Old Dogs, New Tricks

A woman and a man were sitting in a small café in central London. They were speaking to each other, yet they weren't facing each other - almost as though they were talking to the air between them.

"What do you want me to look at now?" said the woman.

"We have a most interesting case. It seems that there are some former wizards who have cropped up in the Muggle crime wave."

"Crime wave? Sir, this had been going on for a decade...its almost like normal life around here." The woman shifted uneasily, sensing the mood of the man across the table.

"Quite. But it's not very often that you see ex-wizards working within it...especially not wizards of this kind."

"Of what kind?"

"The likes of Fleur Delacour, Fred and George Weasley...Harry Potter..."

The girl coughed on her decaffeinated coffee. "Famous names. What have they been up to?"

"Muggle crimes. Dumped bodies, carrying unlicensed firearms...plus Harry, at least, still got his wand."

"So what do you want me to do? Track him?"

"Certainly. But be careful. After all, he's Harry Potter."

The girl visibly composed herself. "It's only a name."

The man nodded. The woman stood and disappeared into the passing crowd. Ten minutes later, the man had gone.

*****

"Why are we here?" asked Fleur. Harry had pulled up outside a back-alley strip club. It was barely sunset, but there already seemed to be quite a few people inside.

"Catching up with an old friend," Harry replied. "Act like you belong here."

Fleur looked at Harry. Everything he was wearing - his suede jacket, his black jeans, his new shoes - told the average member of the public that he had a considerable amount of money. They'd also probably think he'd done some 'dodgy deals' to get a considerable amount of money - which would also be true.

"We don't belong here," said Fleur. "But if we can just meet your friend and get the hell out, we won't cause any trouble."

Harry nodded. "True. But be careful...this place is full of active wizards and we don't have wands."

Fleur shrugged. "We have this." She lifted the corner of her T-shirt and revealed, from the waistline of her jeans, what Harry knew very well to be an illegally owned handgun.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises," said Harry, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Fleur replied, winking.

Harry was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He simply sighed, and opened the door for her.

"Thank you, sir," she said, stepping into the smoke-filled strip club.

The smell in the air hit Fleur like it was solid - it was a pungent concoction of booze, smoke, and urine emanating from the men's room in the far corner. The neon lights over the stage did little to improve the overall ambiance - most of the audience were in darkness. This was probably how they wanted it to be.

There were two women on stage, already topless, clinging onto poles, and sometimes each other. Fleur sighed with disapproval.

"What kind of friend of yours lurks in here, Harry?" whispered Fleur, as Harry came through the door.

"He doesn't come here for the girls," explained Harry, "he just likes the price of the Heineken."

Harry was looking at a typical barfly sitting on a stool. He was wearing a patched-up shirt and some muddy corduroy trousers. He had his head low over the table and the only clear part of his face was the stubble across his cheek. The other significant part of the man was his red hair, which was overgrown and scruffy - much like Harry's used to be.

Red hair...

"Oh God," said Fleur. Harry smiled.

"Gosh, you haven't seen him since fifth year, have you?" he said, and sat down next to his friend.

"Harry," said Ron, nodding slightly. Then he said, "Beer," to the bartender. The bartender seemed to have pre-empted the request - the beer appeared instantly.

"Ron," said Harry. Even though he saw Ron every now and again, Harry couldn't help but think they'd grown apart. They were associates now, not friends. They gave each other information.

"What have you been up to?" said Harry casually.

"Broke into the weapons trade," replied Ron, burping.

"Broke into?"

"Literally. I stole some weapons and sold 'em on."

"What kind of weapons?"

"Uh...some shotguns. Beretta, I think they were called. I'm still not completely in the know about Muggle stuff."

"How much did you get?"

"Uh...they went for about a grand apiece. These things are quite popular - more people have got shotguns than mobile phones in this decade." Ron took a gulp from his beer, and then said, "How about you? What have you been doing?"

Harry shrugged. "This and that...cleaning up after your idiot brothers..."

Harry noticed that Ron hadn't looked up, not seeing his old friend. "Ron...you remember Fleur, right?"

Ron looked up from his slumber immediately and twisted on his stool.

"Fleur Delacour! Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes...well, you're a sight and a half anyways, aren't you? How've you been?"

Fleur smiled and shook his hand. "I'm doing alright. It's good to see you again, Ron."

Ron smiled back, and for a moment Harry saw the old Ron, something he hadn't seen over the last decade.

"So...what are you two doing here?" asked Ron. He was still looking at Fleur, but apparently talking to Harry.

"Information, of course, Ron. I need to find out about someone. Another 'criminal kingpin' wannabe."

Ron nodded. "Riddle. I thought you might turn up asking about him."

"What do you know?"

"Only rumours," replied Ron, "about how he's taking over some of the Muggle street gangs. He only has a handful of wizards with him, though. His real identity is secret, of course...he's pulled a few bank raids, apparently, but..."

"But what, Ron?" questioned Harry, leaning closer.

"People say that these bank raids seemed a bit...half-hearted. They were planned well, they got a lot of money but the raiders didn't seem particularly worried about whether it went well or not. I mean, they weren't excitable, and they weren't worried...but at the same time they weren't methodical and calculated. Hostages described their manner as...casual."

