Author's Note: PLEASE READ.

Back in high school, in my grade 12 law class, I sat across from someone who ended up becoming a good friend of mine. This friend, for some strange reason, enjoyed listening to me come up with ideas for Harry Potter fanfiction and even encouraged me by helping me come up with ideas. In the end, we created Baker Street Irregulars.

I wrote the story but needed help with weapons ideas; he came up with the idea of yapping dogs and crazy stunts Harry could get into. I was obsessed with Snatch! at the time and amused by using well-known movie quotes for the characters. I wrote 4 chapters throughout that semester in grade 12.

We graduated, I stopped writing in the summer; we attended the same University – me for English, him for Graphic Design. We grew apart and I stopped writing BSI entirely without his contributions. I got a job; saw him once or twice at the mall where I worked, looking skinnier and paler than he ever had. I went away to get my teaching certificate in the UK, I came back and together with two others friends from high school we had dinner together.

I regret that night, because I got pitifully tipsy rather quickly and had to call my parents to pick me up from the restaurant since I couldn't drive back. I don't know how long the others stayed but I wish I stayed longer – you see, that was the last time I ever saw my friend.

In the last week of this March 2012, I received a message from one of the friends who joined us for dinner that night, telling me that Braydon had passed away. He had a rare form of leukemia, and had gone to a hospital abroad for surgery, and passed away.

He was 26. He just had his birthday not more than month previous. I watched as his mother, father and older brother had to bury him. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Ever.

My friend was an integral part to the story, helping me, and although we did grow apart and lose some of our friendship, this was as much his story as it was mine. He let me go to his house and play with his replica guns (to understand weapons better), we skipped prom together and went cosmic bowling instead; I will always remember him for buying me this ridiculous mechanical Norbert for my 18th birthday and designing me this awesome Snape/Harry/Hermione PoA birthday card. For dressing up and skipping class to see the first showing of Prisoner of Azkaban when it came out.

As such, I cannot continue writing BSI. Maybe one day, when things are settled down and his passing isn't too raw, I might continue. I might not; I'm not really sure. As things stand now, I can't write anything else for this story. For those who asked, wondering when it would ever be updated: now you know it won't be.

What I do have here for you, are six scenes I wrote around quotes from movies – Snatch and Indiana Jones, to be particular. I hope you enjoy this last bit of Baker Street Irregulars, and do your best to maintain your friendships. Although it is a two-way street where both are responsible to keep a friendship alive, don't leave your friends on a sour note; don't regret a moment you spend with them. You never know when it might be your last.

SCENE ONE: "'orrible cunt"

"Potter!" sneered Voldemort. "That insufferable whelp of a boy – brought down by the Ministry and sentenced for something he didn't do – is still alive? The boy who failed his Potions, Divination and History O.W.L.'s, the very same boy that defied me five times and lived… the very same boy that has somehow escaped Azkaban prison?"

Lucius cringed. "Well, Milord, it seemed that he had some… help."


It wasn't a question. It wasn't stated with interest. It was stated with dangerous repercussions if Voldemort didn't like the answer he was going to get. Lucius knew he shouldn't have got up that morning.

"Yes… er… apparently some… you know, the Grimoire list people, the ones on Baker Street? Well, they seemed to have invented some rather…" Lucius faltered.

"Interesting?" piped up Pettigrew from his dark corner. Voldemort absently sent a cruico in that direction; all the Death Eaters in the room heard Pettigrew's squeak of pain.

Lucius twitched. "Yes, interesting weapons."

Voldemort twirled his wand. "Like what?"

A tick had now appeared under Lucius' left eye. "Yapping dog bombs, Milord."

"Pardon me, Lucius? I'm afraid I didn't hear you quite well. I thought you said yapping dog bombs," chuckled Voldemort. When Lucius did not reply, Voldemort stopped twirling his wand, leaned forward on his throne with an elbow on his knee and demanded, "Explain. Now."

Gulping, Lucius stammered out a semi-coherent summary of the night Harry was broken out of jail. Voldemort sat through it, thinking. At the end of Lucius's story, Voldemort tapped the tip of his wand against his chin, ignoring the tiny sparks it made whenever it touched his skin.

"Draco," purred Voldemort suddenly.

Draco Malfoy stepped forward from his place beside Severus Snape and bowed deeply while asking, "My Lord?"

"Is this all true?"

"Yes, it is, Milord."

