10

Chapter 9

Harry was not pleased.

The rescue of the children had left Harry irritable and unable to sleep properly; his rest plagued with nightmares of Dave telling him that Vahan was failing his task, his normally warm eyes turned cold and unforgiving as he demanded to know how many children had been left without protection because he hadn't moved fast enough. Images of children suffering in various situations played themselves out behind his flickering eyelids, and Harry had woken with a gut wrenching sob and a completely unfamiliar feeling of desolation.

He scrubbed his face in misery, erasing the tracks from his tears. He felt sick. Never once since Dave died had he felt so distant - the memories he carried of his mentor had always given him a feeling of comfort and connection, both of which pulled painfully in their absence.

Harry pulled a pillow close, hugging it to his body and tried to still his shudders. Dave had been an exceedingly pragmatic man, and Harry had never doubted that he would have approved of Harry building up his own network before beginning the task Dave had assigned. It was only practical, after all, but the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn't go away. He lay, wallowing in his misery and trying to convince himself that Dave would have understood.

He finally dragged himself out of bed, rubbing at his scratchy eyes and trying to ignore the hideous throbbing in his head. Each time his heart beat, his vision whited out, and he had to resist the urge to cradle his tender skull and go back to bed. He desperately wanted to rest, but he had too much to do; his sense of duty a driving whip flagellating his mind until the pain of inaction overwhelmed all other sensations.

Pulling his clothes on with slow formality, Harry turned his mind to his plans for the day. Or he would have, if he could articulate any thought beyond a wordless desire for food and caffeine. He shuffled out to the kitchen, only to be greeted with a grim looking Alex and no breakfast.

"We've got a problem," Alex announced, not even waiting for his boss to make it to a seat. "Do you remember Matthew Peterson?"

Harry grunted tiredly, resting his eyes as he listened and waited for Alex to make him breakfast; or a hot drink. Something to wake him up and fill his stomach.

"He heard the cops are after Vahan, so he decided to not keep up his end of the deal. Best guess is that he figured you'd have too much else to worry about to chase down one little supplier. Bottom line, we have an order to fill, and no ephedrine available to make it. I've already tapped out my sources, and conjuring or transfiguring some will change the drugs in unpredictable ways. The bad kind of unpredictable."

Harry groaned. "One of you go and see him, and remind him of the material we have on him. Don't let him know about what we've gathered since. I don't care which of you goes, as long as the other makes me something to eat."

Alex nodded. "That's not all, Sir. Marcel sent an initial report on the Nestlings. As near as we can tell, the oldest is ten, the youngest is four. There are four boys and four girls, and all of them are going to need extensive treatment. It seems the longest any of them were there was six months though, which is a blessing."

Harry opened one eye, curious. "Nestlings?"

Alex smiled faintly. "Marcel dubbed them that, since they're living at The Nest. It stuck."

Harry nodded, amused. He wouldn't be surprised at all if Marcel decided to stay at The Nest indefinitely or even the other house – named The Haunt, since it's only occupants would essentially be ghosts once they turned eleven. Perhaps having him oversee both houses would be a good option. Harry made a mental note to think about that in more detail later; when thinking didn't make him want to drive an ice-pick into his temples for some relief.

"Alright, but you look like you're about to give me some more bad news."

"Marcel has decided to keep them all sedated until the worst of the healing is over. But he hates the people Bradshaw found to work with him."

Rubbing his eyes, Harry contemplated whether it was worth ordering the flamboyant healer to just suck it up. "You mentioned house elves. Did you find any?"

Alex winced. "I went to the ministry, but for the first time in eighteen years they had no stock." He hesitated for a moment. "The file that Gutshank sent you, did it include a list of properties? Most of the old pureblood families had house elves. If any of your properties have some, you could reassign them temporarily, perhaps? They would already be bound to you."

Harry shrugged. "Probably, but I won't have access until after I've spoken with Gutshank. I have to sign a few things first, donate some blood, that sort of thing. The appointment is later today. But first, I really want breakfast."

Alex nodded, moving to the kitchen. With a few quick waves of his wand, food and cooking implements started whizzing around, and the heavenly smells of sautéed mushrooms, scrambled egg, gourmet sausages, haloumi, and wilted baby spinach perfumed the air. Oranges squeezed themselves, and tea steeped in Harry's favourite teapot.

Harry's stomach rumbled appreciatively, even as his head protested the noise and movement. As the filled plate settled in front of him, he sighed happily and picked up his fork.

Spearing a mushroom, he eagerly raised it to his lips, when a flurry of ill-tempered feathers crash onto the table, sending the fork skidding across the tiles and under the sideboard. The plate crashed to the floor, its offerings spreading their tasty joy in all directions like a culinary Rorschach's Blot.

Scowling furiously, Harry grabbed at the owl, wrestling it into submission while skilfully avoiding its angry attempts to take a chunk out of his finger. He tugged the letter from its leg, and released the foul tempered avian with relief.

Slitting the seal, his tired eyes flicked over the cramped and jagged writing. The missive wasn't long, but its contents were enough to send an extra heavy throb through his skull.

"Oh, for fucks sake!" He rubbed his temples, trying very hard to keep his temper. "Gutshank says that Dumbledore is trying to get access to my accounts again, and it's too risky to meet today like we'd planned. So I can't get access to the vaults until everything has died down and he can set up another meeting."

Alex frowned in concern, and flicked his wand to clean up the mess of food on the floor. "If he doesn't know he's lost your guardianship by now, he will soon. I expect he'll be paying the Dursleys' a visit in the near future, and we still have no idea who has been helping hide the ward collapse. Whoever your friend is, they haven't tried to contact you, so I'm concerned about what they may want in return when the time comes, and what other information they may have on you."

