Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Just Another Perfect Soldier ❯ The Plan, The Capture, The Escape ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A/N: I'm going to be dreadfully honest when I confess that I've only had the chance to see ten maybe fifteen episodes of Gundam Wing. It was on at the most ridiculous time of night for me to stay up and still be conscious for school by six in the morning. I loved the show though. Any help would be appreciated though!

WARNING: This will be SLASH. Harry/Heero slash actually. Then it will be 3X4 and 2X5.

Disclaimer (ALL CHAPTERS): Harry Potter belongs to JKR, Gundam wing belongs to...well, I'm not exactly sure, but it isn't mine! So there!

Chapter One: The Plan, The Capture, The Escape

June 5th : The summer After Harry's Sixth Year

Voldemort smiled at the man bowed down before him. This would be perfect, the ultimate revenge. How could he be defeated by his pure, innocent enemy, whose only weapon was his purity and innocence, if he were suddenly stripped of it? Pity the mastermind before him was mad, he would have been a great asset to his ranks.

Voldemort smirked. Did the darkness really matter? Bella, Lucius, hell, even himself had lost their sanity on this road to greatness. First, he should hear what the good Doctor has to say.

The man did not fidget as he awaited the Dark Lord's answer. He'd lost his most prized possession when the war between the colonies and Earth ended and 01 disappeared with the rest of the pilots, leaving him with nothing to show for all his hard work. That and he wasdead to the world. This alliance would work out perfectly.

“So what you suggest, is that with the help of my magic and your technology, I could turn someone into the perfect solider. The perfect weapon to use against my enemies?”

J nodded. “I've already had the perfect test subject, but I was forced to work with just muggle means. Your magic should not only enhance the subject mentally and physically but magically as well.”

Voldemort frowned. “You had? What happened to it?”

J grimaced. “I thought I had him under control. No emotions or opinions, just following orders. Turns out he had them all along; he just suppressed them until he spent time with others like him. Rest assured that this will not be the case this time.”

The Dark Lord looked skeptical.

“And just how can you assure this?”

J let a fierce smile uncurl across his face.

“With the right amount of magic, technology and conditioning, I plan to take complete control away from our subject. No one is strong enough to feel remorse or guilt or indecision if they have no memory of experiencing it.” Here, J cleared his throat. “There has been one problem, however.”

As Voldemort's expression went cloudy, J continued.

“The subject will have to be young; late teens early twenties at the most.”

Voldemort nodded.

“My followers' children all fit that profile.”

The insane doctor nodded. “They do but they just aren't strong enough magically. I will need someone almost as strong, if not as strong as yourself, who is, for the most part, untouched by copious amounts of dark magic. Young Mister Malfoy would have been a good choice but as he is no longer loyal, we must look outside the ranks.”

Voldemort scowled at the reminder of Lucius' son's betrayal. Now was not the time to loose his short-temper though. His previous plan popped up in his mind again.

“Doctor J, I would have total control over my subject, no?”

J frowned to himself. In theory, Voldemort would be able to control his weapon completely, but there might be a few who, like his last subject, could defy orders and re-learn free will. The chances of Voldemort actually choosing such a person were almost none-existent.

“Yes. With my specialized combination the subject would, for all essential purposes, be the perfect solider and the perfect weapon for your ranks.”

The snake-Lord's smile was like death.

“I have the perfect candidate. Lucius!”

A tall, aristocratic looking wizard with long, pale blond hair stepped into the room, his pale skin glowing in the torch light. There were very few age lines around those cold, gray eyes, those present making him look all the more distinguished instead of aging him. His face was an expressionless mask as he bowed low to the Dark Lord.

The skeletal snake man gave his right hand an almost loving grin of insane pleasure.

“Lucius! I have a plan that will put you and your family back in my good graces for generations to come should you be successful. Do you accept?”

The question was redundant. How could the blond not acceptwithout risking torture or death for his impertinence? The answer was obvious.

“I am your humble servant.” Lucius Malfoy said at once, his eyes bright at the idea of gaining his master's favor again.

Voldemort hissed in content.

“The good Doctor J, to your left, has created the way to give me the perfect weapon. One that will destroy Albus Dumbledore and his armies of Light and Goodness. Doctor J has agreed to make me the ultimate weapon.”

The statement was left open, giving Lucius the hint to question what the weapon would be.

“My Lord?” he ventured, looking and sounding a bit unsure.

Voldemort smirked.

“Can you get a group together and pay our favorite boy-hero a visit? I'd like to invite him over.”

Lucius looked shocked for a moment before returning his master's look.

“I can have him here within a couple of hours and no one will be none the wiser until its too late.”

“Who will you take with you? I want the boy relatively unhurt.”

The Malfoy Head grinned before replying.

“Bella, McNair, Dovoilo and Zabini.”

A nod of approval sent the blond striding out of the room with the Dark Lord's insane laughter sounding behind him.