"And why didn't you let me know of it yourself, as you had been there?" asked Voldemort in the same slippery tone.

"Er… well," Draco was stumped. Why hadn't he? The truth was that it completely slipped his mind in all the other events that had followed since Harry's breakout. That man just didn't stop moving; he was the Energizer Bunny times ten. If he wasn't breaking out of jail, saving Mafia kingpin's daughters, romancing Hermione, shooting Aurors with guns, or karate-chopping Death Eaters, Draco was sure that he would've remembered something as miniscule as the Weasley's bombs. The fact that Harry could do – and did – more damage than the yapping dog bombs had eclipsed the need to tell Voldemort of the bombs. They weren't that dangerous, after all; all you had to do was listen for the yapping and create a dome-shield and you'd be safe.

"The truth, Mister Malfoy, and you might not suffer for it."

"It slipped my mind," came out of Draco's mouth.

A stunned silence remained after Draco's announcement. Even Voldemort looked a bit shocked. He was blinking steadily at the young heir, actually wondering if what he was saying was true. Now, Voldemort could just as easily perform Legilimency on young Malfoy to find out if he was lying or not, but Voldemort could just as easily tell that it was the truth. A faint tinge of pink had blossomed over the young man's cheeks, and an uncharacteristically bashful scuffing of a pointed toe proved Malfoy's worth.

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, and steeped his fingers. "Do you know what 'nemesis' means, young Malfoy?" Draco shook his head. He was a pureblood after all. "A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by a 'orrible cunt... me." Leering at Draco, Voldemort leaned forward and sneered, "should there be anything else involving Mr. Potter, you will not forget to mention it, is that clear? Or you might become my next nemesis."

Draco gulped and nodded, giving a feeble, "yes, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded, content. "Good. Now… all of you… SHOO!" Startled, his Death Eaters apparated out quickly with loud cracks, sounding like firecrackers going off, while Voldemort sat back and cackled. His Death Eaters were so easily rattled. He loved it.

SCENE TWO: "police + car"

Harry leaned against the Shelby, taking a long drag on his cigarette before exhaling in tiny puffs.

"You'll kill yourself doing that, Harry," remarked Remus with a tiny smirk on his lips. The older man was also leaning against the Shelby's side, his arms crossed as he tried to keep warm in the unusually frigid night. He rubbed the arms quickly to generate heat and exhaled loudly.

"I can't die by these buggers anyway, Remus, you know that," grinned Harry. "Besides, I like the rush they give me. Same feeling as fighting Death Eaters, you know? Instant gratification."


"It's true."

"I didn't say it wasn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

Harry paused. "I really don't want to get into a 'yes-no' argument, that's so year two," replied the young man, flicking the end of the cigarette this time. Harry glanced around the deserted alleyway, sighing. "When's Avery supposed to show up?"

"Any minute now."

"You sure 'bout that?" asked Harry. "Coz I remember you saying that about ten minutes ago."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Harry," finished Remus warningly. He glared at his younger companion and sighed. "I can't stay mad at you."

"Because I'm so lovable?" asked Harry cheekily.

"No, because you're so damn hateable."

"That isn't a word."

"It is now, and I was once your Professor, so my word is God."

"Fuck, Remus," exclaimed Harry, tossing his now burned up cigarette on the floor, and smashing it with his heel. "That's bloody monopoly right there. You don't have that right."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

Both men fell silent. Finally, Harry crossed his arms and ankles and shivered. "Can you believe Avery has a thing for cocaine?"


Harry frowned. "Well, I do. I mean, to be a Death Eater, you've got to be on crack anyway – just look at Snape and Malfoy! Snape spends all day inhaling those fumes, it's like sniffing gas or somethin' and Malfoy – wooee! He's already crazy just by dating Ginny and flaunting it in front of Ron. You've got to be on drugs to do that. I would not, personally, want to get on Ron's bad side."

"Why not?"

"That boy has a wicked mean right hook."



"Would never've thought it," replied Remus thoughtfully. "How do you think he learned it?"

"How do you think he didn't with five older brothers, three of them boxier than he is?" retorted Harry. A crack from behind the two made them spin, with Harry fingering his Desert Eagle tucked into his waistband behind his back.

"Hello," said a nervous Avery. He had ditched his Death Eater robes from the meeting earlier that night, and was now wearing a faded tweed yellow-and-black business suit with navy tie. "I heard that you two gents were selling something?"

