A/N: Okay, I got a crazy new idea for a Harry Potter/James Bond crossover and had to roll with it. This isn’t a straight James Bond story with HP characters names (what fun would that be?), but this story is admittedly influenced by the brand that inspired the secret agent genre. I disclaim that I do not own any James Bond characters or plots, and am merely twisting the spy genre for my own ends.
Agent James Potter, special operative for Her Majesty’s MI6 unit, strutted down the main corridor of the top-secret organization’s Vauxhall headquarters. His custom-made tuxedo sat elegantly upon his 6’1” frame, and suggested that the man was thin and long-limbed. Though the sharp tuxedo was pressed and clearly cared for, Potter’s head of ebony hair was surprisingly untidy and untamed. Perhaps the state of this agent’s hair was not deliberate, as indicated by the compulsive running of his hand through the locks every few minutes. Potter had a long, oval face, with a pair of glasses framing his ordinary hazel eyes.
Potter passed by office after office, his gaze intent on something directly ahead. With every step he took, he felt the hidden Walter P99 in his holster. Several years previous, Potter had received the title of 009: The double-0 prefix indicating a license to kill. Though he was hesitant to use the Walter for anything more than injuring enemies of the Queen, when his life was in danger, Potter had no qualms about aiming for the heart.
He felt a slap on the back and tensed for a moment: But this was MI6 headquarters, a building impenetrable by enemies of the state. Potter turned and saw his fellow operative, Agent Sirius Black, smirking at him. Black and Potter had been in the Royal Navy together, as well as MI6 training. They were closer than brothers, though at his weaker moments, Potter felt a twinge of jealousy towards the classically handsome Black. Black had received the number of 008, which, though they shared the double-0 prefix, ranked him slightly higher than Potter.
“Going to meet D, yeah?” asked Black cheerfully as the pair continued down the corridor. “Don’t know why he’s called us into his office.”
“Important business to discuss with his two best agents, I’m sure,” replied Potter, who could not stay jealous at the charismatic Black for long.
“Come out for drinks with me and Pettigrew, mate,” said Black. “You’ve been in a bit of a fog of late.”
Peter Pettigrew was also an agent of the MI6, though his 013 number did not grant him the license to kill. A squirrelly little man, he devoutly admired Agents Potter and Black.
“I don’t know, Sirius,” said Potter, sighing. “I’m not sure if I’m up for it.”
“Come on, we’ll bring Lupin too,” said Black eagerly, referencing MI6’s technical guru. “You’ve got to get over that Victoria girl.”
Potter cringed. The only woman he had ever fallen in love with, the stunningly beautiful Victoria van Reid, had been murdered as a result of his latest mission. Potter sincerely hoped that his license to kill was accompanied by a medal of courage, or something, because in his fragile emotional state, he wasn’t sure if he could properly handle another mission.
“You’ve never been in love, Sirius,” mused Potter dejectedly.
“James, you’re a right pansy,” muttered Black, eternally the womanizer. “Grow a pair, all right?”
The agents reached the end of the corridor and stood before a massive oak door reading: Albus Dumbledore, Minister of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.
“We might as well go in,” grumbled Black. “D won’t be getting any younger.”
The two dark-haired men stepped into the unconventional office. Sturdy oak furniture held dozens and dozens of stacks of paper, and a cabinet to the side contained a number of curious, whirring instruments, whose purpose Potter did not know. A wrinkled old man with a head of long silver hair sat behind the large desk, wearing a purple suit. His long, broken nose held a pair of half-moon spectacles.
“Agents Black and Potter,” smiled D warmly, “my best agents.”
Potter and Black took seats before the old man. Potter couldn’t help but like D. The head of MI6 probably cared too much about his agents, but trusted them and treated them as equals.
“You called us, sir?” asked Black expectantly.
“There is a new case,” said D, opening one of the many case files on his desk. “Intelligence believes that the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort is more of a threat than previously believed.”
“The small-scale terrorist?” asked Potter, knowing the odd name sounded familiar.
“He’s not so small-scale anymore,” said D, his voice steady. “We believe that as part of his mission to conquer Europe, he will bomb Casino Royale.”
