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Chapter 2

Eight year old Harry sat under the tree in the school playground, watching Dudley beating a small boy. He felt a little bad for the kid, but not enough to intervene at this point. Instead, he used the opportunity to examine how Dudley moved, what moves he favoured, and where his weaknesses lay. It was a rare opportunity; usually he was the one receiving the beating at the fat bully's hands, which made accurate observation a tad difficult.

Right handed. Favours a left hook, right uppercut combo while opponent is standing. Right jab for prone victim. Prefers to have support of three or more, less likely to attack if alone. Powerful hit but slow movement. Low intelligence, collective and individual. Most effective strategy: quick strikes and fast dodging, keep him off balance. Best him in front of his gang to achieve collective dominance. Future use: muscle outsourcing, distribution, intimidation.

Harry didn't move from his place, keeping watch over the small boy and ignoring the fleshy thuds of fists impacting tenderized flesh. The kid would be scared and bruised, but it was unlikely any permanent damage would be done. Harry allowed himself to drift a little mentally, keeping only enough attention to his surroundings to let him know if the beating took a step up, or if his own position was compromised.

He'd been dreaming about Dave again last night. The older boy had been sitting with him on the walkway, just like their last conversation. The topic of conversation was different this time though, and hadn't ended in gunfire and death, which was a pleasant change.

Dream Dave had told him that it was time to start his Work. He'd had three years to prepare, and Harry was as ready as he could be to take his first steps down the path Dave had set him on.

Baby steps.

Harry shifted slightly. He was as prepared as he could be for this venture. After leaving the warehouse to return to the Dursley's, he'd stashed his bag in one of the hidey holes he'd found at Dave's direction, and had been slowly adding to it, collecting everything of use he could get his hands on. He'd trained himself as best he could in combat tactics and techniques from books and videos at the library, and had practiced the movements until they were as natural as breathing. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. All he needed now was a field test; which considering he was self-taught, he expected to be thoroughly painful.

The departure of Dudley's gang drew his attention, and he waited patiently until they were out of sight before moving towards the crying boy they had left on the ground. Crouching down out of arms reach, Harry waited patiently for the boy to notice him.

When the boy's sniffles hitched slightly, Harry tilted his head to the side, observing.

"Do you need to see the nurse?" His voice was quiet, soothing.

The boy sniffled again and nodded.

"Do you want me to help you get there?" Harry hadn't moved closer, well aware that many other children were afraid of approaching him because of Dudley's gang responding brutally to any attempts made.

The boy nodded once more, and Harry shifted forward to help the child up. The boy would have been a year or two younger, but Harry's state of permanent malnutrition had left him a similar height. Taking advantage of that, Harry slung the boy's arm over his shoulder and locked his own around the boy's waist, taking most of the weight off the boy's injured leg.

The boys slowly made their way to the nurse's office, where the older woman immediately began clucking over the injured child. When she turned to shoo Harry away, the younger boy looked up.

"Please miss, can my friend stay with me?"

Harry didn't allow his surprise to show, simply standing quietly in the corner.

The nurse was not so restrained, her eyebrows rising. As far as she was aware, the scruffy boy in the corner didn't have any friends, and the other children actively shunned him. Not that she could blame them, there was something unsettling about his cold green stare. There was nothing childlike in that gaze.

"If you want, dear. I'll be right back, I just need to get something from the other room." She bustled out, leaving the boys alone.

"I'm Daniel Andrews. Thanks for helping me."

Harry nodded slightly. "Harry Potter, and you're welcome. You might want to be careful about claiming me as a friend though. Dudley and his goons tend to target people near me."

Daniel frowned. "Why?"

"He's my cousin. I live with him and his parents, and they dislike me." Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

Daniel frowned again. "Why?"

Smiling faintly, Harry tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Don't know, it's just the way things are. For the moment at least. I'll be dealing with Dudley soon."

The younger boy looked Harry over silently for a moment. "You aren't scared of him."

