October 9th 2010, London

Sat in his office in the depths of Thames House, the London headquarters of Britain's internal security and intelligence agency, MI5, Jonathan Evans, almost with a hint of dread reread the retirement application of one of his best operatives. Hadrian James Potter. Thirty-five years old. Born to a family with a heritage going back more years than he ever cared to disclose. His parents, James Charlus Potter and Lillian Marie Potter had been killed in a terrorist attack. A wizarding terrorist attack.

The last Potter had borne a grudge from the day he found out who and what had happened to his parents to the day, 24th of June 1990, that he claimed his vengeance. Desperate for the skills that only Harry had and were available to them, Patrick Walker, his predecessor in the post in 1990, had pushed Harry towards SAS training. And he'd not quite turned fifteen at the time. Age didn't stop an MI5 still working in a Cold War mentality and Potter hadn't minded. It got him away from his former headmaster who attempted to hold a disturbing level of influence over him. Operation Granby in Iraq, Operation Deliberate Force and Operation Allied Force in the Balkans. The twenty-first century kicked off with Operation Palliser and the typically balls-to-the-wall SAS Operation Barras in Sierra Leone, then Operation Herrick in Afghanistan and Operation Telic in Iraq.

To add to this, post Operation Granby, he'd spent nearly a year in America prior to being attached to an American special forces unit deployed to Somalia. With USAF Weapons School graduation with certification for the F-15 Eagle and, later, the F-16 Fighting Falcon, plus subsequent TOPGUN certification in the years that followed, flying the F-14 Tomcat and F/A-18 Hornet, Harry Potter wasn't exactly going to fail to get a job flying fast jets. 1993 had seen him fight in Operation Gothic Serpent and several retaliatory operations.

Then the Director-General turned to another file. In the last few weeks, Potter had been in regular communication with an Israeli intelligence officer. One who just happened to have the Director of Mossad as a father. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Potter had given twenty years of service to Her Majesty's Government. He'd done two as Commanding Officer of 22 SAS. He'd written the book on Eastern Bloc combat aircraft, their capabilities and how to fight them. When on the point of collapsing, the only thing keeping the Sierra Leone Government up were regular shipments of arms from Potter's estate. That wasn't exactly altruistic though, he'd made a fortune by being paid in rough diamonds, having them cut and sold. But despite the potential security risk, Evans couldn't say that Potter hadn't given his country his all and deserved some level of trust. He'd still keep a quiet eye on the soldier, but for now, he'd approve the retirement.

Silently, Evans glanced over the thin file on the Mossad agent's file before closing it and placing it in a secure safe.

Miss Z. David was born November 12th 1978, was conscripted to the IDF aged 18 in November 1996, serving until December 2000 during which time she met Captain H.J Potter. Rumours are abuntant in SAS HQ of a relationship. To be regarded dubious at best. Upon discharge, she studied military history at the University of Oxford, where she further associated with Major H.J Potter. Graduating in 2003 with a Master of Arts, she joined Mossad and apart from a period as a declared officer of Israeli Embassy in early 2010, with a number of dinner dates with Colonel H.J Potter, nothing is known of her activities.

Potter had almost no loyalty to Israel, even go so far on one occasion as to break Eli David's nose. His only loyalty was Israel Aerospace Industries who upgraded the avionics of his aeroplanes.

Though there was possibly Ziva if the rumours of boyfriend-girlfriend dating back to the SAS-Sayeret Maktal posting in late 1996 were true. What a mess that had been, the Section Five troopers browbeating the Sayeret commander into taking them on a mission. Then two Blackhawks were shot down and the SAS men along with David went missing, gradually returning until it was just Potter and David, who, after being captured providing a rearguard, had wreaked bloody vengeance on the insurgents. And to top it off, two of the SAS men had stolen an IAF F-4 Phantom and briefly gone rogue with it to support Potter. Afterwards, they decided to buy the aircraft off the IAF and have further airframes upgraded.

Silently, Evans decided to lock the files away in his personal vault and ignore them. When it came to Potter, when in doubt, ignore. He was certain that Potter's intent to remain retired would last as long as the last one in mid-late 2005, which lasted all of three weeks.

October 9th 2010, Credenhill Barracks, Hereford

Harry pulled back the cocking hammer on his MEUSOC Kimber M45 pistol, emptying the magazine in a hail of bullets straight into a face crudely graffiti onto his door. The wood was already punctured many times by rounds but the metal core was unharmed so that nobody walking outside would get shot. He was bored and twitchy. Even worse, he was actually looking forward to the retirement he'd applied for. Being a soldier was all he knew but he was reaching sufficient seniority that the chances of a good firefight were diminishing horribly.

