Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work. James Bond and associated characters were originally owned by Ian Fleming and are now owned by whomever.
Chapter 1: Dursleyfinger
Albus Dumbledore searched frantically through the Ministry records in his hands. He couldn't believe the report that Amos Diggory delivered earlier that week. The Dursleys decided to take a family vacation that morning and somehow managed to get crushed by a frozen ball of waste that fell from a passing jet. Horrified that the Boy-Who-Lived shared his relatives' fate Albus was relieved to note that his tiny body was not amongst the wreckage. Still, Harry hadn't turned up anywhere in the muggle protective services and his monitors showed that Harry was still residing within the rapidly decaying wards. Curious as to why Harry hadn't accompanied his family when he was only seven, Albus apparated to the Dursley residence. Finding the door locked and his knocks unanswered, Albus magicked the door open and began searching the house for the boy. He fumed at the memory of the tiny malnourished child locked in a closet underneath the stairs. He'd quickly delivered the starving lad into Poppy's care, but a more permanent residence would have to be found. Worse yet, Albus had to listen to five hours of Minerva ranting at him about his carelessness and why he should have listened to her about those horrible muggles in the first place. While he admitted that Minnie certainly had a point, her incessant scolding made the task of searching for a blood-relative of Harry's on his mother's side even more taxing.
"Albus?" queried a voice from his office floo.
Albus stopped pacing and faced the fireplace. "Come in," he said. Seconds later Remus Lupin staggered into his office in a burst of green flame. "Do you have any good news for me?" Albus asked.
Remus glared at his former headmaster. "I'm still very displeased with your decision to place Harry with Lily's sister. You knew exactly what-"
Albus held up his hand to cut off the werewolf's rant. "I know, I know. News first, recriminations afterwards. Have you found anything?"
Remus nodded. "It seems that Lily had a first cousin on her mother's side that she didn't know about."
Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief. "Is this cousin acceptable?"
The werewolf shuffled his feet a bit. "Well… that's a bit of a question. It seems Lily didn't know about the cousin because he's listed as deceased in almost every muggle record."
Albus' eyebrows raised in surprise. "I take it that our man isn't as dead as the records claim?"
Remus nodded. "That's the thing. I had to dig pretty deep and use up some impressive favors, but it turns out he's working for some unknown department in Her Majesty's Secret Service."
"Well, that certainly is an interesting revelation. Fortunately I have a few connections there myself dating back to my time fighting Grindelwold." Albus laid a reassuring hand on Remus' shoulder. "Don't worry Remus, this time I'll make sure that the boy is taken care of." Remus shrugged off the headmasters hand.
"I'll believe that when I meat his new guardian." Remus glared at the old man. "You will allow me to visit the boy; we've seen what your 'let the boy be raised without interference' turned into."
Albus nodded humbly. "Yes, I suppose that between Poppy, Minnie, and yourself I shall be reminded quite firmly of my mistakes for years to come."
"You've got that right," Remus grumbled.
"Well, I've got to contact my old friends. They are very particular about privacy so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
With one last accusatory glare Remus flooed out of the office. Albus sat heavily down in his chair. "I do wonder how M is doing these days. It's been a while since I stopped by for a spot of tea."
James Bond casually strolled through the halls of MI-5. He didn't feel the least bit of concern over M's summons. There was a spot of curiosity though, as he couldn't for the life of him recall doing anything destructive enough to warrant a personal lecture. He shrugged internally guessing that they'd managed to uncover something or the other that he'd done and they'd missed.
He stepped into M's office as soon as the automatic door swung open. Keeping the surprise off of his face, Bond visually interrogated the unexpected figure standing next to his supervisor. Ancient, most likely quite mad judging from his tastes in clothing, likes to portray himself as a grandfatherly figure, most likely fitting the profile of a shadowy manipulator who hides himself in a cloak of beneficence. Bond's hand moved subtly towards one of his concealed firearms.
"Do sit down Mr. Bond," M commanded. James took a seat that allowed him a clear arc of fire at the stranger while minimizing the chances that he'd plug his boss. He barely, just barely, managed to hide his expression when he noticed the man's eyes twinkling at him. 'What the bloody hell?' he thought to himself. He waited for M to speak.