"Password?" asked Remus, but Harry could tell this was slightly amusing to him with the upturned corners of his eyes and lips. "Mary had a little lamb…"

Avery licked his lips, his eyes darting everywhere, and quickly replied, "with fleece as white as snow," and finishing with a sneer at the silly Muggle rhyme.

"Jolly good," exclaimed Remus, clapping his hands once. He flicked his hand out as a white package slid out from his cuffs and fell into his hand. "I believe this is what you wanted?"

"Yes, give it to me!" Avery cried like a petulant child. "Now!"

"Ah-ah," Harry said, stepping into the conversation and light. "Not before you give us some information.

"Potter!" gasped the Death Eater, taking an involuntary step backwards, before drawing his wand. "The Dark Lord would reward me greatly from bringing in your body."

"Yes, I suppose he would," agreed Harry. "But that would only be if you could kill me. Or catch me. Or anything like that. But since I was the one who set up this meeting, and have what you want, means we play by my rules. Right, Avery?"

The wand tip wavered. "I don't think so, Potter."

"Put the wand down, Avery, we just want to talk," Remus pleaded, trying to intervene.

"Stay out of this…" the man squinted, before gapping as he recognized Harry's companion. "Werewolf!"

Remus sighed and turned away slightly to stand against the car again. "I did try to warn him," he muttered under his breath.

Avery ignored Remus and turned back to Harry, a curse forming on his lips. "Avada Ke –"

"Reducto," lazily replied Harry, waving his hand in some sort of circular, wave motion.

Avery went flying backward, hitting the brick wall behind him at the end of the alleyway with sickening crunch.

"Well done, Harry, kill the person we were planning on torturing for information instead of making him feel like he was in agonizing pain. That's what, the second in three days?" smarted Remus, harrumphing as he rolled his eyes.

"It was an accident, didn't you see? I didn't even put force into that!" argued Harry.

"Well, we can argue about it later, let's get rid of the body," sighed Remus, pulling his wand out and murmuring a "Mobilicorpus," making Avery's body float toward them.

"Now what?" asked Harry, as Avery's body hovered between the two.

"How about we stick him in the boot and toss him into the Thames?" suggested Remus calmly, as if this were an every day occurrence.

Harry shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

Together they hefted and heaved Avery's body into the Shelby's boot, making the end of the end sink slightly. They had just closed it and had scourgified the wall where Avery's blood from his cracked skull had begun to dry when a cough made the two look up.

Standing in front of their car was a police officer, not looking too pleased to find them. "So, what you doin' here?" he asked.

Harry frowned. He looked around the deserted alleyway, just as a shaggy haired, oversized black puppy bounded out from behind two rubbish bins. "I'm taking the dog for a walk. What's the problem?"

The policeman frowned back. "At this time of the night? And here?" he paused and looked at the car. "What's in the car?"

Harry blinked. "Why, seats and a steering wheel, o' course."

The policeman sighed as Remus nodded beside Harry. "All right then. Don't make too much noise, you hear? This is a respectable neighborhood."

Harry grinned, shook the policeman's hand, and turned to Remus. "Get the dog, Remus."

"What?" the older man asked, clearly stunned.

Harry stared back. "Get the dog."

Remus blinked. "Oh. Right," he glanced up at the policeman and turned to see the puppy lying on its back with its dog hanging out by the side of its mouth. "Um… c'mere Snuffles. Here, Snuffles." Remus lunged for the dog that yipped and bounded up, licking his cheek before dashing off to the other side of the car.

Harry laughed. "He loves that dog!" he told the policeman who just gave a hesitant half-smile and widening of the eyes.

Remus was now crouching by the tire, looking at the dog. "Come on, Snuffles, be a good boy if you want your doggy treat…"

"Remus! Stop playing with the dog, get him here!" laughed Harry.

"Does it look like I'm not bloody trying to do that?" snapped Remus in an unusual moment of loss of composure.

SCENE THREE: "Bullet Dodger"

Snape sighed. He always hated the tension that ran high before a Death Eater meeting. Lucius would be crowing about some certain girl he'd raped the night before, or MacNair would be sharpening his blades and sending wicked looks at Bellatrix (which was very disgusting, thankyouverymuch).