“The millionaires’ club in southern France?” asked Black. “But why?”
“Casino Royale handles billions of pounds each day,” explained D. “The richest men in the world squander their fortunes there, and Voldemort believes that if he destroys the casino and its patrons, he will be able to negotiate with the leaders of Europe.”
“But wouldn’t such powerful people have bodyguards?” inquired Potter. “And surely the casino has extensive security.”
“It is my fear that this security is insufficient,” said D. “Voldemort is a brilliant man. Completely mad and sociopathic, but brilliant. If anyone could find a way to bomb Casino Royale, it’s him.”
“So you want us to go in an stop him?” said Black.
D smiled. “You are the finest MI6 has to offer. If anyone can slip in unnoticed and effectively diffuse a bomb plot, it’s Agents Potter and Black.
“I’ve alerted the casino of the threat, but they remain unnervingly calm. For this reason, I’m sending you two to France as employees of Casino Royale. Black, you will assume the role of bartender, and Potter, because of your skill with cards, you will work undercover as a dealer.”
Potter and Black nodded to each other and grinned. This would be a most excellent mission.
“Est-ce votre français est satisfaisant?” asked D in a crisp French accent.
“Bien sûr,” replied Potter.
“Wo zhi shuo zhong wen, español, e italiano,” said Black.
“Right, I forgot your specialties don’t include French,” mused D, thinking quickly. “Most employees and clients of Casino Royale will be fluent in English, but just in case, be sure not to stray too far from Potter.”
“So, when do we jet off, sir?” asked Potter excitedly.
“Well, you’ll need to see Lupin for your gadgets,” said D. “I also had Pettigrew lease flats in the city and secure your transportation, so you ought to see him as well.”
“Excellent,” said Black, standing to leave.
“Not so fast, Agent Black,” said D. “You’ll want to meet your co-operative, won’t you?”
“Come again?” asked Potter.
“We’ve just had a transfer from MI5,” explained D. “She’s a truly fantastic agent, spot on with a pistol and very talented at circuitry and diffusing bombs. She’s agreed to assume the roll of a waitress on the casino floor.”
“A woman?” asked Black in horror.
D buzzed a device on his desk, and spoke into it, “Please send Agent Evans in.”
In moments, the thick door opened and a tall, redheaded woman stepped in. She wore a long, dark green dress and a harsh frown upon her face. She was exceptionally intimidating, and Potter thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. All thoughts of Victoria What’s-Her-Face drifted permanently from his mind.
“Agents Potter and Black,” said D, “may I introduce to you Agent Lily Evans, Operative 006.”
Black dropped his jaw and Potter raised his eyebrows. 006? This broad was the highest ranked active MI6 officer! In all his years at MI6, Potter had never encountered anyone higher than the legendary, mysterious 007. But this…this Agent Evans waltzes in from MI5 and immediately is granted license to kill and the most prestigious ranking?
“Hello,” said Evans nervously, her stern face softening. Potter suppressed the urge to run over to her and kiss her red lips.
With Black’s face in a tight frown and Potter’s in a dreamy daze, D cleared his throat. “So, if you three would see Dr. Lupin, and then Agent Pettigrew, you can be off to France.”
Evans looked at her comrades expectantly, and Black grudgingly rose from his chair and headed for the door. Upon realizing that he was followed only by Evans, he whipped back around and grabbed the light-headed Potter from his chair.
Once the three were out in the corridor, Potter finally opened his mouth. “Hi Lily,” he said distantly.
She looked at him narrowly with her bright green eyes. “I think it would be most appropriate if you referred to me as Evans,” she said, clearly made uncomfortable by Potter’s behavior.
“Let’s get something out in the open right off,” interjected Black. “Before you decided to meddle in MI6, I was the top agent de facto, since 007’s been missing for years. But now, you’ve gone and mucked that all up, and I’m pretty honest when I say I don’t like you.”
“What a warm welcome,” said Evans dryly. “You’re a masochistic bastard, and your friend’s undressing me with his eyes.”