"Boss, we've got an operation to execute." Jock McCabe, Warrant Officer of 22 SAS poked his head around the door.

"I didn't hear about that and usually these things cross my desk." Harry frowned, sliding a new magazine into his pistol.

"Mhmm. We've got a joined tactical evaluation with the Special Boat Service. RAF Odiham is the target for the assault by a joint special forces group." Jock replied.

"You're smirking." stated Harry.

"The SBS base at Poole has just received a major shipment of beer, cider and assorted spirits." said Jock, his smirk widening; "I believe that the base is winding up for a party. Your retirement approval signed by MI5, the DSF and the Chief of Land Forces has just come through.

"Get Eight Flight on the blower. Get one Chinook, D Squadron and two Merlins." Harry said instantly; "We can't let our dear friends at Poole become intoxicated."

Rolling over and groaning as the full weight of a major hangover crashed down on him, Harry squinted at the window of the Senior NCOs mess. The light suggested it was early morning and the number of SAS troopers draped around the room suggested that they'd had a major piss up. Staggering to his feet for a moment, Harry collapsed in an unoccupied armchair and made a noise of annoyance when his mobile phone rang suddenly.

"Sod off." Harry barked after accepting the call.

"Morning Potter, Gibbs here." came the response from the far side of the Atlantic, a slightly tired, sarcastic-sounding Pennsylvanian growl.

"Make it short Gibbs, I've got one hell of a hangover." Harry stated, reaching for a cigar and a lighter.

"I was just phoning to beg you take up that offer I made of a job at NCIS."

"Why?" asked Harry as he lit the cigar.

"You remember Jenny Shepard."

"What, that girl you were shagging in Serbia?" said Harry.

"Yes. She's just become director of NCIS and appointed a Mossad officer to the team." Gibbs grumbled; "So I told her that I'd already filled the spot. When she asked me who, you were the first person who popped into my mind."

"So you're saying that because you fucked up that you need me to come and bail you out." growled Harry, making it plain he was pretty pissed off.

"Yeah, if you put it that way." Gibbs admitted; "You might be a good way to temper my new agent."

"You owe me several really big favours." said Harry; "I'll be in Washington within a day, maybe sooner. First I need to get rid of this hangover."

"Thanks Potter, I really do owe you several."

"Including for saving your sorry ass back in Desert Storm." Harry added before cutting the call.

It took some time for Harry to gather himself together and get some breakfast. Or to put it correctly, a packet of crisps, a bar of chocolate and two pints of coffee. Stood outside his office which now lay mostly-empty for his successor to take over, Harry wondered if he was making the right decision. After twenty years of soldiering, he was stood on the edge of a precipice. His old USMC friend's request would help him make the transition, staying in a semi-military establishment.

He quietly picked up all his equipment and belongings, which added up to several bags of guns and a single bag of 'other' items, having burned several files which he didn't want to get into anyone's hands. He shifted them out of the back door from his office to his executive transport, a Hawker Sea Fury. The rear cockpit of the two-seater radial-engined fighter was soon filled with his gear before he headed back inside, heading to the officer's mess.

Poking his head around the door quickly gained everyone's attention. Harry very rarely entered the officers' mess because he almost always occupied the sergeants' mess. It was one of his odd habits that everyone just accepted. Though they too had been part of the piss up, most of the officers were up and about, somewhat less drunk.

"Major Jackson!" Harry called, getting the attention of one of the officers, his own personal student.

"Yes boss?" asked Jackie Jackson; "Everyone listen up, the boss is giving a retirement speech!"

"I would like to thank..." began Harry rifling through several pages of notes for a speech before setting light to them with the end of his cigar; "Bugger that. Jackie, you're in charge from now on. Brass has approved my retirement. I'll still come back in if I'm needed urgently." Harry said with a grin; "All the files are in order, the keys are in the door to my office and I'm sure you can disarm the trip-mine. Good luck and have fun."

Laughter erupted as a typical Potter speech ended and once again the whisky was broken out. Harry abstained, having a final mug of coffee before his departure for pastures new. As lunchtime rolled around, the Hawker Sea Fury was turning into wind, the snarling Centaurus radial engine and the massive five-blade propeller turning over smoothly and the wings descending from the folded position to locked down. Gathering speed as the snarl became a roar, the tail came up and the aircraft almost levitated from the grass. Thus ended an era.

October 11th 2010, Ravenscroft Manor, Kent

Climbing out of the Sea Fury's cockpit, Harry carefully avoided getting his boot stuck in the sprung panel on the fuselage which allowed him to descend onto the wing and from there onto the tarmac. His employees raced around the aircraft, after being reassured he wasn't going to be using it in the near future, they removed the belts of Hispano cannon shells from the wings, put the chocks in, locked the gust-locks and helped him grab his gear from the back, putting it in one of the estate's Lightweight Land Rovers which he drove over to the manor. As expected, in the inner courtyard, Victor Dubose was waiting, dressed in his impeccable butler's suit.