"Does anyone know why we were called to this meeting?" asked Draco in a very bored tone. The pre-meeting room, a dank, torch-lit chamber with a few old chairs and a broken table, had gone utterly silent. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"I think it's about Potter," piped up a junior initiate from a dark corner. A thoughtful "hum" escaped from many of the Death Eaters' lips, but Peter Pettigrew gave a frightful squeak.

"Harry Potter? As in, the Boy-Who-Lived?" clarified Snape. Nods were his reply.

"Why do they call him the Boy-Who-Lived, anyway?" asked Pettigrew bravely in his tiny voice.

Snape sighed, rolled his eyes to the Heavens, and replied in a suffered voice, "'Cause he lives, Pettigrew."

SCENE FOUR: "Cups of tea"

"So, it's settled then?" asked Harry to the large group of people who had joined him in tracing the Holy Grail's path to its final destination. Hermione was almost completely ignoring him (not that he minded, he'd just tease her later that night), reading over ancient texts; Ron was studying the layout map of the old fortified castle that they believed to be King Arthur's Camelot.

"Yeah, we're good," replied Fred. Or maybe it was George. No, most definitely Fred, Angelina had just pinched his bum.

"Excellent, so, we'll just pack our stuff in and head out within the next ten minutes—"

"This is going to be a battle, you know," interrupted Ginny suddenly. "With the Death Eaters on the far side of the mountain and the Order in the Valley and the Ministry just hours behind them… well, we're not going in there with pitchforks, are we?"

"Of course not!" replied Harry hotly. "I don't look crazy, do I?"


"That was a rhetorical question, you know," he pouted. "Anyway, if that's the case, I'll only take a few of you in – too many and we'd be like a herd of elephants going to a watering hole."

"True enough," likened Luna. "Or maybe like a flock of Nargles attacking someone under mistletoe."

"Er…" Harry trailed off. "Right. Sure. Um, Hermione, Ron, Remus, I want you lot with me. Neville, take Ginny, Draco and Luna in on the far side and see if you can hold anyone coming off… use anything you've got."

Nods and affirmations were given and everyone began leaving the tent, looking for something to do, or to ready themselves for the upcoming search of the castle – except Remus. He had walked over to the kettle with a mug in his hand and a box full of Earl Gray.

"Remus, aren't you coming?" asked Ron.

Remus looked up from pouring water into his mug, and replied tartly, "The entire British Empire was built on cups of tea, and if you think I'm going to war without one, Ron, you're mistaken."

SCENE FIVE: "They're trying to kill us."

"Come on!" shouted Harry, beckoning his hand to Remus who was just a few short steps behind him. They weaved and ducked behind sand dunes and clay buildings. Remus had his hand on his Montecristi Panama hat, holding it down and making sure it wouldn't fly away.

A bullet whizzed by the two.

A second later, two rapid Avada Kedavra green lights shot by, missing both men by millimeters.

"They're trying to kill us!" exclaimed Remus in wonderment, glancing over his shoulder at the large contingent of Arabian, horseback-ridden assassins that were chasing after them.

"I know, Remus."

Remus looked befuddled. "This is a new experience for me." He may have looked befuddled, but inside, he was slightly amused at the whole situation.

Suddenly the two turned a corner and were out of the old city maze; the Shelby was gleaming in the sunlight on a cracked and bumpy tarmac. The two jumped into the car, burning their hands and any bare body on the hot leather seats.

Harry started the engine and listened as a car purred to a start. He then slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the cars' back wheels locked before spinning out and causing the car to dart forward quickly.

Harry sighed, his hands clenching the steering wheel tightly as bullets continued to pass them and make dings on the car. "It happens to me all the time."

SCENE SIX: "You remember Harry Potter… kill him."

Harry was cursing his bad luck. He had, inadvertently, landed in the middle of a Death Eater meeting, holding the majority of the Death Eaters and Voldemort, who looked temporarily surprised at Harry's sudden arrival; his thin, lipless face then twisted in a gruesome mirror of a smile.

"Well, well, Potter. This is a welcomed surprised – a surprise, and I hate surprises – but this one is welcomed," the evil git said.

"I'll say it wasn't planned," replied Harry wryly. "Now, if you'd be as so kind so that I can go home…"

"I don't think so," answered Voldemort, cackling slightly. Turning his gaze from Harry to his Death Eaters, Voldemort grinned. He then said, "Gents, you all remember Harry Potter, our Boy-Who-Lived. Kill him."

Harry sighed. It was going to be another of those nights, he could tell.