Harry smirked. "You sound like your quoting a newspaper."

"I am," said Ron, pulling a grubby newspaper across the bar. Harry looked at it.

"So," he said, "there have been bank raids - wait a minute...this is written by Hermione Granger!"

Ron nodded. "Didn't you know? She's a regular headline reporter on the Daily Prophet."

Harry scratched his head. "I always get the Daily Prophet...I just never noticed..."

"I try not to notice," said Ron gruffly.

"Ron," said Fleur, speaking for only the second time, "I don't mean to be rude, but...what happened between you and Hermione? You were so close in the fifth year, and then, after...you-know-what, you drifted apart, and I never heard from either of you..."

"That's a sort of...grey area," said Ron, sparing a quick, unreadable glance at Harry, and changed the subject. "What happened to you, Fleur? I mean, I know you lost your job as the Defence Against Dark Arts teacher - hell, every teacher lost their job - where did you go?"

"I've been working with Harry since then," said Fleur, slightly puzzled. Hadn't Harry mentioned her? Apparently not, she thought, by the look on Ron's face.

"Really?" Ron said, giving Harry a weird look. But Harry wasn't paying attention. Fleur looked to where he was looking, and saw someone heading into the men's room.

"Harry? What's the matter?"

Harry frowned. "He's been following us. I don't know why, but he's been tailing us ever since we got back on the main road."

"Who? Do you know him?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. It's another old 'friend'."

Harry got up and walked briskly to the restroom. Ron shrugged and retuned to his Heineken. Fleur was left in between, considering whether she should have an awkward conversation with Ron, walk into the men's restroom or watch naked ladies dance around. She didn't like her choices very much.

Meanwhile, a stone-faced man was leaning over the sink in the pungent, dirty restroom. In front of him was a small mirror, put there because he didn't want what he had to touch the tabletop. What he had was a fine, white powder, which he was separating into thin lines across the metal square. He produced from his pocket a small straw.

This, for him, was the best moment. He loved the high that you got from the stuff, but the fact that you were doing something so wrong, against the law, illegal...it was the kind of thrill that the man had loved since his school days. The feeling that you could get away with anything.

A hand brushed past and knocked the mirror off the table. The white substance spilled onto the floor, and the man, looking at the expensive mess, clenched his fists. Who dared...

The man turned, and saw the last face he wanted to see.

"Fucker," he said. "Do you know how much that shit cost?"

"I'm sure that you can find some more, Mr. Malfoy," said Harry, looking at the pale man who had once been a constant thorn in Harry's side. Draco had changed, but not much - his hair wasn't slick anymore, it was ruffled, like Harry's still was on occasion. It had lost its sheen, and now was a dirty blonde colour similar to what Hermione's had been. But the eyes were still cold and grey, the expression on his face still contorted with hate. Harry had never thought of his enemy as being a cocaine addict.

Before Harry could speculate more, Draco lunged at him with a snarl, grabbing Harry's arm and throwing him at the sink. Harry slammed into the tabletop, and Draco twisted his arm behind in. Harry grunted in pain.

"Well, that was a mistake on your part," snarled Draco, twisting the arm further.

"You know why I'm here, Draco," gritted Harry through his teeth, "why are you following us?"

"I don't think you're in the position to ask questions," replied Draco. He was nearly breaking Harry's arm, and he knew it.

Something cold pressed into Draco's temple. "No," said a female voice, "but I am."

"Good to see you, Fleur," said Harry. Draco had loosened his grip on Harry's arm, and was now weighing up his options. They seemed terribly unbalanced.

"If you'd come with me, Mr. Malfoy," said Fleur, twisting Malfoy's arm behind his back and sticking the barrel of the gun into the small of his back. Malfoy grunted, eyeing Harry with haughty suspicion. Harry simply smiled, and continued to massage life back into his arm.

Ron burst through the door. "I heard some...you..."

Ron leapt forward at Malfoy, in a sudden seething rage. "I'll kill you!" he screamed. Harry stepped forward and stood in front of Draco, stopping Ron mid-leap.

"Ron! What the hell is the matter with you?"

Ron was breathing heavily. He looked at Harry, then at Fleur, before glaring at Draco with deep hatred.

"Ron?" said Harry, "What's the matter, Ron?"

Ron pushed Harry off him. "Nothing. I just never liked that snide little tosser."

Harry nodded. "Well put. But it's nothing to get aggressive over, is it?"

"Weasel wouldn't have hurt me anyway - doesn't have the brawn," said Draco in his irritating manner.

"If he talks out of turn again," said Harry, addressing Fleur, "Shoot him where it hurts."

Fleur nodded. "I hope he does."

Harry, clutching his arm, strode out of the toilet, closely followed by a stumbling Malfoy, who was being pushed along by the pistol in Fleur's hand. Ron shuffled along behind, fists clenching and unclenching, whilst the entire strip club seemed to stare at them whilst, at the same time, trying to look indifferent. Even the topless dancers had stopped touching each other.

