, Basil folded his hands behind his back and traveled over to one of the racks, his soft blue eyes reflecting the golden sheen of the signet rings.

"Kingsman is what you might call a secret service. An intelligence agency tied to no country and no governmental regime. We devote our lives to protecting individuals from harm and ensuring peace worldwide. If you want to make a difference in the world as you claim you do, accepting our job offer might be a good place to start."

Basil turned to meet Harry's level gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching in a restrained smile.

"One of our agents has recently passed. Got himself blown to bits on a mission, the poor fellow. That leaves a vacancy at our table, and based on my knowledge of your background and your academic studies, I think you'd make a splendid addition. So tell me, Harry my boy- are you going to turn your back on this opportunity, or are you going to help change the world?"

At first Harry found it impossible to reply. Slowly, the pieces fell into place. This explains so much. Why his childhood trips to Basil's home were so infrequent, and why Basil was called away from London so often. How Basil had amassed such an impressive collection of international oddities. And it certainly explained why Basil had taken Harry to the London shop instead of detailing his job offer right there in Oxford.

If he'd merely TOLD me about this, I would have never believed him.

Then Basil's actual words caught up to Harry, and his gaze broke from Basil, drifting over to the pristine arsenal surrounding him. A secret service… devoted to ensuring peace worldwide. Not by sending men to war, not by military combat, but in smaller ways. Ways that were not beyond Harry's capabilities or, presumably, his morals. Little steps that could never result in a greater incendiary reaction. All done undercover.

It sounded so fantastical. Just like the over-the-top spy films Harry had loved when he was younger. Never in his life would he have believed they'd come true.

He could almost see them now, as if a film projector had flickered to life in his head. The familiar figures of Bond and Palmer, engaged in shootouts, searching for information, and generally observing the modus operandi- save the world. The inevitable thought surfaced:

If I accept this offer, I could become one of them.

When faced with the prospect, how could Harry possibly say no?

Slowly Harry returned his gaze to Basil's expectant face. He smiled deeply.

"Changing the world… now there's a prospect that suits me."

Basil instantly came alight, his whole body perking up as if adrenaline had shot through his system.

"Excellent. You've made the right choice." His smile sparked with chain lightning.

"If you'll come with me back into the shop, I believe we have an appointment with Fitting Room One."