I was actually studying for exams but I got side-tracked. Let's blame professors who upload their slides online - they're to blame for the fact that I even turn on my laptop during the exam-phase.

I don't smoke and in this fanfiction I do not promote the idea or concept of smoking. I am simply writing that which best fits the character. Also university students drink so much, so that's completely appropriate.

Harry stared down at his gin morosely. This was no Firewhiskey, but it would have to do for the time being. He watched the amber liquid swirling merrily in the glass as he twirled the cheap plastic stick he'd been given and was vaguely reminded of memories spinning in a pensieve. This thought only brought another onslaught of his own recollections from the war and he winced as faces of the dead floated up to the fore-front of his mind.

The small pub he now found himself in was a little thing in the outskirts of Camden, with electric lights and hand prepared drinks and food. Very muggle indeed — and very much a place where no one would expect him to be.

"Rough day?" The bartender said grimly, wiping his hands on the very dirty cloth draped over his shoulder. Harry lifted a shoulder in response. His facial expression must've given more away because the bartender winced in sympathy and rapidly prepared him a second drink. It made a clinking sound upon sliding to a stop right next to the tumbler that Harry was currently nursing.

Early morning night shone through the tinted windows and the floor lit up in a multitude of patterns as rays of light began to slowly lit up the bar. A few of the other patrons that had managed to stay awake through the night, now began gathering their things and tiredly leaving the pub. Two men in the corner were drunkenly muttering 'you're my best friend', 'no, you're my best friend' to each other, making Harry's lips form into a half-formed smile.

He too, downed his last drink and stood up shakily, nodding goodbye at the bartender. He happily scooped up the stack of coins that Harry had placed on the counter and proceeded to begin cleaning up (that is to say, waking up the less motivated from their slumber).

Harry swung his jacket over his shoulder and began making his way to the tube. Back to work, he thought grimly. However, catching his reflection in a shopping room window, he winced at the look he was sporting: Dudley's trousers, paired with a t-shirt and a denim's jacket, all of which was untucked and unappealing. His hair, too, was sticking out in every direction.

He didn't trust himself to walk home and apparate whist in this state was out of the question, so with a deep sigh, he defended into the underground. In almost a haze, he returned to his small London flat. It was as unwelcoming and spartan as always, instantly making him want to leave that cursed place. He showered, dressed and made himself an early breakfast. Then grabbing his leather satchel he departed for his first 8am class.

Harry trudged into the lecture hall, barely regarding the other students that were also slowly streaming into the room, most sipping coffee and fogging up their glasses. He slumped down in a chair right at the back of the hall and tiredly opened a notebook. The lecture began, and he did all he could not to fall asleep. It was nearing the end of said lecture when he felt something hit the back of his head.

He ignored it — until it happened again. He quickly turned, eager to catch the offender in the act: sitting a few seats behind him, was a young man with serious, hazel eyes and dark, thick eyebrows. His hair was immaculate and he was dressed very primly — exactly the opposite of what Harry looked like right now.

"The hell?" Harry whispered harshly at him. A few students glanced at him in vague annoyance — many were on the verge of falling asleep. Peter Fleming. He had been Harry's roommate in his first year at Cambridge. And he was studying computer science, so why in the hell would he be in a law lecture?

The young man stared at him seriously over the top of a laptop and Harry realised all of a sudden that the person next too him too had a laptop, and the person next to him as well and so on. Glancing around he noted that he was the only person without a laptop. Ah. Wrong lecture. Right.

Again, he felt something hit him and this time that something landed on this pop-up table. A small ball of scrunched up paper. Glancing over his shoulder at the guy and saw that the other student was making 'go on' gestures with his hands. Harry rolled his eyes and flattened out the ball. A message.

Wrong lecture. ~Fleming

Harry rolled his eyes. Yes, he'd noticed that, thank you very much. Pointedly, he shredded the paper into small pieces. Another scrunched up ball landed on his pop-up desk. He flattened it out again.

You look crap. Get some sleep. ~Fleming

Harry turned in his seat and was about to angrily speak to the guy about messing with other people's lives, when the person next to him pushed him back down and shushed him.

He turned around the paper and wrote his own message in his chicken-scratch:

Your nose belongs out of my business. ~Bond

Bond. James Bond. That was the name he had decided upon when finalising his school diploma and his enrolment in this muggle university. He threw the note over his shoulder.

Another one bounced back a few minutes later.