Harry shook his head negatively but stayed silent.

Tilting his bruised face inquisitively, Daniel eyed him intently, as if trying to see past the oversized clothes and bad glasses to the person underneath.

"You remind me of my brother."

Harry quirked an eyebrow silently.

"You hold yourself the same, and your eyes are the same. He's really nice to people, mostly, but he's really scary if you get on his bad side."

Harry kept his expression bland and his gaze locked on Daniel.

"I reckon Dudley is going to be in for a bad time when you make your move. And I think I'd rather be on your good side. Do you want to be friends?" Daniel looked unsure of his welcome, but his pleading brown eyes and dark wavy hair reminded Harry of Dave, and he found himself smirking lightly.

"If you want. I can't promise I'll be a good one though, I've never really had a friend before."

Daniel's face lit up. "That's ok! Like my mum says, I'm sure we can muddle through."

Harry grinned, but quickly blanked his face and sank back into himself when the nurse returned with an icepack.

A few days later found Harry under the same tree, idly watching the other children playing. He acknowledged Daniel's approach with a slight twitch of his head, but otherwise didn't react as the boy flopped down next to him.

"Here." Daniel dropped a sandwich and apple in Harry's lap.

Harry frowned, watching the other boy out of the corner of his eye. "Um, thanks?"

"I thought you might be hungry. Dudley's really fat, but you're really thin, and you said your relatives didn't like you, and I've never seen you eat at school. You're probably fine, but I thought I'd bring some extra, just in case. If you don't need it, that's fine, but friends look after each other, so…" He trailed off uncomfortably, panting slightly from forcing his ramble out in a single breath.

Harry forced himself not to shift uncomfortably. "You're very observant."

Daniel grinned. "Yeah. Mum and Dad used to read me Sherlock Holmes books when I was smaller, and I got interested in the whole deductive observation and reasoning thing. I'm really smart too - gifted."

Harry mulled this over for a few moments. "Gifted? Is that like a genius or something?"

Daniel nodded, chewing his own apple. "Yeah, something like that. I'm not sure where the exact line is between the two, never bothered to look it up."

"Is that why you don't talk like a normal kid?"

Swallowing, Daniel grinned. "Probably. And I read a lot, but kid's books are boring. You're smarter than you let on too, I can tell."

Harry watched Daniel watch him for a few moments, then picked up the sandwich. "Interesting."

Harry was running. Dudley and his lackeys had started a game of Harry Hunting, and Harry was using the opportunity to get in some speed training. He hadn't dealt with Dudley yet, but he would have to do that soon, this was getting ridiculous.

His uncle had beaten him last night, and his ribs and leg were screaming in pain, but he refused to let himself falter. He'd need to find somewhere safe soon though, he couldn't keep this up for long. He jumped over a fallen garbage can, frantically thinking of where he could hide long enough to escape and rest. A tight squeezing feeling wrapped itself around him, crushing the air from his lungs, before releasing just as quickly as it appeared.

Harry stumbled and blinked in surprise. How the hell did he get on the roof?

Shaking off that thought for the moment, and focusing on the more pressing issue, Harry crouched, peering cautiously over the edge and down at Dudley and his gang. Their angry shouts at his disappearance brought a smirk to his face, and he absently noted that none of them had seen how he got up here. Now if only he could figure out how he did it, and maybe do it again when he wanted to, he would have quite the handy little trick up his sleeve.

The next day, Daniel grabbed Harry as soon as they found each other at recess.

"You're a wizard!" He hissed.

Harry blinked, confused. He usually had no trouble following Daniel's somewhat scattered thought processes, but this was a bit left field, even for him.

"What?"

Daniel dragged him further away from the other children, tucking them into a quiet corner of the playground.

"I saw you Apparate yesterday! Onto the roof! It's ok, I'm one too. When you said your name was Harry Potter, I didn't know you were that Harry Potter!"

