January 1968

"I do beg your pardon," said Harry. He leant forward to rest his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and tried unsuccessfully to keep the incredulity from seeping into his voice. "But, do you possibly think you could run that by me again?"

Minerva McGonagall didn't look impressed. But then, he found she very rarely ever did. Her office in which they were sat was overwhelmingly iron grey – even the oil painting of her beloved cat looming above them was bloody grey. The clock ticked oppressively on the wall in the pause that followed.

Even without the years of familiarity insulating him from the room's intimidation tactics, Harry Potter was not the sort of man to quake under an authoritative glare. He was, however, not accustomed to the level of ridiculousness with which his ears had just been assaulted.

"H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S.," she repeated in her clipped, Scottish tones. She sat with her hands crossed loosely on the desk in front of her, her back straight as a rod, and her gaze unflinching. "Home Office Governed," she elaborated. "Word Agency Regulations Team and Support Services."

"H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S.," Harry repeated faintly. "And this was the best acronym the chaps down in Operations could come up with?" He waved his hand around airily. "Why not P.O.P.P.Y.C.O.C.K., or N.I.N.C.O.M.P.O.O.P.? I'm sure there's a delightful string of words you could fit to make that work. Let's see – National Institute for Naughty Children...Otherwise Mothered Preposterously...Over Ordinary Protocol." He flashed a grin at her, rather pleased with himself.

His superior was, once again, unmoved. "Are you quite finished Agent Potter?"

"Well," he said, sitting upright again and frowning in consideration. "I could try one for P.O.P.P.Y.C.O.C.K?"

"I think we'll leave the creative decisions to Operations from now on, hmm?" She plucked a beige file from the metal tray to her right, and placed it in the empty desk space between them. It was stamped with a bright red 'Top Secret'. "This is a matter of international importance, and a new agency was required to deal with the threat swiftly and discretely. You will be reassigned immediately."

Harry schooled his reactions carefully, an easy task after so many years of training. He had only just returned from an extended assignment in the South Americas, and had been looking forward to at least a week's respite before being hurtled back into the field. However, it would not do to whine like a child, so instead he slid the file towards him, and flicked the first page open.

Even with his high level of clearance, there were still a number of words redacted. He was still able to make out the gist of the document quick enough though. "So," he surmised, turning to the next page. "This fellow intends on starting World War Three?"

"It certainly seems that way," McGonagall agreed.

Harry tutted, assimilating the information rapidly as he sifted through the next several sheets of paper. "Voldemort," he scoffed. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes, but he certainly twitched an eyebrow. "Flight of death. Will the ingenuity never cease?"

McGonagall leant forwards and flipped several pages ahead, and Harry found himself faced with a number of grizzly photographs. "The name may be twee, but I assure you his intentions are not. All our sources indicate he is determined to ignite the tensions between West and East Germany, and set the rest of the world at each other's throats again."

Harry readjusted his glasses and nodded. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

"Not on my watch," she agreed. A hint of a smile threatened the corner of her lips, but Harry would swear if questioned that it had never been there at all.

"So many abductions," he commented. There were at least a dozen missing person reports. "Is there any way to know who might be next?"

"That is what we are trying to establish," McGonagall told him. "They certainly are a mixed bag; their only common denominator is that they are experts in their field, so we have a watch list, but it is vast. Although we doubt it is Voldemort himself carrying out the abductions. Whatever the case; high profile scientists, code-breakers, engineers – you name it – are being targeted. There has been no trace of the abductees since."

Harry lifted the file to rest on his lap, crossing one leg over the other to prop the documents up as he hastily flicked back and forth to piece the different components together. "The first abduction was eleven weeks ago?"

"We believe the victims to still be alive," McGonagall said, and Harry had to agree.

"They are being recruited. Against their will," he added. "But their combined skill set and intelligence would no doubt aid any megalomaniac in launching the next global catastrophe. If properly motivated."

"I have no doubt Voldemort has ways of being...persuasive," she said dryly.

There was no photo available of the man in question, although the intelligence seemed sound. "How has a man such as this not been on our radar before?" Harry asked. There seemed to be no mention of him prior to 1964, and it would take more than three years to establish the needed reputation to run an operation as large as the one he now appeared to be commanding.

McGonagall inclined her head. "We believe him to have undergone a drastic physical transformation, as well as changing his name, and are still attempting to discern his previous identity. That, however, is not your mission."

"You intend for me to locate the whereabouts of the abductees?" he guessed.

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Not 'me'. 'Us.' This threatens the stability of the entire world, and – ah-" A knock at the door interrupted her. "Perfect timing. It requires representation from more than just the British government. Come in," she added, raising her voice.