"James, I have some bad news," M said gravely. "It appears your cousin Petunia passed away recently. You have the department's condolences." Bond shrugged off M's practiced sympathy. The old man raised a single white eyebrow at James' nonchalance but M, knowing her agent, continued blithely on. "It would appear that Petunia was the caretaker for her sister's child." Bond nodded. "Mr. Dumbledore here," M gestured at the old man, "has come to me regarding a very important matter. We know each other from operations taken in the XX commission. He's come to me asking for help. Would you like to clarify for Mr. Bond, Albus?" She nodded to the dodgy coot.
The old man cleared his throat. "Thank you M. For reasons I am not at liberty to disclose it is imperative that young Harry Potter live in close proximity with a blood relative of his mother's. Unfortunately Mr. Bond, it would appear that you are the last remaining candidate."
James raised his eyebrow at M. M nodded. "Your next mission, if you choose to accept it," M said, "is to take care of Mr. Potter until Mr. Dumbledore retrieves young Harry for his education." Dumbledore and M looked to Bond expectantly.
"No," he replied. He noticed M smothering a grin.
"I beg you to reconsider," Albus said.
"Allow me to clarify my answer. No way in bloody hell. I refuse change my job description to 'nanny.' I haven't the foggiest clue how to raise a sprog and I have absolutely no intentions of learning."
Albus gave M a long-suffering glace. "M," he said quietly, "this is necessary in a way you couldn't possibly understand."
M curtly nodded. "Very well Mr. Dumbledore. Mr. Bond, I would have preferred if you'd accepted the mission but since you've made up your mind I've no choice but to order you to take care of the boy."
Bond's eyes widened dangerously. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with the tyke when I'm off performing your various and sundries?"
M frowned sadly. "As of this moment you are currently removed from the duty-pool until such time as you have discharged your responsibility." James began to flush in anger unable to control his reaction. His hand strayed dangerously close to his firearm.
Dumbledore quickly picked up on Mr. Bond's mood. "Now that I've had my say, M, may I take leave of your office?" M nodded serenely ignoring the smoking power keg sitting across from her. "Very good. We must get together some time for tea. Just like the old days?"
M smiled. "Of course Albus, just like the old days." Albus smiled back and meandered out of the office. Before he left the door he said, "Oh, Mr. Bond? Harry's already here and he's looking forward to meeting you. Good day!"
Bond grumbled and grouched under his breath while M serenely sipped her tea for seven minutes. M put her teacup down. "He's clear James and the room's clean." James Bond dropped the petulant agent act immediately. "What is your take on this?" M asked him.
"Mr. Dumbledore is a class W, isn't he?" Bond asked coolly.
"He's feeding us quite a line of shit without lying once, isn't he?"
M nodded again.
"You have the full story," Bond deadpanned.
"Mind filling me in?"
For the next thirty minutes M provided Bond with a detailed synopsis of Lord Voldemort, the wizard community as a whole and the hooplah surrounding Harry. James sat stoically throughout the debriefing.
"I assume that young Mr. Potter is also a class W?" Bond asked. M nodded and sipped a fresh cup of tea. For a moment James looked melancholy. "I want a full psych profile done on the lad. Petunia," Bond said with utter contempt, "wasn't a terribly good person."
M smiled. "We're doing a physical and psych eval on the boy as we speak."
"Good. If I'm going to baby-sit I at least want to know what I'm in for. Since the kid's most likely facing a nasty group when he grows up, what training had Mr. Dumbledore set up for the lad?"
M frowned slightly. "None. He seems convinced that the boy should grow up ignorant of his family history. Additionally the wizard community holds onto some barbaric and ignorant customs."
"Shit," Bond spat, "this assignment gets better by the moment. I assume it's related to the racial supremacy hogwash?" M nodded. "Permission to speak freely?" M waved her approval. "Mr. Dumbledore is a right bastard. Bugger his manipulations if I've got to raise a brat I'm going to bloody well raise him my way."
M smiled widely. "I was hoping you'd say that Mr. Bond."
