7

Chapter 6

Harry woke abruptly when he heard the quiet click of the door opening. He kept himself relaxed, his breathing regulated to mimic the slow and deep rhythms of somnolence. Tracking his target, he waited until they were leaning over and reaching to touch him, before his arms snapped out, one grabbing the targets wrist and twisting it into a painful lock, the other holding a very sharp blade to their throat. His eyes were still firmly shut.

There was a muffled snort of amusement from the doorway, and Harry took a moment to remember where he was. Opening his eyes, he stared coldly into the startled and wary face of Marcel. His gaze flicked to the doorway. Bradshaw had a hand lightly covering his mouth to muffle his chuckles. It wasn't particularly effective.

"I'd recommend against doing that again, Healer Blanca." Harry's voice was calm, but with an edge of menace that was impossible to ignore.

Marcel cleared his throat nervously. "I thought I asked you to call me Marcel?"

Harry released him and sat up painfully, pulling on his shoes and walking out into the office. "You did, and I will do so; unless you do something stupid."

The handsome Italian pouted childishly at Harry's back. "But that just makes me cranky!"

Harry quirked an eyebrow, but the expression was lost on its target since Harry was too busy sizing up the two new gentlemen sitting in the office. "You piss me off, I piss you off. Fair trade, I'd say."

He decided to test the men before him, and flashed them a cheeky grin and jumped up to perch himself on the edge of Bradshaw's desk, kicking his legs idly. "Hi!" He chirped with a little wave.

Bradshaw hid a smile by burying his nose in his latest bucket of coffee and moving to sit behind his desk.

Watching with interest, Harry observed the two men looking him over. Alexander Charleston was thin and upright, his toffee brown hair grown out from its former military cut and into soft waves that were neatly combed in a sweep across his head. If it hadn't been so thick and lustrous it could have be described as a comb over. It was an odd style, but seemed oddly appropriate on the formal man. His light caramel eyes were reserved, giving away nothing as they swept over Harry's shabby form. Nodding politely, his almost girlish lips curved into a gentle smile. Harry noted that he carried at least six concealed weapons, and had been eating a pastry while attending to his correspondence before attending this meeting. Harry didn't return the smile, merely giving him a final once over and switching his emerald gaze to the hulking Russian.

Sergei Petrikov was another matter entirely. Harry couldn't see any weapons on him, but didn't doubt for a second that he was armed to the teeth. The man was huge and muscled, ash blond hair cropped close to his head and startling bottle green eyes trained unerringly on Harry, cataloguing every detail. He sat so still that it was difficult not to overlook him, despite his massive bulk. His face was impassive, but there was something in his eyes that told Harry that he knew exactly who Harry was and didn't care in the slightest. Harry scanned him closely, and was amused to discover that he couldn't read anything from the man's appearance that he didn't already know from reading his file.

Harry was impressed.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming, and agreeing to the secrecy vow. I'd like to introduce you to your employer." Bradshaw gestured to each of the men as he introduced them. "Sergei Petrikov, Alexander Charleston, this is… Actually, how did you want me to introduce you?" He frowned, disliking being caught so off balance. The kid had too many aliases.

Harry quirked a small smile, dropping down off the desk. "Vahan, but you may know me as Harry Potter. Mr Bradshaw, to anyone else just refer to me as Vahan's boy. I prefer to avoid being named where possible."

The square jawed Russian didn't even bat an eyelid, but Charleston couldn't stop the slight widening of his eyes. They'd both seen the crime scene photos from when Vahan had rescued Bradshaw's family, and the British man was horrified that such a small child was behind it, especially since Bradshaw had confirmed he'd done it himself, and alone. He'd neglected to mention that the infamous Vahan was just a boy.

Snorting slightly in amusement, Harry folded his arms and rested back against the desk, one foot crossed over the other. He waited patiently for one of them to say something.

The seconds began to stretch into minutes.

Bradshaw coughed, breaking the tension. "Mr Potter here has a rather pressing need for your services. I recommended you both because you are the best, and there is no one else that I would trust more for this job."

Petrikov finally moved, but only to roll his eyes. "Flattery is unnecessary Marcus. We have already accepted the contract." His accent was thick and harsh, but excellent training and years of practice had softened it enough to be easily understood. "You want us to train you, boy?"

Harry's eyes darkened and his magic swirled around him, dropping the air to frigid temperatures. "Do not call me boy. Not ever. Do you understand?" His voice was almost as cold as the air surrounding them, and Marcel and Bradshaw shivered in barely concealed fear. The boy was so tiny that at times it was difficult to remember how dangerous he could be.

Petrikov barked out a shout of laughter. "Oh, kid, we're going to get along well, I think. Rein it in, Boss; you've made your point!"

Harry relaxed with a faint smirk, his magic settling.

Charleston took the lead, standing and offering his hand to his diminutive employer. "I think this will be an interesting endeavour, Mr Potter. I, for one, am looking forward to working with you."

Harry shook his hand, then stepped back, keeping himself out of arms reach of the tall men. He turned to his amused lawyer. "Mr Bradshaw, are the papers and file completed?"