Harry frowned, confused and irritated. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Daniel peered at him for a moment before his eyes widened. "You really don't know? But, you're famous! You stopped You-Know-Who when you were just a baby!"

Harry began edging away slightly, only to be pulled back by his wrist. His eyes flashed in warning but Daniel released his arm before Harry decided to make him.

"Look, I get that you don't believe me. Come over to my place after school and I'll prove it!" Daniel's large brown eyes were pleading, and he sported something suspiciously like a pout.

Harry eyed him warily for a few moments. "Will there be cookies?"

Daniel grinned. "If there aren't, we can make some." His face fell slightly. "What about your relatives? Will they get mad?"

Harry waved dismissively. "They prefer me out of their hair. They'll use it as an excuse to punish me, but they would do that anyway."

That settled, the boys got down to the serious business of enjoying the rest of their recess.

The Andrews' house was nondescript; a standard unremarkable brick with a small lawn out the front and no garden to speak of. Harry observed it closely, but couldn't see anything unusual about it that might corroborate Daniel's story, or prove him to be a lunatic.

Daniel's mum was a tiny little witch with a wide smile and a face startlingly similar to her son's. She greeted Harry with a warm hug, a plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk.

Her sharp brown eyes swept over the small boy who had befriended her son, and reached some disturbing conclusions. The boy was clearly undernourished, neglected, and possibly physically abused too, judging by the limp he was trying to hide. She listened intently as her son explained that Harry was the Harry Potter, but he didn't know anything about magic.

"Well then, I guess we will start with the basics. You can call me Tammy or Mama Andrews."

Harry nodded politely.

"I'll go get some books, and we can go through them together, alright? Hopefully that will help explain some things."

Bustling away, she returned shortly with a small stack of books which she placed on the table.

"Alright, I think we should start with the one that has you in it."

Harry's eyes widened.

The next three hours were filled with so many surprises that Harry's mind boggled. Finding out that his parents had actually been murdered and that someone called Albus Dumbledore was responsible for putting him with the Dursley's (a simple matter of deductive reasoning that would definitely require further investigation) had him pursing his lips thoughtfully and his eyes growing marginally colder as he pondered the implications. Harry had snorted with laughter at some of the supposed 'facts' about his life. He made a mental note to find out about wizard banking and royalties for using his name. Apparently Harry Potter books and merchandise was rather prolific, and it might possibly provide another (legal) stream of income for him. He'd also been given a brief outline of the main branches of magic.

Harry's head was buzzing.

Magic was real.

Magic was really real, and he was famous.

Exhausted, Harry had gratefully accepted dinner, over which he had met Daniel's older brother Greg, and his father, Captain Nathan Andrews when they returned home from school and work respectively.

The entire family had made him feel welcome, and had informed Harry that he was welcome any time of the day or night. Captain Andrews had made the same assessment as his wife, but didn't miss that the boy already had the hard look in his eyes that Greg had developed after running away and spending a few months on the street. He silently swore that he would do whatever he could to help this kid survive.

Harry was at the Andrews', happily stuffed full of sandwiches and milk, and critically eyeing the garden beds in the backyard.

"Mama Andrews?"

The woman in question hummed distractedly in response, most of her attention focused on the tangle of wool that was resulting from her attempts to teach herself crochet.

"Your perennial beds are about ready to be prepped and planted. Would you like some help?"

Tammy looked up in confusion. "My what beds are ready for what?"

Harry blinked. "Your garden? It's ready to be weeded and prepped for the perennials. I thought you might like some help."

Tammy stared blankly for a moment. "Ok, I understood garden, and help."

Captain Andrews chuckled as he stepped outside onto the porch to join them. "Harry, for all her beauty and talent, my wife wouldn't know a Primrose from a Daffodil, let alone how to care for them. Our gardens are pretty much left to tend themselves."

Harry looked faintly horrified, triggering another laugh from the older man. "I'm guessing you're a bit of a gardener?"