“No I’m not!” insisted Potter, though his face glowed scarlet.
“You want to know why I transferred from MI5?” Evans demanded of Black. “I wasn’t being taken seriously, because I’m a woman. I interview with D, and he assures me that I won’t have that problem in MI6. Supposedly you’re all a bunch of standup chaps. But now I’m stuck with a pervert and a chauvinist?”
“I am not a pervert!” exclaimed Potter. “You just look really pretty in that dress, and if you wanted to go out sometime—”
“Let’s get this straight,” said Black, irritated. “I love women. They’re great. I’m just a little skeptical when they sweep in and outrank me, all right, love?”
Evans glared at him with seething hatred. “Don’t you call me love.”
“So, Evans, I was thinking dinner and dancing,” continued Potter, unfazed. “Nothing too fancy, just a night on the town.”
“Agent Potter,” said Evans slowly, “I’ve known you for four minutes, and already I’m very certain that I don’t like you. Perhaps one day, if my memory is erased in a horrible accident and my moral fiber turns to gelatin, I will grace you with my company in a social situation.”
Potter just smiled hopefully at her, as if her harsh words could never sting his sharp emotional exoskeleton.
“Now, where is this Dr. Lupin’s office?” asked Evans.
“Right this way, love,” snarled Black, starting down the corridor.
Evans frowned and glared, and Potter decided that they were going to get married and have seven children.
“I really must apologize, Agent Evans,” said Lupin, a pale man with sandy hair and tired eyes. “I normally do much better work than this, but D only gave me a few hours to throw this together.”
Agents Potter, Black, and Evans were standing in Lupin’s laboratory of an office, surrounded by shelves of books with obscure titles and tables of beakers brewing strange concoctions. Remus Lupin, who preferred the address of Dr. to Agent even though he was a fully qualified field operative, pulled out a few small objects from a drawer.
“James,” he said, turning to the bespectacled agent sighing in Evans’s direction, “I’ve been working on this for years, and normally, I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, but D emphasized the importance of this mission and I hope you’ve gained a bit of maturity, mate.”
Lupin handed Potter a dark, shimmering piece of fabric that felt like liquid in his hands. “A new frock, thanks, Loopy,” joked Potter.
Lupin glared at him. “It turns the wearer invisible, Potty,” he snapped. “Put it on.”
Potter did so, and was pleasantly surprised that when he looked down at his feet, they were missing, as was the rest of his lanky body.
“Remus, you bastard!” exclaimed Black. “What the hell have you come across?”
Lupin smiled smugly. “For quite a few months now, these American gits have been bragging that they’re close to a breakthrough on a device that gives the user a near-invisible state. I, however, beat them to the chase. This cloak is woven with tiny fibers made of much tinier cells, and these cells contain metal needles that meet at angles that force light to pass around the cloak. The needles simultaneously interfere with all wavelengths of the visible color spectrum.”
“That’s incredible, Lupin!” said Evans in admiration.
Potter danced around under the cloak, very pleased with his new capability of invisibility, though none of the others could see him.
“Me next!” said Black forcefully. “You better not give James a better gadget than me!”
Lupin rolled his eyes. “James, take off the cloak. It’s distracting to know you’re there, standing all idle and invisible. And Sirius, I’ve got something quite interesting for you.” He pulled a black roll of what appeared to be paper from the box and showed the three agents. “I call it the Marauder’s Map, and it contains floor plans of the Casino Royale building, and identifies the exact whereabouts of every single person in the casino.”
“What the bloody hell?” muttered Black, disappointed.
Lupin smirked and unrolled it. “It’s a flexible computer screen,” he said wryly. “It’s a touch screen too, like that blasted new phone named after a fruit everyone’s so mad about. You can scroll through each screen, containing a different level of the casino, and when you’re sneaking around looking for intelligence or spying on some malicious bloke, you won’t get caught.”
Black took the delicate, paper-thin computer screen from Lupin and examined it, a curious expression upon his face.
“If it’s any consolation, the map cost about 250,000 quid to develop and manufacture,” added Lupin. “This is a prototype.”