Bradshaw nodded, putting his now frozen solid cup of coffee aside with a mournful look. "Yes. All we need now is to get your guardians to sign it, and you will officially have adopted yourself." He paused slightly, still amused by the idea. "Sally has set up your apartment, and Sergei has kindly obliviated the knowledge from her mind. I dislike doing that to her, but I assumed you would rather keep your locations as secret as possible."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Thank you. Do you have a particular plan in mind for dealing with my relatives? If my theories regarding Dumbledore are correct, then it's likely that, at some point, he will come looking for me, and his first stop will be their house. I remember reading about something called Legilimancy, and I'd be very surprised if he isn't capable of it. I'd be even more surprised if he doesn't use it on them to find what happened to me. If he does, I'd rather he not be able to recognise any of my associates; that could make things difficult in the future."

Bradshaw smiled. "Not a problem. Sergei and Alex are excellent at glamour charms. I thought that having the three of us disguised and offering to take you off their hands would work. You said they are unlikely to fight it."

Harry thought for a moment, while Bradshaw placated Marcel who wanted to come along. "I have another idea."

Bradshaw looked at Harry in consternation. "Should I be worrying?"

Harry cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Not as long as I keep paying you."

Harry adopted his typical "Dursley slave" persona as he and his entourage stood on the front step and rang the doorbell. He could feel the adults eyeing him surreptitiously but ignored it, focusing on playing his part.

The men had been disguised with a combination of glamours and obscuration charms, resulting in a perfectly ordinary appearance that was very difficult to recall once you looked away. Harry was thrilled at the potential, and demanded with childlike enthusiasm to be taught how to do it as soon as could be arranged, to his employee's amusement. It was the first sign of him acting his age that any of them had witnessed.

Marcel sighed in affected boredom and examined his nails. His limp and balding fair hair flopped listlessly into a face completely unlike his own. His normally well sculpted and pleasing features were now pasty with slight jowls, a nose that turned up at the end and was too small for his face, and to his absolute disgust, Petrikov had taken great delight in giving the vain man enough paunch to strain the buttons across his stomach.

The fuming healer was contemplating retaliatory pranks, trying to work out something that wouldn't have him residing prematurely in a casket. Or a shallow grave in the woods somewhere. He was also itching to get out of this horribly uniform suburb. Everything was cookie cutter perfect, and he could see some of the neighbours' curtains twitching as the nosy old biddies sniffed out the latest gossip. His spine crawled in distaste. Even his cheerful and somewhat chaotic personality was feeling the pressure to conform.

Sergei and Alex had decided on a disguise they'd used in the past; two massive identical men in well tailored suits, with skin as black as tar and unearthly pale blue eyes. It had been modelled off a movie they'd seen once upon a drunken evening, the two men tickled by the idea of the "Secret Service" members that all seemed to look alike. Having worked together many times, they had no problem syncing their movements to give the impression of being genuine twins, and combined with their intimidating appearance, they usually found that trouble took one look and decided to go bother someone else for a change.

Sergei had no need to change his height, but Alex found his new altitude of six foot five to be rather a change from his usual five foot eleven, and couldn't wait to remove the irritation. The men looked down at Harry's hunched shoulders, and were startled to realise that the boy barely reached their waist. In the hour they'd spent getting to know their new boss while preparing for this job, he'd always seemed so much bigger.

Both men felt a surge of protectiveness. Alex wasn't particularly disturbed, he'd always been fond of children, but for Sergei it was entirely unexpected and new. In his line of work it was foolish to make emotional connections, especially since someone could always come along and pay a better price to dispose of a former employer or colleague. The small boy practically shivering in front of them though, he was different. Tough. Determined. Smart. Sergei wondered if he might have just found his protégé. It would be interesting to see if the boy had what it took.

Bradshaw had gone for only slight alterations, relying primarily on the obscuration charms and a little muggle makeup and theatrical prosthetics. He had an odd genetic quirk that occasionally popped up in squibs; where any magic performed directly on him tended to make him ill, and the more was cast on him, the worse he got. Thankfully he was a dab hand at applying the makeup and prosthetics; apparently it wasn't uncommon for him to need to disguise himself to attend to a client's needs. He'd need to remove the obscuration as quickly as possible though, before it became too much for his body to handle. As it was, he'd probably be out of commission for a couple of days.

The door opened to reveal Petunia, and Harry had to fight the urge to cringe back into the men behind him. He knew that he was perfectly capable of killing the Dursleys if need be, and would feel no remorse if he did so, but years of abuse and trained behaviour was difficult to overcome, even for him. Besides, they could be useful at some point.

"Can I help you?" Petunia simpered, clutching the door in her bony hand.

"Good evening Mrs Dursley, we apologise for interrupting your dinner, but my employer has a business proposition for you and your husband. May we come in?" Bradshaw requested politely, while placing a possessive hand on Harry's hunched shoulder.