Harry cleared his throat and carefully rearranged his expression to one of polite neutrality – an act that did not pass unnoticed by the adults. "I do the gardening at my relatives."

The Captain pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Do you enjoy it?"

Shrugging noncommittally, Harry shifted his gaze back to the overrun gardens for a moment, before snapping his gaze back to his scruffy shoes. "I guess." He did, but he wasn't so foolish as to let other people know that. If it got back to the Dursley's they would stop him from doing it in future.

The adults traded a loaded glance, communicating silently.

"You know, many common plants are used in potions. I've always thought it would be a good idea to grow some of my own, I just don't know enough about plants to do it. Would you be interested in doing our gardens? We can talk to your aunt and uncle and arrange for you to come around regularly. We can use the time to teach you more about the Wizarding world while we are at it. What do you think?" Tammy offered.

Harry cringed slightly when she mentioned talking to his relatives, but agreed regardless. "Sure, I can do that. But, um…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "My relatives…"

The Captain placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, ignoring the boy's flinch. "It's alright. We know you have some – issues – at home. What would be the best way to get your relatives to agree?"

Harry looked up, his expression wary. His green eyes roved searchingly over the Captains face, taking in every detail and assessing the man's honesty. Finding nothing alarming, Harry pondered for a moment.

Dave's voice rang in his mind, advising him as always. You can't rely on anyone but yourself, and you'd be foolish to trust anyone else either. Everyone wants something. But sometimes, your wants and theirs will match up, and if you're lucky, the price of getting it is something you're willing to pay.

Aside from Daniel, who wanted someone to protect him from bullies, Harry didn't know what the Andrews family wanted from him. But he needed more knowledge about the Wizarding world, and doing some gardening in exchange was a small price to pay for it. He realised that he wasn't going to find out their end game without playing in the short term, so he made his decision.

"You heard my reputation as a juvenile delinquent, and thought you'd do your civic duty by teaching me the value of hard work; straighten me out, military style. If they don't go for that, you may need to offer to pay them for my labour." Harry's face was cold, but he shrugged, his eyes straying back to the plant beds. He really did enjoy gardening.

Captain Andrews nodded. "Play the hardarse, got it."

Harry smirked slightly at the phrasing, casting a sideways glance up at the genial man. He hoped he was there to see that little performance.

Three weeks of backbreaking labour over afternoons and weekends, and Harry was finished with the gardens. He carefully washed his hands and made sure he was clean enough to enter the house, idling flipping through his mental list of places he could set up his drug lab. He really did need to get a move on with his business.

It bothered him that he had yet to work out what the Andrews wanted, too. They had been as friendly and caring as ever, stuffing him with good food at every opportunity, and teaching him as much as they could about magic and the Wizarding world. He wasn't allowed to cast spells of course, but they had covered the basic theory behind the different branches of magic, as well as discussed the society in general.

Harry thought some of the society stuff was archaic, but dutifully stored it away in his mind. Apparently he would be going to a school called Hogwarts when he turned eleven, and so all of these details would become relevant once he entered that world.

His fame was a matter of interest as well. Harry and Mama Andrews had spent an entire afternoon talking about it, discussing what it would mean for him when he started school, and people's expectations of him as their child hero. They had also discussed his family, and the inherited responsibly that came with being a Potter. Apparently great stock was put in one's blood purity, a fact that made Harry wrinkle his nose in disgust.

The Potter line was considered Pureblood, and until his father had married his mother, a Muggleborn, they had been ridiculously proud of the fact, though they weren't as prejudiced as some of the other old families.

Mama Andrews had gone out of her way to get more information for him, buying some books on things specific to whatever caught his interest. He was particularly keen on the "Official" biography of his life. His fascination had less to do with the completely absurd content, and everything to do with the pictures scattered throughout it. There was a picture of his parents, and he found himself a little choked up, particularly at the picture of his mother.