James Bond found himself nursing both a martini and a headache. He gulped down his drink and motioned the bartender to make another. While he was pleased at how quickly Harry adapted to his training, there were some lessons he wished Harry hadn't picked up. Such as demolitions. Especially demolitions involving micro-charges and toilets. He swore bloody vengeance on Q for teaching the boy how to expertly booby-trap a bathroom. His arse still hurt. James mused on how quickly the last couple of years passed.
Keeping the boy was simple. He was unfailingly polite and looked at everything with wide wondering eyes. The boy's problems became blatantly obvious after he'd left the boy at the flat for the day (James had to 'clean up a mess'). By the time he dragged his bruised body back to the apartment he nearly fainted. It was spotless. Even a few of the stains his maid couldn't touch had vanished. To make matters worse when James inspected a few of his secret compartments he found them similarly cleaned, including the firearms inside. James walked silently to Harry's room and found him fast asleep, curled into a tight ball with an angelic smile on his face. The next couple nights proved that Harry's actions were not a singular occurrence; rather they appeared to be his standard operating procedure.
This would not do; the maid would have his head.
He quickly decided that the best solution involved taking Harry to MI-5 headquarters and letting him learn what he could. It turned out to be a most satisfactory decision as the boy's inquisitive nature, unfailing politeness, sweet disposition and of course stunning green eyes quickly made him a favorite guest of whichever department he wandered into. James mused that Harry probably held the title of youngest person in history to possess a class XX clearance. The intelligence office even issued him his own number: 00x0. Double-O hex. He'd restrained himself from shooting the tech geek who explained the joke. Damn nerd puns.
Considering the evidence indicating a horrific amount of negligence both James and the doctors treating Harry were amazed by how rapidly he shed the disabling social and emotional traits he'd gained from his stay with the Dursleys. The only truly negative trait the boy stubbornly retained was a sort of intellectual laziness not befitting his capabilities. James smiled at the memory. It took M fifteen minutes to accomplish what he and several others failed at for months. Harry remained extraordinarily tight-lipped over the incident, making James consider the very likely scenario of M holding a gun to the boy's head while explaining what is and is not acceptable in one of her charges.
James shook his head. While he'd decided to train Harry in his own craft in order to facilitate 'familial bonding' as the doctors put it, M directed Harry over to some class W agents working with the office for the training James couldn't provide. The results almost frightened the seasoned agent, but then Harry was part of the family so some traits must have proved true.
He snickered to himself drawing a concerned look from the bartender. It seemed the only thing Harry fell flat on was picking up the subtle art of seduction. Not that he wanted his ten-year-old charge to go out and start picking up married women, but considering the lads instinctive ability to cause women of all ages to fall over themselves fawning over him… James couldn't believe Harry still stammered and blushed under the attention. On the other hand, that did seem to prolong the affection.
James grinned. Maybe his boy wasn't so bad after all.
M smiled happily at James Bond. "Double o' seven, I have another mission for you. Our intelligence reports that The Dentist is expected to attend a grand ball hosted by the International Orthodontists for Humanity." Bond nodded. The Dentist was a world-renowned mercenary notorious for his creative uses of common dental tools, hence the handle. "The mission parameters are to contact The Dentist and bring him in for questioning." M stared at James. "You shall not harm him, Bond. This is a possible recruitment operation and you will not jeopardize our goals with your standard behavior." Bond mentally snorted. "Is that understood?" M asked. Bond nodded. "Our agents have determined that The Dentist will be accompanied by his family, so as part of your cover I expect you to bring double o' hex with you. Hopefully the boy's presence will curb your more flashy tendencies."
James snorted. It occurred to him that M wasn't as omniscient as her position implied if she thought that Harry's presence would encourage subtlety. M glared at Bond. "Is there a problem, Mr. Bond?"
James shook his head. "No, no, no problem at all."
"Excellent. You will find everything you need in this packet." She handed a large envelope to Bond. He accepted it, stood up, and left the office.