Petunia's eyes flicked down to her cowering nephew, before stepping back to allow the men inside the house. Directing them into the living room, she quickly summoned her husband, and sent Harry to the kitchen to prepare a tray of refreshments. Sitting down next to Vernon, she primly rested her hands in her lap, and her abnormally long neck stretched to its limit in a way that she probably thought looked elegant.

"So, what can I do for you gentlemen? You mentioned a business proposition?" Vernon huffed, his jowls creasing disturbingly as he tried to smile charmingly. "What did you have in mind?"

Bradshaw sipped his tea, mentally cringing at the cheap blend and tacky crockery. Glancing around, he amended his thoughts to include the entire decor in the tacky category. He noted Vahan standing quietly in the corner, waiting to leap into service. The idea unsettled him; the boy was a natural leader, seeing him cringing in the corner like a broken puppy was just wrong. Setting the garish cup on the equally eye melting saucer, he leaned back confidently.

"My employer," he gestured deferentially to the bored looking Marcel, "recently encountered your nephew. Being a gentleman of discerning taste, he was rather pleased to discover the boy's skills." He paused, taking another sip of the vaguely tea like substance in his cup. "Out of curiosity, were you the one who taught the lad?" Bradshaw adopted an innocently enquiring expression. He knew very well that the land whale in front of him hadn't touched Harry in that manner, or at least he hoped he hadn't, but if the man was as stupid as he appeared then he may just get additional ammunition for the file. Marcus Bradshaw was not a man known for half measures, and since Vahan wanted his relatives destroyed, he would pin as much as possible to the adipose mountain in front of him.

Vernon puffed up proudly, not entirely certain what the other man had said, but certain it was a compliment. "Taught the boy everything he knows. Needs strong guidance, that one, not like my Dudley, but with proper discipline you can get him to do whatever task you want done. When my Petunia and I took him in, out of the goodness of our hearts, we promised ourselves we'd raise him right; try to make him a useful member of society. The boy is a bit too much like his good for nothing parents unfortunately, but we do our best to teach him what he needs to know, and how to treat his betters." He nodded firmly, taking Petunias hand.

Bradshaw smiled toothily. "And you've done an excellent job, Mr Dursley. My employer was so impressed with your nephews' skills, in fact, that he wishes to extend you an offer. He will pay you £5000 to take the boy off your hands."

Petunia gasped slightly, glancing at her husband and clutching his hand. Vernon's piggy eyes narrowed greedily. "Is that so? And why would he want the brat?"

Bradshaw casually crossed his legs, casting a quick glance at the bored looking Marcel, who was staring disinterestedly around the room and pretending not to be listening. "My employer is something of a… collector. He's taken a shine to the lad."

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other and shared a silent conversation. Finally nodding, they turned back to their guests. "Fine, you've got yourself a deal."

Pulling the papers from his briefcase, Bradshaw quickly walked the Dursleys through the signing, before whisking the papers away and back out of sight. Alex pulled a second briefcase out of seemingly nowhere, opening it to reveal the cash inside and placing it on the coffee table.

Vernon quickly snapped the case closed and pulled it closer to himself with a grin. Turning to Harry, he barked. "Boy! Go get your things!"

The older men watched as Harry scurried obediently to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out a ragged blanket, a threadbare set of pyjamas and a broken toy soldier.

The smouldering anger that had been building the longer they stayed in the presence of the disgusting muggles flared into a burning hatred when they caught sight of the thin folded blanket that served as a mattress, and the bucket tucked into the tiny space that clearly served as a latrine. Each man silently swore to do everything in their power to protect the damaged child that had employed them. If they had anything to say about it, Vahan would never again want for anything in their power to provide. That he was their employer was irrelevant.

"He's all yours, gentlemen. Pleasure doing business with you!" Vernon smiled cheerfully as he showed the men and his former ward to the door.

Hearing the door click shut behind them, Harry straightened and rolled his neck to work out some of the tension. "Well, that went well, though it's a pity he didn't haggle. That would have been fun later," he murmured, his mind already turning to the next task on his list.

Bradshaw chuckled. "It went better than that. The idiot didn't even read the papers before he signed them. He just sold you his house as well!"

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore sat in the Great Hall and chewed another bite of roast beef, unaware that his major chess piece had not only escaped the game, but stolen the board in the process.

In the Headmasters office, the trapped phoenix trilled mournfully, and shifted on his perch. Spying the small device his captor had set to monitor the wards at the home of the child Fawkes had once saved, he saw it building up to scream a warning as the wards fell. Feeling carefully along the bond he had forged with the boy he had given his freedom to save that night eight years ago, he sensed that for the first time since his parents had died, the child was safe and content. Four energies that radiated protectiveness and furious determination surrounded him, and despite the darkness of two of them, the phoenix knew his little Harry was in good hands.

Seeing his chance to help the boy and exact some revenge for his forced bonding, he let out a short scream, sending a short burst of power at the device, shorting it out and leaving it nothing more than an odd looking trinket that whirred occasionally and released a puff of smoke.

The Headmaster would never know why he hadn't been alerted that The-Boy-Who-Lived was gone from his assigned prison, and by the time he discovered that little fact, Harry Potter would be long gone.