Wavy red hair, peaches and cream skin, and sparkling green eyes that matched his own. Aside from the eyes, she could have been an older version of Sally. His chest ached at the thought of the shy girl who had sneaked him stolen chocolates and sat quietly with him when he couldn't sleep from the pain after a nights work.

He also diligently worked through books on society and etiquette, and made a point of learning what he could about the most prominent families he was likely to encounter when he started school. It would be foolish to go into such a political situation without knowing who the major players were.

Do your research, know your territory. If you can possibly avoid it, never go into a situation blind; it will get you killed.

He also developed an interest in potions, seeing the immediate potential for expanding his future drug options into the Wizarding world. He realised that supplying potions into the muggle world would bring down the Aurors onto him in short order, but that didn't mean he couldn't provide them in the Wizarding world. And he could move the muggle drugs in both worlds. He could practically hear the money rolling in already.

Greg had spent some time helping Harry with the heavy lifting in the garden, and the two had become friendly over dirty hands and aching blisters. The older boy had quietly confided about his time on the streets – information Harry had absorbed silently – and offered a non-judgemental ear if Harry ever needed it. A few subtle questions and apparently absent minded comments, and Harry had ascertained that Greg still had a few of his street contacts, and would do the occasional low level job for them to earn some extra cash. The boy was no leader, but he was loyal and canny, and Harry decided that he was just the sort of person he needed to start moving his product.

Two months had passed with the Andrews making excuses to keep Harry at their house as often as possible. The Dursley's were thrilled at the idea that he was being worked to the bone, and happy with the small amount of compensation the Captain provided them.

Harry decided it was time to enact his plan. He was a ready as he would ever be, so he didn't bother going home that night. He ate dinner with the Andrews as usual before making his excuses – explaining that he couldn't come over on the weekend because his relatives wanted him home – then headed out into the night. It wasn't true of course, but he knew the Dursley's wouldn't look for him.

He'd carefully selected a building for his lab, and had set it up with everything he'd need, plus a bit besides. All he needed now was ephedrine. Carefully approaching the fence at the pharmaceutical warehouse he'd been scoping out for weeks, he slipped inside, avoiding the security cameras and guards.

Harry decided he was fortunate to have such a good memory. While he was living with Mike and Dave it had been a mixed blessing, but now he was putting what he learned to good use.

Use every advantage to achieve your goals, but never trust a person you've blackmailed.

Harry settled himself into the dark corner of the Head of Security's office. He'd already planted the small camera and microphone in the bookshelf, and was now just waiting for his quarry. He used the time to get into character, making himself seem small and vulnerable, shaking from fear. It couldn't be further from the truth of course, but he could have been a professional actor by this stage.

When Harry had spotted the Head of Security and matched the face to one of his former regular clients, he'd nearly cackled at the beautiful coincidence of it. The tall man had softened around the middle to the point that his belly was beginning to hang over his belt and strained the buttons on his shirt. He was sickly pale with a yellow tinge to his skin, and his receding sandy blonde hair feathered over his brow in a way that Harry thought was supposed to look rakish but really just looked like he needed a haircut. His watery grey eyes darted constantly, slightly glazed. Harry was amused when he realised that the man had probably bought more than time with the kids from Mike. Eyeing the ostentatious name plaque – Matthew Peterson – and the overly poncy office, Harry decided that his plan couldn't happen to a more deserving guy.

The man himself returned from his dinner break, keeping to his usual routine of using his Friday evening to catch up on paperwork and killing time before heading to the streets where the kids worked. Harry waited until he was settled at his desk, immersed in his work, before sniffling slightly and shuffling his feet.

Peterson's head shot up, and he zeroed in on the tiny form cringing in the corner.

"Well now, who might you be?" He crooned, moving to crouch in front of the small boy.

Harry looked back with his eyes huge, sniffling again. "T-tiny, sir."

Peterson smiled slightly. "And what are you doing in here, Tiny?"