"So much for blending in," said Harry, and led the others out of the door.

*****

Later on, back at Harry's office, Harry was sitting in his usual position behind his desk, his legs resting on the remains of old newspapers across the desktop.

"Nice wall display," murmured Draco. He was sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Fleur was behind him, still holding the gun firmly. Ron was in the corner, smoking a cigarette. It seemed as though he wasn't accustomed to natural light, so he stayed in the shadows of the office, away from the rays of light that sliced through the half-open blinds. Draco couldn't see very clearly - the light obscured Harry's features. He assumed that this was the idea.

"Thank you," said Harry. "Took me quite a while...some people would say it's morbid, but I merely thinks its...well, its almost like a memorial."

"Didn't think you'd want to remember," replied Draco.

Harry smirked, but Draco couldn't see it. "Why did you follow us?"

"I didn't."

"Why did you follow us?"

"You were heading the same way as me, it was a coincidence."

"I'll ask once more. Why did you follow us?"

This time, Fleur pressed the gun against the back of Draco's head. Draco sighed.

"I was in the café next door to where you parked earlier, and where you broke off the back of your car. Honestly, Harry, a simple little bash with a hammer would have sorted that out..."

"You still haven't answered my question, Draco."

"I came out, and I was going around the back for a piss, and I saw you sitting on your boot. I watched from a distance, and then overheard you say 'Riddle' when you got in your car. I jumped into my car and followed you."

Harry nodded. "Why does 'Riddle' concern you?"

"None of your damn business."

"The conversation you were eavesdropping on was none of your damn business," countered Harry, leaning back in his chair. "Continue."

Draco smiled. "Alright then. I've been getting phone calls from a guy who calls himself Riddle. Well, I say 'guy', but he could be a man, a woman, or a dragon...whoever it was used a voice scrambler."

"What did he say to you?"

"Asked me who I know in my line of business, then gave me little jobs to do...supervising a bank raid, getting my hands on some heroin..."

"Nearly got your nose on some heroin," said Harry. "What is your line of business, Mr. Malfoy?"

"This and that," replied Draco, in the same manner that Harry had used to explain to Ron in the bar, "just odd jobs for some Muggle criminals. But I don't think this one's a Muggle. He's one of ours."

"Don't say 'ours'," said Harry, folding his arms, "I do not consider you and I in some sort of group, nor do I consider us equals. We just happen to be in the same room by some unfortunate twist of fate."

"Sorry," said Draco, using a word unfamiliar to him. "So, answer my question: what do you have to do with Riddle?"

"Nothing yet," said Harry.

"That's funny...he said he was going to get in touch with you."

The phone at Harry's desk suddenly started to ring. Everyone stared at it except Draco, who kept looking straight ahead. Nobody moved for a few seconds.

"Shall I get that?" said Draco casually. He could tell that Harry was glaring at him, even though his face was silhouetted. Harry's hand shot into the light and grabbed the receiver.

"Yes?" asked Harry. He had already decided who was on the other end.

"Harry Potter. I was hoping to catch up with you."

"I assume you are Riddle. May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?"

"Tsk. That's not the Harry Potter I used to know."

Used to know, thought Harry. So it's someone from the past...

"How would you like to earn €30,000,000, Harry Potter?"

"That sounds lovely."

"All you have to do is kill someone."

Harry looked up at Draco. "Why don't you get Draco Malfoy to do your dirty work?"

"Well, he's hardly in a position to help me, is he? Not until Ms. Delacour removes the gun from the back of his head."

Harry looked around his office. They were being watched.

"Harry?" whispered Fleur. "Harry, what's he saying?"

"What do you say, Harry? It's only one murder. Nothing you haven't done before. Oh...does Ms. Delacour not know that you have done your fair share of assassination? Do you think she'd be angry, Mr. Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm sure that I could do that for you."

"Good, good. I will inform you of where to be, when to be there, and what weapon to use when the time arrives. I don't see why you need to know who the victim is."

"Why are you telling me where to go and when? In these situations, it's usually up to me... Why don't you get some other goon to do it?"

"This is a test of reliability, Harry. See what you're made of. I'll phone you again soon. Sweet dreams."

The voice clicked off, and Harry was left in silence.

"Well?" said Ron eventually.

"I'm getting €30,000,000 for a job."

"How do you know you're not being screwed with?"

"I won't do it until I have concrete proof that I'll get the money."

Fleur looked at Harry. He was hiding something.

"What do you have to do?"

Harry shrugged. "Just have to get some photos of a rival ringleader," he lied smoothly. It didn't fool Draco, but he didn't say anything.

"When?" asked Ron.

"Don't know yet," replied Harry. Ron put his hands in his pockets and puffed on his cigarette.

"So...what now?"

"First...I'm gonna make sure you get cleaned up," said Harry, looking at Ron. "Honestly, Ron, you smell like shit. Don't you have soap? Or a comb, for that matter? Come on...we'll go to the barbers down the road."

"What about our friend here?" asked Fleur, pointing the gun at Draco again.

"We'll drop him off on the way," replied Harry. He meant it quite literally.