"Good afternoon sir. I wasn't expecting you to have left work this early." he said, fishing for information.

"I thought I mentioned I was retiring." Harry commented; "Those with scrambled egg on their hats and those with buttons on their suits have approved my application to retire. I'll just grab a sandwich then I'm taking one of the Phantoms to Andrews Air Force Base. I want the four missile bays loaded with Python Fours, but nothing else except full drop tanks." Harry ordered, heading into the manor.

A few short minutes later, he was sat in the cockpit of 'Popeye the Sailor', one of his McDonnell Douglas F-4K Phantoms. An airframe upgraded by Israel Aerospace Industries, the weight of the aircraft was reduced by over a ton with obsolete computers and massive amounts of wiring replaced by lightweight computers and fibre-optic cables. He had a far more versatile weapons platform as a result, but it was also lighter.

The stories went that the huge Spey turbofans limited the top speed of the aircraft due to drag to Mach 1.8 as they were that much larger than the American Phantom's J79s. That wasn't true. Harry had taken the aircraft to twice the speed of sound in a shallow dive on its original engines. The problem was that the expensive titanium parts that were critical for the engine's heat resistance never got put in. However, the Chinese built Rolls-Royce Speys which didn't suffer from that problem. He now had a far faster and altogether more fun to fly machine than the original aircraft.

The recesses in the belly of the aircraft were loaded with four Python Four air-to-air missiles. The outboard pylons and the centreline pylon all had their external fuel tanks fully fuelled. Harry settled into the cockpit and after a minute, the engines began to whine into life. Two Rolls-Royce Spey Xian WS-9 turbofans, each weighing nearly two tons, with a length of seventeen feet and a diameter of a metre could propel him to a speed over twice the speed of sound.

Harry loved the feeling of power under his fingers. Easing off the brakes, he gently applied power to the port engine and taxied the massive fighter out onto the two-mile long, dead-straight driveway. There, he halted and performed the final pre-flight checks before, satisfied with the airworthiness of the jet, released the brakes and eased the throttles forward into afterburner.

The jets emitted a white cone of pure fire behind the aircraft and it roared forward, the nose coming up as over forty-thousand pounds of force drove it forward. A rippling mirage of superheated air followed the jet as it climbed at a shallow angle, the undercarriage coming up. Speed building as the Phantom passed the end of the runway, suddenly it pitched up at Mach 0.9, nearly the speed of sound. Climbing like a homesick angel, twenty tons of exotic materials and a large amount of jet fuel made for sixty-thousand feet, unrestricted airspace where there were no rules, no control and no airliners to dodge.

As he began to set the navigation for the area where a USAF tanker would be loitering for an exercise with USAF Europe fighters within an hour, Harry briefly contemplated turning south-west for his little hideout in the wonderful green paradise of Green Mountain on Ascension Island. He threw the thought away, a holiday for later, but he was heading to Washington.

October 11th 2010

Cruising up the length of Britain, Harry opened the throttles to make his rendezvous with a USAF tanker at a latitude similar to the Orkney Islands but directly south of Vik in Iceland. Averaging Mach 1.2 for the run from his home near Maidstone to Narsarsuaq Airport in Greenland, including the tanker stop, he'd only taken two hours. From Narsarsuaq to La Romaine Airport in Quebec, across the Labrador Sea, he'd shown a clean pair of heels at a steady Mach 2 for just over thirty minutes. With his fuel tanks nearly dry, he'd taken advantage of the arrestor gear at La Romaine Airport, cutting down the landing from about seven to eight-thousand feet to just a few hundred. After hitting the fuel pumps at La Romaine, he returned to the sky. Another sprint across the Gulf of St. Lawrence resulted in a need to refuel where he was now, Yarmouth Airport, Nova Scotia.

Stepping into the cockpit of the hulking Phantom, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee, Harry produced his satellite phone and dialled a number. He was ahead of schedule at just under three hours of flying. Time in the UK was four PM, while Yarmouth Airport was at midday. In effect, he was repeating part of the day.

"Gibbs." barked the person on the other end of the line.

"Hello Gibbs." Harry stated; "I'm on my way over, would it be possible for a pickup?"

"Yah, that's fine. Glad to know you're on your way, we just got a weird case, a Marine Security Guard in full Union uniform buried in a Civil War casket with a mobile phone, I don't suppose you'd like to help?" Gibbs replied.

