This is my first Harry Potter story set in the film-verse. I much prefer the books overall, but the film-verse fits better for my purposes continuity-wise, and I treat writing in it as a challenge. I will be incorporating some ideas from the books, when they suite me and do not contradict film continuity.

This story (still in-progress) was originally posted on the Star Destroyer . net forums. I have made some slight alterations to the introductions and formatting to accomadate the move to Fanfiction . net, and I will correct any minor errors I encounter, but otherwise I have, as per my usual policy, preserved the story in its original form.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, James Bond, or anything originating therein. This story is not for profit, and no money is being made off of it. No infringement of anyone's rights is intended.

Harry Potter and the Prime Minister's Plan.

July 15th., 2009.

10 Downing Street, London.

A swirl of green flames filled the fireplace, then subsided, and the new Minister for Magic, along with his portly and now somewhat shabby-looking predecessor, vanished into the flames.

The Prime Minister dropped down to sit on the edge of his desk, his shoulders sagging in a mix of relief and immense anxiety. Relief that his bizarre visitors had departed, and anxiety-no, panic might have been a better word-over what they had just informed him of.

The collapse of the Millennium Bridge had been playing on every news channel all day, wild speculation flying as to how many had died and what could have caused the disaster. Only he, at least in the non-magical world, now knew the truth, and part of him, a large part, rather wished he didn't: that the bridge had been destroyed, not by an accident or structural failure, but by an act of terrorism, by the followers of a dark wizard styling himself as Lord Voldemort. Moreover, his visitors had informed him, this dark wizard had apparently returned from the dead, and was perpetrating a wave of terror across the country that was responsible for a number of unsolved murders.

He'd known about magic, of course, ever since that man, Cornelius Fudge, had dropped in on his first night in office. His visits had become more frequent, and his news more disturbing, over the last few years, but this... he hadn't been prepared for this.

And the worst part of it was that there was nothing that he could do about it. No one else knew, and it wasn't as if he could bloody tell anyone, even if he wanted to. So what could he do? Sit here, go through the motions of an investigation, of comforting the victims and their families, pretending he didn't know what had happened, while he waited for the wizards to clean up their mess?

No.

He was surprised by the force of the thought, the palpable feeling of revulsion at the thought of simply sitting here and doing nothing. He had been elected to serve his country, for God's sake, and these atrocities were his responsibility, even if only he knew it.

This could not pass.

But what could he do? Go to Parliament? To the press? He'd be laughed out of office and into an asylum before the week was out. But to just sit here and do nothing, waiting for the Minister for Magic to come and tell him everything was alright now, like he was a bloody child... Or worse, he thought with a sudden chill, for this... this terrorist Voldemort and his lunatic Death Eaters to come bursting into his office, or his home... it was intolerable. He paced back and forth, mind running in increasingly agitated circles... then stopped as a sudden thought occurred to him.

Yes. It would be dangerous, both to his political future and quite possibly to his physical safety, but at least she knew how to be discrete. It was in her job description, after all. Yes, he thought, calming down now that he had an idea of what to do. She would be able to advise him, if he could only convince her of the absurd truth.

A plan began to form, as he picked up his phone and dialed a number only a few people in the world knew.