Black used his finger to scroll through several screens, then looked up at the map’s creator and grinned. “Good work, Remus,” he said warmly.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Agent Evans,” Lupin turned to the redhead, who was in visible shock at the cloak and map. “Now, it may seem like I didn’t put as much effort into your gadget, well, gadgets, then those of the other two, but it took me quite a lot of time to brainstorm and think of something practical for a waitress to carry.” With slight hesitation, Lupin pulled a tiny bag somewhere between a change purse and clutch in size from the box. The purse was a loud shade of magenta and had a weird design on it that Potter didn’t recognize.
“Oh my God,” said Evans slowly, “you got me a Prendi bag?”
“Bless you,” said Black.
She ignored him. “Prendi is one of the most expensive and sought after handbag designers on the continent. I’ve wanted a Prendi bag for ages, but a secret agent’s salary didn’t quite cut it. I mean, it’s lovely, but I don’t see how it could help.”
“Um, I should explain better,” said Lupin. “It’s what’s inside the purse that I’m most proud of. There’s the cliché floss rope and zPod mini voice recorder, but the contents of the bag are completely hidden from x-rays. I’m also giving you a hair dryer gun, but it won’t fit in the purse.”
Evans took all her gadgets. “Lupin, why did you give me such a tiny handbag with no handle? And if I’m supposed to be waitressing, how can I carry all this stuff around?”
“I thought of that,” said Lupin quickly, blushing. “It’s small enough that you can keep it in your bosom.”
Black snickered and Potter stepped on his foot. “The man just said bosom,” said Potter, attempting to be the more mature one.
“I’ve got you all untraceable mobiles,” continued Lupin, handing each agent a slim phone. “You’ve got text, picture, and video messaging, internet access, and if the mobile is destroyed, an automatic message will be sent to D.
“And, of course,” smiled Lupin, holding up three sets of keys.
Black rushed to the window to look at the car park, and Potter and Evans followed. “Which car is it?” asked Black excitedly. “Which pimped out car do we get?”
“I couldn’t exactly pimp this one out,” said Lupin hesitantly. “You’re parading as casino employees, on an employee’s salary.”
Black looked at him in horror. “It’s the heap of junk next to your girly car, isn’t it?”
“The hybrid gets excellent mileage!” insisted Lupin, then adding, “It’s a used Ashton Morton, but an Ashton Morton the same! And I still put in the ejecting seat and automatic coffeemaker and everything else you like!”
“The bumper’s falling of!” exclaimed Potter.
Evans hit him. “Dr. Lupin worked very hard on this car for us, I’m sure, and you’re being very ungrateful! Some secret agents don’t get Ashton Mortons at all, and we get a very nice one. Though it is rusting.”
Potter touched his shoulder and smiled daftly. “You touched me.”
Evans walked back over to Lupin in a huff and Black snickered.
“Well, there’s nothing more I can do for you,” said Lupin. “Go see Peter, and then drive the Ashton to the SIS airstrip.”
“D asked me to secure lodgings for you,” the round man who called himself Peter Pettigrew said nervously. “Port-au-Roi is a small resort town, and they don’t have many flats available—”
“Quit whimpering, Peter. We’re not going to yell at you unless you royally screw up,” said Black. “Which happens all too often, in my opinion.”
Pettigrew held out three keys for the agents to take. “You’re all on different floors of the high rise at 108 Rue de la Mer. They’re not luxury flats, but you should be comfortable enough.”
Potter grabbed his key, as did the other two. “You leased each flat from a different, untraceable telephone number, yeah?”
Pettigrew nodded dejectedly. “And I double-checked that each flat’s billing address is a different MI6 outpost in France.”
“Everything seems in order to me, at least,” said Evans briskly.
“See you in a few weeks, Pete,” said Black gruffly, as MI6’s three top agents headed out the door, bound for their beat up Ashton Morton and a private jet.
A/N: I’ve bit off more than I can chew, starting a third story while writing two others, so I really need feedback to determine if I should continue this. Please review, and thank you for reading!
And as an addendum: All of the technology presented in this chapter is possible. I did my homework ;)
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