July 5th: Voldemort's Liar

Harry sighed as he looked around his cell for the hundredth time. He'd been thrown into this stone room a few days ago, a week at the most, and had not been tortured or injured at all. It was utterly confusing.

Just like clockwork, everyday one Death Eater or another would bring him his meals with a few potions on the side, three times a day. At first, Harry had resisted eating or drinking anything, fearing it had been poisoned. To the Gryffindor's surprise, he was put into a full body bind and force fed the food and potions if he did not co-operate. He had fought for tow days, waiting for the pain he thought would come, but only ended up perplexed when it didn't. It was almost as if they were trying to keep him healthy.

Nervously, he tapped his hoot. Today's Death Eater was late. That, for the most ironic reason, made Harry even more nervous. He actually wanted to see the Death Eaters than be stuck in this damn room alone.

Something clinked outside his cell in the stone hallway. Harry, fed or not, was still being kept in the dungeon.

Slowly, the Boy-Who-Lived approached the wooden door that protected his cell. It looked like any traditional dungeon door, complete with a tiny box of metal bars near the top.

Cautiously, he stuck his face closer to the barred opening and listened intently.

Voices. Muffled and distant but voices all the same. Harry wrapped a grimy hand around the bars. This was not good.

'Please let them just be passing by.' Harry thought as the soft clicking of boots came closer. He backed away from the door and looked around fearfully before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

'I won't hide from them. I'm stronger than that.'

The sounds stopped just outside his door. A jeering voice made him jump.

“No more nice meals now, Potter.” It was McNair.

Harry glared.

“Aw, and I was so looking forward to our daily visits. Tsk, such a pity.”

The Death Eater growled, visibly holding himself back from cursing Harry, before smirking.

“You won't be so cocky when this guy is through with you. He makes Bella look sane.”

Before Harry could process the dark wizard's words, McNair opened the cell door, a maniacal grin on his fleshy face.

With him and a fellow, masked Death Eater stood a man with long, gray hair and eyes covered with mechanical looking goggles. His right arm was cybernetic and he was wearing a long white coat with a name tag reading 'Doctor J'.

Taking in his appearance, Harry then noticed the syringe held tightly in the 'doctor's' left hand.

“Hold him.” Came the command in an excited whisper.

Harry fought the hands that roughly grabbed him but it was useless. Constant starvation by the Dursleys had left the wizard with a smaller than normal body, at least in the muscle department. He couldn't fight two fully grown men, expect to win and not be broken in half.

Still struggling against the tight hold, Harry could do nothing but glare at the doctor as he slid forward.

“Don't worry, Mr. Potter.” J said, his voice airily and condescending. “You'll feel much better when I'd done with you. Almost like someone new.”

When he was close enough, Harry spat in the man's face. There was a moment of silence as J slowly wiped the spit off his cheek with a tissue. Harry seemed to have missed the lesson on survival that states to not piss off the insane psychotics.

“You can't do this to me. People will come for me and when they do, you'll be sorry.”

J angrily jabbed he needle in the boy's arm and Harry began to struggle again.

The three men waited as Harry's movements became sluggish and weakened until he slumped in their grasp and was dragged out behind Doctor J.

August 28th: Three Days Before Harry's Seventh Year

He was running. That was the first thing Harry noticed when he suddenly came to. The sky was bright from the hot summer sun, making his eyes sting. The wizard's feet were bleeding and bare as he ran down the paved road and his head throbbed but one message stood out clearly in his cluttered mind: SURVIVE.

Dark emerald eyes took in their surroundings and immediately accessed his injuries. He had a bruised rib and a small cut on his calf, but other than that, Harry seemed to be fine. Better than fine.

Thoughts swam through his head in a confusing jumble of words and phrases.

Mission. Orders. Follow. Perfect. Avada Kedavra must be cast from a wrist that is tilted forty-five degrees upward. Magic. Dark. Duty. Failure is not an option. Solider. Dragon's blood is the main ingredient of the Philosopher's Stone. Gun. Shoot straight.

On and on the words continued as Harry ran, never breaking stride or tiring. Reaching the outskirts ofa city, Harry immediately recognized it as London and all thoughts zero-ed in on SURVIVAL. He had a safe place here. FIND IT.

Suddenly he was running up a familiar street. Number One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

'The Headquarters of the Order of The Phoenix can be found at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.'

A grim looking house appeared and Harry silently walked up to its door and opened it. The place was silent as he entered, almost like a tomb. He needed to find the SAFETY.

Entering the kitchen, the Boy-Who-Lived took notice of the people in the room, automatically looking for escape route and weaknesses. The shocked faces didn't have a chance to register as his mind spoke up again.

SAFETY REACHED. MISSION COMPLETE. SHUT DOWN AND REPAIR.

Then Harry Potter passed out onto the floor of the Headquarters of the very people who had been searching for him.

A/N: I know J was supposed to have died but he's alive. How? Magic. That and a healthy bit of self preservation.

Review! For every review not written, a Harry goes straight! Save him!

S. Tangerine