"Sounds interesting. I'll be in at Andrews in... between half-an-hour and an hour." said Harry.

"I'll meet you there." and with that, Gibbs hung up.

Harry took a deep gulp of the coffee. It wasn't as good as the kind he liked to get from Brazil, but it wasn't the worst. The Phantom, a hulking machine, was quietly ticking, losing some of the heat built up from several supersonic runs. It had taken being flown like it was stolen well, chewing up the miles. He had one last leg, across the Gulf of Maine and down the coast. At full chat, the plane had exceeded Mach 2, burning about thirteen to fourteen hundred pounds of gas a minute.

Emptying the cup of coffee, he threw it into a nearby corporate wheelie bin with superb accuracy before strapping himself back onto the ejector seat. Once again, the howl of two Rolls-Royce Speys coming to life was to be heard.

October 11th 2010, Andrews Air Force Base

"Boss, who d'you say this new guy is?" asked Tony for the nth time, causing both Ziva and Gibbs to sigh.

Ziva glanced at Gibbs, whose face was, as ever, expressionless. She knew he barely tolerated her, and honestly couldn't blame him. But what was he planning with the other new agent, she didn't know. Gibbs eventually replied to Tony's question.

"An old colleague of mine. Desert Storm."

It wasn't a hugely descriptive answer he had to admit.

"What, is he another Force Recon Marine?" asked Tony.

"Not exactly." said Gibbs before turning away to stare out onto the stand, mostly-empty with a few fighters on interceptor duty parked up near the far end and a C-17 Globemaster unloading some crates onto trucks beyond them. Suddenly, he reached for a pair of binoculars in the door pocket and wound the window down. "In fact, I believe that's him coming in on runway one-nine right."

Coming around in a fast turning'n'burning turn with the afterburners lit, the landing gear of the Phantom came down while at a near-ninety degree angle of bank, before the aircraft snapped onto the horizontal and descended towards the runway. The heavy carrier-specification undercarriage hit the runway hard, the nose gear leg landing only half-a-second after the main legs did. The air-brakes slammed open behind the main undercarriage and a huge parachute billowed behind the tail.

Harry was taxiing off the runway onto the stand, when he and the Phantom was met by a small ground crew who marshalled him into a parking space. Standing on the brakes, he clenched his hands above his head, signalling for the crew to dive under the still-running jet and put the chocks in place. When they were out of the way, he cut the brake chute and retracted the mechanical air brakes before opening the canopy, running the engines down.

Slapping the release on his harness, Harry arched his back slightly to relieve the building aches from several thousand miles attached to a chair full of explosives. Disarming it, he stood up, pulling himself up by holding onto the rim of the windscreen and pulling his legs up onto the seat. After leaving his helmet on the front bang seat, he performed a minor feat of acrobatics, shifting himself along the side of the outside of the aircraft to retrieve a bag of his kit from the back cockpit, dropping it into the arms of one of the USAF erks. Walking along the wing, Harry dropped onto the concrete next to the afterburner cones which were still hot enough for him to light a cigar on.

"If you could see about getting the brake chute repacked." Harry requested the USAF Sergeant, signing off on a form for the refuelling of the aircraft before shouldering his pack; "Charge it to SOCOM."

Taking a puff on the cigar, he glanced up as a dark-blue Dodge Charger which pulled up. Stepping out of it, a distinctly older Gibbs walked over as the remaining occupants began to climb out.

"Damn Marine, you haven't changed a bit." Harry commented.

"Now that's a lie." Gibbs replied gruffly.

"Okay, you got more grey." admitted Harry.

"The years haven't exactly left you unharmed." stated Gibbs, looking Harry up and down; "It's been 'bout twenty years."

"Nineteen-ish. Kuwait. Bloody mess." Harry chuckled, turning towards the remainder of the party.

"That's one way to put it." Gibbs replied, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder before walking towards the car.

A moment later, Ziva had crossed the few yards to Harry from the car and wrapped him in a hug, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"HARRY! Why didn't you tell me you were coming out here?" she demanded.

"Didn't know I was until a few hours ago, besides, I didn't know you were out here." he replied with an easy smile, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she kissed him on each cheek.

"I take it you two know each-other?" said Gibbs with a raised eyebrow.

"Old friends." Ziva admitted.

"Worked together a few times." said Harry, keeping an eye on Gibbs whose eyebrow was frozen high, muttering to Ziva; "Oh dear, it now looks like Gibbs is imagining what I look like without my head."

"I've never encountered someone so incapable of changing their facial expressions." Ziva whispered, releasing Harry.

