The CIA is not the only secret organization hunting Jason Bourne. The Ministry of Magic wants him too and they've sent newly graduated Auror Harry Potter to collect him. Post DH and Ultimatum.
Harry Potter was standing on the river bank, shivering under his invisibility cloak. He wondered again why he was on this fools errand.
Only twenty-four hours ago he had been at his desk in the Auror office finishing off some paperwork looking forward to the weekend. Friday night with Ginny, Saturday he and Ron had tickets to the Chudley Cannons match and on Sunday he was invited to dinner at the Burrow. Then the summons came from the Minister himself.
Kingsley Shacklebolt got to the point immediately. “We’ve finally tracked Bones and we need you to go to New York to collect him. Start reading the dossier now. Your Portkey leaves in two hours. Any questions?”
So much for the weekend, Harry thought, but he put on the expression proper to a junior Auror in the presence of the Minister and asked, “Yes, Minister. Who is Bones? If he’s in New York why don’t the Americans deal with him? Why me?”
“The answer to your first question is in the dossier. As to your second, and this does not leave this room, there are some things in this dossier which we would rather not share. We believe that there may still be some Death Eater sympathizers in the Department of Magic. The answer to your third question is also in the dossier. I think you will find that you and your quarry have something in common. Now go and start reading”
Harry’s wristwatch glowed red and the extra hand pointed to the water. He saw a man crawl onto the bank and start running. He tore off the cloak and ran after him. Hermione had talked Harry into taking up jogging when he started Auror training. He had been skeptical, but now he was glad of her advice.
Bourne heard the running footsteps behind him. He glanced behind and saw his pursuer in a streetlight. He almost laughed. The Company must be scraping the bottom of the barrel. He was being chased by a skinny kid with messy hair, glasses and scar on his forehead you couldn’t miss. Still, an agent was an agent. Others would be following. He ran faster.
Harry saw Bourne speed up and realized that he would never keep up. He had never quite believed what he had read in the dossier about Bourne's physical strength and stamina. How could anyone survive a five storey fall into frigid water and be able to run at this pace? Still, Harry had a few powers of his own. He Apparated to a spot behind a parked truck at the end of the block, covered himself with the cloak and waited for Bourne to catch up to him.
Bourne turned again and slackened his pace to a brisk walk. There were people on the street and he did not want to attract attention. Harry sighed with relief followed him on the other side. He took of the cloak. He had learned that on a crowded street it was safer to be seen than to risk bumping into someone while he was invisible. Bourne surveyed the street with a practiced eye. It was clear. There were no watchers, no snipers on rooftops, no police, no cars with black windows. For a moment he thought he saw the kid with the scar, but he knew he must be mistaken. He heard sirens coming from the direction of the river and doubled back. He saw police divers searching the river. He still had time to get away.
A grate above a ventilator shaft on a deserted street gave Bourne a few minutes of needed rest and warmth. As he scanned his surroundings, he noticed something strange. There were several figures slumped by other grates on the block but one appeared to be deserted for no reason. Twice, Bourne had seen drunks stagger up to it, turn and walk away. He moved on.
Harry released the Muggle-repelling charm over his grate and followed.
Bourne walked briskly to his destination. He had not seen any signs that he was being followed for several blocks. Then he saw the reflection of the kid with the scar in a window. Where had he come from? Trackers on low-budget operations sometimes worked in teams and used a support car to leapfrog ahead. But why were there no signs of a second tracker or a vehicle? Was his mind playing tricks, he wondered? Was he seeing the face of one of his victims?
Harry scrambled through the unfamiliar streets, trying to keep his quarry in sight. He had studied Muggle tracking techniques in Auror training and this man was obviously the best of the best. But it was equally obvious that he had never been trailed by a wizard with an invisibility cloak. Harry found, by trial and error, that while he could easily keep out of sight, it was better to let his quarry catch a glimpse of him now and then. It kept him tense and, when he was tense, it was a simple matter for Harry to get a fix on him with his magic compass.
Bourne finally reached the Port Authority. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It had started to rain so his sodden appearance would not attract too much attention. He found the locker where he had left his bag, quickly changed into dry clothes and bought a ticket for the next bus to leave.
Harry cursed quietly as he saw the Montreal express pull away with Bourne aboard. He had nearly lost Bourne in the crowds. Now there was no time to buy a ticket, and if he did get on the bus there was nothing he could do with so many Muggles around. He had to get Bourne alone.
Harry found a deserted spot and pulled his Firebolt out of his wallet. The wallet with the extension charm had been Hermione's graduation gift. His cloak would not stay on in the air so he put it away and cast a disillusionment charm on himself. He took off and followed the bus. The magic compass let Harry track the bus through the Lincoln Tunnel. Then as the bus reached the highway, Bourne began to relax and Harry had to track him visually flying low, just above the street lights and almost on top of the bus. The wind tore through his light English overcoat. When the bus stopped for a layover at Albany and Harry decided it was time for a new plan. Flying at highway speeds had pushed the Firebolt to its limits, the night was cold and they were heading north.
Working quickly, Harry obtained some hairs from a boy of about his size and build and found a toilet. He changed from his suit to jeans, trainers and a hoodie and prepared a supply of Polyjuice potion. Bourne barely looked up when a boy with blue eyes and short blond hair boarded the bus and sat down across the aisle from him.
“We will be crossing the Canadian border in ten minutes. All passengers prepare to report to customs,” the driver announced.
Bourne woke with a start. He did not want to risk a border crossing. He had planned to get off the bus at Plattsburgh and head south but realized too late that the bus was an express that did not stop there. He looked for a way out. There was an emergency exit nearby but the bus was going too fast for him to risk a jump.
Harry watched Bourne eyeing the emergency exit and knew what he must be thinking. Harry was not looking forward to a border crossing himself. He had a perfectly genuine Muggle passport with him but, of course, it had his own photograph. He could always use a confundus charm on the customs officer but that might get him in trouble with the Regie de Magique de la Nouvelle-France. He held his wand under the seat and quietly said, “Expecto patronum.” His stag patronus appeared on the road a hundred yards ahead. The driver gave the stag a blast of the horn and then slowed the bus to a stop. As Harry expected, Bourne sprang for the emergency exit. Harry followed.
Bourne headed for the woods. Harry gave him a head start and followed on his Firebolt. The blond haired boy had perfect vision so Harry had put away his glasses. Now as the potion wore off, his vision was returning to his normal, dismal, state. There was no time to get on his glasses so he flew above the trees and relied on his magical compass. When Bourne found a deserted cabin, Harry landed and put away his broom. It was time to get acquainted. He knocked on the door and said, “Mr. Bourne, my name is Harry Potter. I’d like to talk to you.”
Bourne heard the voice and knew that something was wrong. It was definitely English. As far as he knew, the Brits had not dare conduct a covert operation on U.S. soil for fifty years. He climbed out a window and crept around the cabin. It was the boy with the scar and glasses. How did he get here? Bourne had not heard a vehicle or even footsteps. He circled through the trees. There was some light snow on the ground but the only footprints he could see were his own. The boy must have flown. Something was very wrong indeed and Bourne knew only one way to find out what it was.
The speed of the attack was like nothing Harry had ever experienced. He saw a movement in the corner of his eye and a second later he was pinned to the ground.