01010111 01101000 01111001 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01110101 01110010 01100101. ~Fleming

Harry groaned. He recognised it as binary code, but was unsure as to how to read it. He poked the guy sitting next to him. The blonde glanced at the code and lazily muttered the translation: "What are you doing in my lecture." Then he continued playing pacman on his beaten-up laptop.

Harry turned in his seat and saw Fleming smirking at him. Harry rolled his eyes, wishing that the lecture would come to an end. The professor at the front was sketching some sort of diagram on the chalk board and his back was turned to the student body. This was his chance, Harry thought, and he very quickly jumped out of his seat and bolted to the nearest door. Presence at lectures wasn't compulsory, but he always felt bad when walking out on a professor.

Once he was in the corridor, he noted that he was a whole floor too far down than where his proper lecture was taking place. Sighing, he decided that it made no sense to blunder in so late during the lesson so he headed out to the small courtyard. A few students were enjoying the last few rays of the autumn sun and were lounging in the luxurious grass. A hippie circle had formed in a small corner. They were holding hands and praying to the heavens. Such a cliche, he thought, shaking his head, amused.

Harry sighed and crossed the courtyard of Cambridge's Trinity College. Under his arm, he hoisted a thick textbook on humanitarian law. He wasn't very certain that law was the right subject for him, but he'd passed the necessary tests so far, and he didn't seem very terrible at it. It seemed like a lot of the people studying with him, too, didn't really know what to do with their lives. He supposed most 22-year-olds were like that.

An architecture student crossed the courtyard, nearly knocking Harry over. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the lad who had evidently just left the studio where he worked, evidenced by the large folder of drawings under his arms and seriously dark circles under his eyes. He had apparently worked through the night. Harry wondered if he too looked like that.

"Oi Bond!" Harry turned at the sound of his name being called. His lips quirked upwards upon seeing the only friend he'd managed to make in the last four years: Daniel Fettes.

"You look like shit, mate," Daniel said upon nearing him. He wrinkled his nose at Harry's appearance. The wizard shrugged with one shoulder.

"So I've been told."

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't you?" Harry countered rapidly. Daniel laughed heartily and slapped him on the back, before answering that his girlfriend hadn't let him leave bed that morning. They smirked and began walking in the direction of the Main Dining Hall that reminded him very starkly of Hogwarts.

"So how you holding up?"

"Eh?" Harry glanced at him in confusion. Daniel's eyebrows drew together.

"Your parents died on the 31st right? Yesterday?"

"Oh," Harry swallowed harshly. He didn't remember ever telling Daniel about that. In any case, being reminded of that fact after his binge last night reopened raw wounds. His hand unconsciously wandered to his jagged lightning bolt scar and he looked away, briefly overcome with emotion.

"Sorry, eh, that was a little blunt," Daniel offered after a moment. Harry smiled sadly in thanks and they fell into silence. They collected their plates of food and sat down, each deep in their own thoughts.

Daniel finally broke the silence: "Seeing as we're heading towards our last few weeks at Cambridge, John and I decided that we'd have one last poker night. You up to it?"

Harry's eyes lazily met Daniel's. He was aware that this particular friend group had actually begun excluding him from these sort of hedonistic late-night meet-ups, because whatever their form on that particular game, Harry was usually the one who left with all their money.

"I'm always up for poker," Harry said with a small wink.

.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror with surprise; it was a few years since Hogwarts, almost five in fact, and he looked it. His face had hollowed out, baby-fat gone, and his frame had become somewhat wider. He had miraculously grown in height, fitting his brooding face. His dark eyebrows rested over his serious, yet cold eyes. His lips were drawn into a thin and cruel line. He'd been told by some or other female… companion, that he looked quite like Gregory Peck, but having never seen any of his films, he didn't think himself an authority on that matter.

And yet, remarkably, on this day, he looked very much like he would fit in the world of Hogwarts: he was wearing his black ceremonial graduation gown; which was tailored in very much the same way as the robes which one wore for lessons at the magical school in the north. There was some sort of white cravat, but he was uncertain as how to tie it.

Shrugging, he left his dorm and walked across campus where another few hundred of students wearing the same thing he was, were walking (in a deliriously happy fashion) towards the Senate House, where their degree ceremony was to take place. Families, parents, friends were also walking along, some happy, others looking worried and probably wondering how they would pay off the student loans.

Not for the first time, Harry wished his parents and friends could be here. Alas, that was not going to happen. The former and several of the latter were dead. He'd also sworn never to step back into the wizarding world, that also meant cutting himself off completely from everyone he knew there.