"Never try playing poker against him unless you know him well enough to see the facial expressions." Harry replied loudly, making sure that Gibbs had plenty of reasons to want his head. "I won't be responsible for my actions in a moment Ziva..." Harry murmured in her ear, causing her to let go of him suddenly, a slight blush on her face.

"This is DiNozzo." she introduced the final member of the trio who had been in the car; "His specialisation lies in comic relief."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm a highly-trained field agent!" protested DiNozzo; "I'm not just highly popular with the girls."

Harry and Ziva met each-other's gazes for a moment before turning to face DiNozzo.

"Comic relief." they chorused.

"Tony." said the American, extending a hand to the Englishman who grinned and replied; "Harry to one and all."

"I'm taking it that you didn't bother with airlines coming over from old England?" asked Tony as they walked towards the car.

"No, much faster my way, did it in under four hours on the great north circle." Harry grinned; "Probably upset a load of environmentalists, but it was loud, fast and fun."

"Now you're sounding like my kind of guy. Ziva, why didn't you tell us you had interesting friends?" Tony demanded.

"Tony, I don't think he swings that way." Ziva smirked.

Harry swore he heard a huff of 'children' from the direction of Gibbs. Opening the boot of the Dodge Charger, Harry dumped his bag in there before climbing into the back of the car with Ziva while Tony took the front passenger seat and Gibbs the driver's seat.

"So what's going on at NCIS at the moment Gibbs?" Harry asked, relaxing into something far more comfortable than Martin Baker's best rocket seats.

"Marine Security Guard trainer from Quantico. A Staff Sergeant. Found in a Civil War casket exhumed by the Smithsonian and opened on camera." Gibbs replied, firing up the car; "A Union soldier in full Union uniform, except for his mobile."

"Yeah, guess that put a damper on the archaeologists." Harry stated.

"Kinda like that film-" began Tony before being cut off by Gibbs.

"Tony." he barked; "Anyway, we got the body into the custody of our ME, all the evidence we have so far to our labs and then came and got you, that's about as far as we've got."

"I need to swing by the British Embassy." said Harry; "Check in, make sure they're ready to cover up me blowing up something or stealing something, again."

"Like what?" asked Tony.

"Potter was, until the case got shut down by SECNAV, the principle suspect in two seperate cases which involved two retired United States Navy heavy cruisers vanishing while waiting to be scrapped." Gibbs explained.

"Moi?" Harry tried to look innocent; "Slander!"

It didn't work, Ziva was nearly having a fit suppressing her laughter.

NCIS Headquarters, Washington Navy Yard, Washington D.C

Sunset was well advanced when they finally arrived outside the monolithic red brick building housing the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Climbing out, Harry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Tony, go fuel the car!" ordered Gibbs, having not taken the keys out of the ignition; "David, keep Potter out of trouble while I get him a pass."

He then strode off in the direction of the doors, leaving Harry and Ziva alone.

"How are you managing?" Harry asked quietly.

"I take life day by day." shrugged Ziva, taking a deep breath; "It's not easy... look, can we finish today's work and talk about it later?"

Harry simply reached down and squeezed her hand in reassurance, before both of them schooled their expressions as Gibbs returned, clipping a badge onto the front of the flying suit which Harry was still wearing and sweeping past without another word.

"Yeah, he's been like that most of the time I've known him." Harry answered Ziva's unspoken question.

Sat on the edge of a desk in the squad-room, known, apparently, by the agents as 'the bullpen', Harry finished nibbling on a takeaway pizza which served as a very late lunch and turned on his laptop to find a video call awaiting him. Clicking accept, the face of one Sirius Black filled the screen.

"Hey Sirius." Harry greeted him.

"Harry, heard you've retired and vanished off somewhere?" asked Sirius, his voice slightly distorted through the speakers.

"Evans and the other people who had to rubber stamp it decided it was time to accept my application to retire. I finished my last tour of duty and then I got an offer from an old colleague which I didn't feel like refusing." Harry shrugged; "After all the politics, the fighting and the stress of The Regiment, I figured time to take some time out. Jackie Jackson should be able to hold things together without me. I buggered off to Washington."

"What are you doing out there then?" asked Sirius.

"Law enforcement." Harry said with a straight face, more than could be said for Sirius who was nearly howling with laughter.

"I seem to remember the first time I met you was you breaking me out of jail." commented Sirius when he finally gathered himself together.

"Right, you have one hour before I withdraw and come back with a helicopter gunship." Roger Bailey, his MI5 handler stated, glancing at his watch while keeping one hand on the Brave class patrol boat's wheel.

Harry nodded and lowered night-vision goggles over his eyes, slipping down to the main deck and over the side to where a waiting boat was bobbing, attached by steel cables to the ninety-foot patrol boat. At over twenty feet, the offshore powerboat racer he was using wasn't that small, though dwarfed by the Brave. However, it was fast.