Initially, the operation went off without a hitch. Bond and Harry quickly blended in with the surrounding crowd, easily befuddling the massed dentists with their clever wit and well established background. Soon enough Bond spotted The Dentist and his family. Just as the profile said, The Dentist appeared as no more than a normal middle-aged professional, albeit a fit one. His wife was a beautiful woman who certainly did not look her thirty years, but it appeared that genetics were not as kind to their daughter. She was scrawny with untamable brown bushy hair, average enough that her buck teeth and wild hair coupled with her slightly bossy bearing overwhelmed any prepubescent beauty. A quick glance at his partner for the night determined that his 'nephew' found her cute enough. He motioned Harry over. Harry nodded, and set about distracting the family. His charm, wit, and flashing green eyes made short work of the females. Bond waited until The Dentist made his way to the lavatory before following.
Click. "The Dentist, I presume?" Bond said as he placed his Walther PPK to The Dentist's head. The Dentist froze and put his hands into the air.
"I see you have me at a disadvantage. May I inquire as to the name of the individual so rudely pointing a gun at my head?" The Dentist asked calmly.
"Bond. James Bond."
Click. 'Bugger,' James Bond thought.
"Well, Mr. Bond, may I inquire as to why you are pointing a gun at my husband's head?" The Dentist's wife asked pointedly, nudging the gun gently against the back of Bond's skull.
Click. 'Bugger,' The Dentist's wife thought.
"Before he answers that question, would you mind removing the gun you've placed against my Uncle's head?" Harry said coolly, gently reinforcing his words with a slight pressure from the end of his Walther PPK.
Click. 'Bugger,' Harry Potter thought.
"I think perhaps that you and your Uncle should reconsider your actions and remove your own implements of destruction from my parents' craniums," commanded a high-pitch bossy girl's voice as she dug the barrel of her pistol into Harry's noggin.
"I do believe that we have ourselves both a Mexican standoff and a touching family moment. Whatever are we going to do now, Mr. Bond?" The Dentist said mildly.
"I'm still working on that," James replied.
"I've got a better idea," the bushy-haired one said. "Attonbitamus procuratorae!" The world went black for Potter and Bond.
They woke up in the men's room a few hours later with equally screaming headaches. Bond's displeasure at the events found itself drowned out by the evident ire Harry held towards The Dentist's daughter.
"Uncle, I don't give a damn about The Dentist," Harry spat. "If we ever run across that girl again I swear to you that bitch is mine!"
James Bond swallowed the obvious comeback.
Harry and Bond spent the rest of Harry's tenth year in an eventful blur of training, missions, and other bonding matters. Time and time again the pair was tasked with the apprehension of The Dentist and company. Time and time again they were thwarted by carefully laid traps or the daughter's magical agility. For every new skill Harry learned, it appeared the Bushy-Haired Setback (as M took to fondly calling her) either already knew a counter or quickly formulated one. After the seventeenth such encounter, Bond had established an odd rapport with The Dentist and his wife, born of mutual amusement and pride at their charges' antics. Harry and the Bushy-Haired setback, on the other hand, established an intense mutual animosity. After once again escaping a ridiculously over-complicated and slow death-trap Harry's green eyes locked into the Bushy-Haired Setback's brown. At the same time they swore in their minds: 'On this day, July 30th 1991, I swear to whoever is listening that the next time we meet things will be different!'
From Hogwarts Owlrey a nondescript pair of owls winged towards the greater London area bearing letters written in green ink bearing the seal of Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
A\N: I came up with this story years ago but never bothered to write it as more than a basic outline. I know the basic premise isn't that unique, but I hope I've made it different enough to make it worth reading. Note: I don't do the whole 'let's re-write each and every book starting from book one in an equal amount of words until I burn out somewhere around book three and quit.' Expect books one, two and three to take up a chapter each. At most. Frankly prepubescent super-spies are kind of boring. Depending on what you, the reviewers say, I'll fast forward to the point that you feel most comfortable with standard Bond-level hormones(Not until year four at the earliest… sorry pervs I've got this thing where I just don't like thinking about tweens shagging). It's Harry/Hermione (mostly), but Harry isn't the only one with an altered background…
More fun: Due to the fact that Harry was a wee-sprat during the eighties, that means that this story's Bond is played by Sean Connery. Regardless, I'm intensionally leaving his description out in order to allow the reader to substitute whichever Bond they please. Even the blond one, you bloody heretics (joking, please let me live). I will be mercilessly butchering elements from all the Bond stories and movies I want.