Harry cringed further into the corner. "H-hiding, sir. I-I was being chased, and I crawled through the fence, a-and then I saw the guards, but the boys chasing me were still there, so I-I hid, and please, please don't tell anyone I'm here!" Harry called forth a few tears, making his large green eyes glisten. Peterson had always liked seeing them shine.

Peterson smiled. "How old are you, Tiny?"

"S-six, sir."

Peterson's smile took a predatory edge. "Well now, Tiny, we have a bit of a problem. See, this is a restricted area, which means you need permission to be in here. And you, you don't have permission." He coaxed Harry out with a hand on his shoulder, steering him into the chair in front of his desk. "So, I'm going to have to turn you in, you understand? You'll be in a lot of trouble for being here."

Harry trembled. "No! Please, no! I'll do anything, don't turn me in, please!" Harry allowed an edge of hysteria to creep into his voice. He twitched a hand forward slightly, before dropping it back into his lap and letting his shoulders droop. He lowered his head, eyes in his lap. "Anything," he whispered.

Peterson leaned against the front of his desk, ankles crossed and arms folded. His eyes drifted hungrily over the shaking boy in front of him. He was a bit bigger than his old favourite, but those eyes and black hair reminded him of the little boy he used to get from Mike. That one had been a real treat, remembering what he liked and doing it without any more complaints than was enjoyable. Really, he had been most upset when the boy had disappeared.

"Alright," he finally spoke. "I'll make you a deal."

Harry looked up, hope shining in his eyes.

"You do me a favour, and I'll do you one by not turning you in, sound fair? But this would be just between us, you mustn't ever tell anyone, otherwise they'll send you to prison for breaking in here."

Harry shuddered and forced a small whimper. He twitched forward again, before cringing back again. Peterson liked the desperation, he remembered. "What," he licked his lips nervously. "What do you want me to do?"

Peterson smirked, uncrossing his legs and moving into his office chair. He leaned back, eyes never leaving the small boy as he shuffled his hips toward the edge of the chair. "Come here."

Harry rose and made his trembling way into arms reach.

"Take off your clothes, and suck me like a lollypop."

Harry sighed mentally. Honestly, couldn't the instructions even be original? The man hadn't changed his script since Harry was five. Steeling himself and letting himself drift into the dissociative state he had perfected on the streets, he got to work.

It had been a long time since he had done this, and he found his body remembered the pain but had not retained the conditioning to cope with it. His jaw was aching by the time he was finally breached, and he bit his lip bloody as he felt himself tear slightly.

He whined and cried as his body was used, and he made sure to wriggle around a little and angle them so that the camera could get clear shots of both their faces; Peterson's in bliss and Harry's streaked with tears. He detested pretending to be so weak.

Whatever it takes. Play any part, use any tool.

The mental distance Harry maintained helped him ignore what was happening to him for the moment, but he knew he would have nightmares until he processed it. He had anticipated this, however, and had already stocked his safe house/lab with provisions for the weekend. He'd be in for a rough few days, but all going to plan he would be healed and sufficiently rested for school on Monday.

Harry printed out a few stills of his little assignation with Peterson from the computer he had set up at his lab. He included a letter from the mysterious but threatening Vahan, a standard blackmailing for a regular supply of ephedrine taken from the warehouse and left in a backpack at a designated location, and stuffed them into an envelope. He didn't expect Peterson to be stupid enough to go to the police, but he wore latex gloves while handing every part of it, just in case. No point taking chances after all.

Everything was in place. He'd obtained a fake identity in the name of John Smith – the most boring name he could think of – which he could use to conduct any business he wasn't old enough to do yet, the lab was set up, and he'd obtained the paperwork to set up a bank account in his fake name and to purchase the property the lab was on. He had the material on Peterson that would obtain him the ephedrine, and he'd purchased a bicycle he could use to transport it from the warehouse to the lab.

Nobody ever looks twice at a kid on a bike. If you need to move something, that's the way to do it.

A grim smile flitted across his features, and he stood. He had business to conduct.