Standing at the controls, he fired up the outboard motor, and releasing the Cougar from the Brave, Harry opened the throttle. A few moments later, the three hundred horsepower motor burbled into life. Approaching his target slowly as to not create a massive wake or a lot of noise, it took a quarter of an hour before, in the green monochrome of his night-vision, an immense triangular pillar emerged from the sea.

He grinned behind the shemagh that was over his lower face as he saw just a lone Auror on the jetty, back facing the sea, gazing into a brazier. Harry cut the engine and allowed the remaining momentum and the swell to carry him next to the jetty. An ancient-looking rope dangled from a bollard which he quickly knotted around a hold on the boat. Silently, he pulled himself up behind the Auror before grabbing him around the shoulders with his left arm and pressed a chloroform soaked rag to his captive's mouth and nose.

It meant that the captive Auror ceased struggling after a few moments. Harry dragged him to the shore and laid him down on the shingle before returning. On the far side of the jetty was an old barge which served as the prisoner ferry. He quietly unzipped the bag on his back and pulled a pair of RDX-PETN charges – Semtex – out by their lanyards. Pushing a remote detonation device into the plastic explosive, he knotted them together and threw them into the hold of the dilapidated barge.

Pushing out the characteristic mental attacks of the patrolling Dementors with his own mental defences, Harry left the jetty and entered the prison complex. Between the outer sea walls and the triangular pillar was a dash of twenty yards. He quickly calculated that the Dementors, six of which patrolled in three pairs, a pair on each side, were closer to the outer wall than the tower.

There was no cover, but Harry dashed out into the path of the Dementors, which were at the corner of the tower, and threw himself prone. The creatures didn't seem to notice him, until when they were ten feet away. Harry rose, a phantom in the darkness of night. There was a soft hiss as the twin ginunting cleared their sheaths.

Eskrima was about the flow of the body, it was a dance. Utilising both blades, he hacked the Dementors into their constituent parts, moving between the two time and time again until they were spread across the ground in multiple separate pieces. The youngest ever master of a martial art designed for lightly-armed tribal warriors to kill Spanish Conquistadors in full plate armour versus two hellish creatures with no weapons save for fear and the utility to remove the souls from victims. It was a pathetic match really.

Harry dropped back to the sea wall and waited as two more pairs of patrolling Dementors passed by, not sensing nor seeing the remains of two of their compatriots. When they'd passed, leaving his path clear, he broke cover and dashed across to the entrance to the tower.

It was locked with nothing more than a massive padlock, which was heavily enchanted. Sheathing his twin short-swords, he unslung the Saiga shotgun. Slamming in a magazine of wax slugs, he moved back a few yards and took aim at the ring of the padlock, which was much less enchanted. At the moment Harry pulled the trigger, a gust of wind arrived, sweeping away the sound, reducing it just to a faint hiss.

Harry quickly grabbed the padlock as it fell, the shackle broken from the catch inside the lock. After lowering the lock to the ground silently, he slung the shotgun to his back and advanced into the prison. Knowing where his target was, Harry slipped through the first few levels where minor criminals were kept. The Auror barracks was between them and the high security section of the prison, which had him nervous.

It went flawlessly, right up until the moment he exited the spiral into the highest level of the high security section. A patrolling Dementor came upon him right at the moment he stepped in. Harry quickly drew one short-sword, and as the creature reached out towards him, he grabbed the rotting limb and twisted it behind the Dementor. He thrust the sword twice through its ribcage before slicing what passed for a head from its shoulders.

Moving quickly to the end of the corridor, he moved between the patrolling Dementors with incredible stealth. The barred door at the end was between him and his target. Harry checked the hinges and the padlock before sheathing his sword and reaching into a pouch on his combat belt. Withdrawing a test tube full of concentrated sulphuric acid, he dripped it onto each of the hinges and watched as the metal melted, bent and deformed.

Holding up the door as it came loose from the destroyed hinges, Harry shifted it to lean against the wall and stepped in. The first thing he saw was a dog curled up in the corner on a pile of ragged blankets, which suddenly shifted into the human form of his target, tall, haggard, bearded and with long hair.

"Who the hell are you!" he rasped.

"Doesn't matter right now Black. I'm getting you out of here." he whispered back, pulling a couple more test tubes from the pouch on the opposite side of his belt; "Quickly, temporary energy potions and one which will block out the worst effects of the Dementors before I dismember them."

"Why should I trust you?" Black demanded.

"You don't have to, you can stay or you can get out." Harry replied.

The prisoner nodded and quickly drank the potions as Harry spray-painted the wall in luminous red letters.