"Hey James!" Daniel appeared at his side. Tagging along with him was a family of three. His sister and his proud parents. "Fam, this is James Bond — you know I've been telling you all about him for years."

"A pleasure to meet you at last," the father said and they shook hands. Mr. Fettes was an intimidating man; he was short and not quite thin, but there was something about him that made Harry almost instantly believe that he had the capabilities to snap a man's neck with his bare hands. The mother, in contrast was very quaint and kind-eyed. She smiled and held out her hand, palm downwards, like a lady. Harry took it and bowed his head gently in greeting. Then did the same to the daughter.

"Mr. Fettes, Mrs. Fettes, I now finally have faces to the names I have heard so much," Harry replied in a practiced, polite tone. It was almost insultingly over-the-top.

"Well, we were glad to hear that someone was keeping our Danny in line," Mrs. Fettes said with a warm smile to her son. He blushed at hearing what was a childhood nickname. He ducked away from a kiss. Harry laughed loudly, very much imagining himself doing the same thing if his parents had lived.

"No one keeps me in line!" Daniel said, puffing his chest out. Harry grinned and nodded towards the Senate House.

"Shall we get our diplomas?"

"Yes, sir!"

.

The ceremony was over and Harry had finally managed to escape his acquaintances, many of whom were crying, mainly due to an abundant alcohol consumption. He had decided to stay in Cambridge for this one last night, to finally move out the next day and was now making his way back to his dorm house. He could still hear the party from where he was, and there were a few students strolling the grounds in the moonlight.

He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag from it. Smoke filled his lungs and he gave a relaxed sigh.

"Smoking is a sign of weakness, you know," said a voice from the darkness. Out of this darkness, emerged a man. He fell into stride with Harry.

Mr. Fettes himself was smoking a cigar.

"You're smoking too," Harry pointed out.

"Ah, I am not smoking, Mr. Bond. I'm enjoying a sophisticated indulgence of the gentleman."

"Looks like smoking to me," Harry replied with a shrug. Mr. Fettes stopped walking. Harry, who had taken a few steps more and then realised he had lost his companion, turned and looked at the father of his friend.

"Son, I'll be straight with you," the man said after he had given Harry a considering stare. It was dark and Harry could really see was the beady eyes glinting in the moonlight, and watching his every move with extreme intensity.

"Please," Harry said, stretching out his arms, palms upwards, prompting him to speak. He took another drag from his cigarette, watching as the tip of it lit up with renewed light.

"My son believes I work for a construction company, in fact, I occupy a minor role in Her Majesty's Secret Service. We have been interested in you for a few years."

Harry surveyed him over his glasses. With two fingers he plucked a little tobacco residual that had made it through his filter from his mouth, as he hummed in thought.

"That's not even the strangest thing I've ever heard," Harry said cryptically as he though back to that night that Hagrid had stumbled into the cabin out in the sea and had told him he was a wizard. "In what capacity might you be interested in me?"

Mr. Fettes gave a small chuckle. "Those are particular details that you will obtain when you accept our offer."

"When? How can you be so sure that I will accept it?" Harry was mildly affronted that they thought they could manipulate him so easily.

"In the winter after your first year at Cambridge, you travelled to Austria, Kitzbühel, where after one week of learning how to ski from a supposed family friend Hannes Oberhauser, you travelled to Zermatt and skied off-piste at four thousand metres above sea level from the Monte Rosa. It took you half a year after that to master German."

"What's that supposed to say about me?" Harry asked with a small scoff. He tossed his cigarette bud to the ground and put it out with his foot.

"It shows that you aren't particularly scared of death and that you're bored with a normal civilian life. It certainly shows that you'll never be a good lawyer."

"Maybe I'm just foolhardy." That's what Snape would have said.

"Summer after your second year at Cambridge, you took up shooting and excelled so well at it at the shooting range, the police now keeps a file on you. That file is now missing. No, Mr. Bond, you are not foolhardy, you're bored."

Harry stayed silent, because, that indeed was true. The police, however, had inexplicably lost that file. Well, he had just snuck in one Friday night and stolen it from right under their noses. Best he stayed as anonymous as possible: he had paid an incredible amount to fashion this new identity for himself. So much, that he could barely pay off his Cambridge tuition fees now.

"If you change your mind, come to this address on the 31st. We'll be waiting for you." Mr. Fettes said, pulling out a business card from his wallet. He tipped his Cold War Era hat and disappeared into the night.

The question is... should this be continued...?