"You just wrote 'You got your ass beat' on the wall of Azkaban." deadpanned Black.

"Glad to see your brain and your eyes aren't as dysfunctional as your body looks." Harry sniped, grabbing the empty test tubes and putting them into the pouch; "Now let's move."

Loading a magazine of slugs into the Saiga as they left the cell, Harry was immediately assaulted by the screams of a woman from a nearby cell.

"GUARDS! GUARDS! BLACK IS ESCAPE-" she screamed, he spun around and fired into the cell. Bellatrix, Rudolphus and Rabastan were killed by a burst of automatic fire from a Saiga 12 shotgun. How ironic, a 'muggle' weapon.

The Dementors swarmed towards them, but in the narrow corridor, all they achieved was to have their skulls demolished by shotgun slugs. And whether they were truly alive or not, no being can function properly without a connection to its brain. Harry loaded a fresh magazine into the Saiga and slung it on his back. If the Aurors were awakened, he didn't want to kill any of them, so hand-to-hand combat it was.

"Move move move!" he barked at Sirius, who was following cautiously.

Harry dashed down the spiral staircase and through the corridor outside the rooms of the Auror barracks before any of their occupants emerged, except for the last one. A rattan baston cleared his pack as a half-asleep male nearly fell out of his room. Harry didn't hesitate, the baston slammed into several parts of the man's nervous system before a blow to his solar plexus rendered him unconscious.

They ran through the door at the end which Harry quickly barred with a plank which had obviously been used as that at some time given the hooks for it to sit on mounted on the door.

"Dog form!" Harry ordered as they emerged into the low security section.

A pair of Dementors were in the corridor which he swiftly destroyed with his twin short-swords, the baston returning to his pack, Sirius following in dog form. Bursting out of the front entrance to the prison, Harry found the two remaining patrolling Dementor pairs waiting for them.

Harry didn't wait. Each of them met with a burst of fire from the Saiga-12 as he kept running across the open ground. Sirius ran after him, paws crossing the barren island fast enough to keep up with the young man who seemed to be able to move faster than the wind.

Dashing across the jetty, Harry dropped into the boat, hitting the ignition switch at the same time as he drew one of the swords and hacked through the ancient, brittle rope holding them in place. Sirius launched himself into the back of the boat and took human form again.

With no time for subtlety as spells began to rain down from the sea wall towards where they were, he opened the throttle slightly, wrenched the boat around to point out to sea before jamming it open fully. Steering with one hand as the other held down the push-to-talk on the radio, Harry sent their prearranged radio message.

"Cape Matapan, I say again, Cape Matapan."

He and Roger had arranged that if all went well and their objective was achieved without incident, he would radio that to the Brave. If he'd come out without Sirius, returning minus one, he'd have radioed 'Trafalgar'. And if he hadn't emerged, nobody would have radioed anything.

"Roger Cougar One, you are on scopes, steer bearing two-two-zero." came Roger's reply; "You are five miles out, I'll put lights on, as well as the kettle."

"I copy." Harry answered, steering the boat south-west; "Black, give me about four and a half minutes to get us to safety and I'll explain everything."

In the short time it had taken to send the radio message, the racing boat was leaping from wave to wave at seventy miles and hour. Pulling out a dark-green briefcase from beside his seat, Harry flipped it open, revealing a basic computer. He booted it up, rapidly typed in a password before flicking a toggle switch hidden beneath a red cover beside the keyboard. Before the Aurors could reach their ferry, a fireball erupted from the hold, blasting apart the deck and blowing the bottom out of it. As shards of wood debris rained down, the ferry broke in half with the sound of wood shattering. It then slowly settled on the bottom of Azkaban harbour.

The escape was complete. It would take just four minutes to rendezvous with Roger. Those four minutes later and Harry could see the lights of the patrol boat. They raced past it before he throttled back and circled around, the hulls of the two vessels bumping together lightly in the swell.

Harry quickly locked two ropes onto rings on the speedboat, and then braced slightly as a hoist caught the slack and lifted the boat free of the sea and brought it out of the water. Where the forward Bofors installation had been on the Brave, there was now a hull support rack on which the Cougar could rest. He and Black climbed over the side and dropped onto the deck where Roger waited with two mugs of tea, well laced with alcohol.

"You're just a kid." commented Sirius to Harry.

"Nearly thirteen." Harry corrected.

Smirking as he recalled the breakout, Harry contemplated what Sirius said next.

"So, are you coming back to England any time soon?"

"Probably, but I'm here for now. I can fly back to Britain without too much effort." Harry shrugged.

"I guess you're due a holiday." Sirius admitted.

"Damn right I am." agreed Harry; "Anyway, why the hell are you phoning me... it should be lunchtime over there."

"I was perfectly happy lying in bed until a few hours ago, as was my bed-partner." said Sirius, not bothering to elaborate.

Despite a dose of the Elixir of Life combined with a de-aging potion to give him back the twelve years of his life stolen from him, the imprisonment in Azkaban had left its scars. Unfortunately, none of those scars stopped him bedding anything vaguely human, good looking and with a vagina.

Not his godson's style at all. Harry had only had one girlfriend during twenty years as the UK's premier special operator, being the first poor sod to be chucked into any war zone that came into the sights of 10 Downing Street.

"Try and get a few brief naps through the night, then stay up through the day and get your sleep in the right place." Harry advised.

"Yeah, I'll try." Sirius replied.

"Right, I need to head to my Washington house." Harry stated, glancing at his watch.

"Take care, don't die too badly." Sirius ended the call.

Harry closed the laptop as Ziva walked into the bullpen, shouldering her bag.

"Have you got somewhere to stay?" she asked.

"Mhmm. Set up a more-than-comfortable safe house back in the early nineties." Harry replied; "I don't have a car readily available though."

"I'll drive you over." Ziva offered with a smirk, causing Harry to shudder slightly.

Chesapeake Hall, on Chesapeake Bay, Virginia

Having arrived at his Washington home, Harry headed down into the basement where he unlocked the armoury of the manor, revealing a room containing a large amount of armament and ordnance. As could be expected of his line of work, most of said armament and ordnance would be frowned upon in polite circles. Really frowned upon. Anti-tank rockets, fifty-calibre anti-materiel rifles, Carl Gustav recoilless rifles, battle rifles, grenade launchers and carbines were usually, at best, the preserve of the police. Most of it would rarely find its way out of military hands.

Dumping his hold-all bag, one which carried the weaponry that he took with him everywhere, in the corner by the armoury door before he departed, locking it back up. Pocketing the key as he headed back up to the Manor, Harry walked glanced around him, past varnished-wood panels to a door, walking into the room beyond.

The room was warm and comfortable, with drawn curtains covering a couple of windows looking out onto the bay, a squishy leather sofa and a huge open fireplace with a log already crackling with flames. Ziva was half draped across the sofa, leaving enough room to settle next to her. They relaxed in silence, Ziva staring into the flames for a few minutes before she spoke.

"I told you a bit of what happened. But I didn't tell you everything, I didn't know if I could bring myself to tell you." she admitted quietly; "I didn't know if I could face you after telling you."

"Ziva..." Harry whispered, taking both her hands in his.

"I told you Ari was dead. He turned traitor and started attacking NCIS. Killed one of the agents." Ziva stated; "I lured him into a trap like an animal and killed him in cold blood. I just... he was... I put him in the trap and just shot him. My own brother!"

"You stopped him hurting more people. We don't end lives without reason. We have to be cold, calculating and clinical so that other people don't get caught in our fights." Harry said bluntly.

Suddenly, a month of pent-up emotion erupted and she was suddenly in Harry's embrace, sobbing like a child into his shoulder. It was too much for her to hold in any longer. Closing his eyes, Harry sighed. Their way of life, one of secrets, bloodshed and betrayal only led to destroyed lives.

It could have been minutes or hours later, but Ziva lay silent, her head resting on his shoulder. Harry laid her on the sofa, working off her boots and pulling a tartan rug over her before he finished the few jobs he needed to do before getting some sleep. Walking through the manor to the garage, Harry opened it up, grinning slightly as he looked around at the cars.

There were several Mustangs, Corvettes and a Dodge Challenger, but he rarely used them, having had them shipped out to the manor when setting it up as a safe house shortly after the Battle of Mogadishu. The engines needed de-inhibiting and inspecting before he would drive them. However, there was a car that was fine to use, his slightly sinister-looking Bentley Continental T Mulliner which was his runabout day-to-day.

Climbing into the comfort of the driver's seat, he started the car up, purring out onto the gravel drive and remotely closing the garage. Leaving the car outside the front door, Harry produced a cigar and a lighter, taking a deep breath of the aromatic smoke as he looked around him.

The gravel drive down from Chesapeake Hall to the gates was lined with leylandii. The manor itself was an impressive piece of colonial architecture, approached by the drive to a gravel parking area in the neatly kept garden, around a fountain. The mansion, standing at the head of the drive was a palatial affair of red brick with white windows and pillared frontages.

After a few minutes, as his cigar burnt down, Harry decided to head into the house, hit the pillow and get some much-needed sleep. In the past couple of years, sleep hadn't come easily, mostly because he didn't have time to.