Sergei strode into the room, his face even stonier than usual. "Bradshaw is in hospital. He was in a car accident last night; his wife and kid were in the car too. Wife is dead, kid is alive and unharmed, but Bradshaw is in a coma. They aren't sure when or if he'll wake up. I've already investigated, there was no foul play. It was just an accident."

Harry looked at his Russian mentor with resignation. "Given the way today is going already, I'm going to assume that isn't everything."

"Neither he nor his wife had any other family. In case of death or permanent incapacitation, he's named a Mr John Smith as guardian. Congratulations Boss, you're a daddy. Oh, and as far as I can tell, the kid is magical. Do you know who Bradshaw assigned to play Mr Smith?"

Grimacing, Harry shook his head. "If he had someone picked, he never mentioned."

The men watched as Harry stood and paced angrily for a few moments, still massaging his temple.

"Do either of you know anybody that we could trust to do it?" The boy glanced up, already knowing the likely answer, given the theme of the day.

Both men shook their heads.

"Whoever it is needs to be magical, don't they, even though Bradshaw was a squib?" Harry ran his fingers through his messy locks, tugging in frustration.

Alex nodded. "Yes. But it will need to be your magic on the forms, since yours is registered to that identity."

Harry ground his teeth in annoyance. "What about a glamour? Or an aging potion?"

Alex shook his head. "The contract will dissolve any glamours to prevent fraud, and you can't take an aging potion with the other ones Marcel has you on, unless you want to deal with some very unsightly and pungent side effects." He paused thoughtfully. "I'd suggest Captain Andrews, but he's a muggle."

Harry straightened with a sigh, rolling his shoulders to try to ease the tension crawling up his neck. "And I'd suggest Mr South since he owes me a favour or two, but he's a muggle too."

Sergei's eyes sharpened. "Mr South? The weapons dealer?"

Harry nodded warily.

"He's a squib, sort of. He has a little magic, but not enough to attend a school. It's why he never seems to age – he has the wizards life span." Sergei scratched his chin pensively. "Close cousin of the Malfoys I think, not that either of them would ever admit it. As far as I know, he hasn't had anything to do with the wizarding world since he was disowned at eleven."

Harry stared, then dug his phone out of his pocket with all his uncaffinated enthusiasm. Squinting against the light from the screen and tapping out a quick message, he waited anxiously for a response.

Mere moments later his phone chirped, and he quickly skimmed the message while downing the headache draft Sergei shoved under his nose. The pinched tightness left his face and shoulders as the potion kicked in, and he threw a grateful smile at his stoic pseudo-guardian.

"He'll see me as soon as I can arrive. Does he know either of you?" Seeing both men shake their heads, Harry quickly sent a response to advise that there would be two guests, and dropped into his chair. "After we collect the kid, we'll go stay at The Nest with Marcel and help him out however he needs it - until we can find assistants and house elves. We'll see if there is anything Marcel can do for Bradshaw, and if necessary we'll bring him to The Nest too. Nothing much we can do about Gutshank, vault access, or Dumbledore right now." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I'll still need one of you to deal with Peterson."

Alex nodded. "I'll do it. And the product order?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. "Tommy's Boys are particularly good at robbery. Use them to get the ephedrine, and frame Peterson if you can manage it. In fact, don't worry about reminding him of the blackmail; just use it. If he's tried to screw me over once, he'll do it again. I want him alive, but out of the way; may as well let the cops make themselves useful for a change. I'll make an example of him later."

He spun on his heel and stalked into his bedroom to get dressed. It was going to be a very long day, he just knew it.

Mr South looked the same as always, his black suit paired with a rosewood red silk shirt and a gunmetal silver tie that emphasised the dark silver hair swept neatly back on his head, and his guarded storm grey eyes.

Now that Harry had met the Malfoys, he could see the resemblance. Mr South was clearly older than Lucius, and if he had been disowned at eleven it was entirely possible that the two had never met, but the resemblance was uncanny. Harry briefly entertained the idea of introducing them – just for the entertainment of seeing them try to out-stoic and eyebrow raise each other.

"Mr South," Harry nodded politely, shaking the man's offered hand. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

The sharp eyed arms dealer noted his friend's tense posture and faintly irritable air, and smirked faintly as the boy's stomach rumbled.

"I'm assuming you've been too busy for breakfast?" His lips turned up the tiniest margin, but his eyes flashed with subdued mirth.

Harry flushed. "It's been a rather trying morning," he confessed.

Mr South gestured for his guards to stay behind, and guided Harry and his entourage into a private room, dominated by a modern looking powdered steel and glass table covered in a delicious looking breakfast spread.

"I haven't eaten yet either. You and your men are welcome to join me." He sat himself calmly at the head of the table, serving himself a small bowl of fruit and a cup of tea.

Harry gratefully sat next to him, leaving his men to sort out their own positions. "Thank you. This is Alexander Charleston," he nodded in Alex's direction, "and Sergei Petrikov. They know." For all that Harry trusted Mr South, he knew better than to carelessly speak of his secret. He was just fortunate that both Alex and Sergei didn't care if their real names got about – they each had more alternate identities than Harry himself. But just because Mr South could be trusted, didn't mean that anyone monitoring the security could, and it wasn't impossible that a rival or cop had managed to sneak a bug in somewhere. With Vahan being pursued so avidly by the police, it wasn't unrealistic to expect they'd tap the offices of the most prolific arms dealer in London in the hopes of picking up a lead. And if they got enough dirt on the older gentleman in the process, well, so much the better.

Mr South nodded, taking a sip of his Earl Grey and watching the small boy serve himself some eggs and bacon. "What can I do for you today?"

Harry raised a forkful of eggs, then swore and jumped as one of Mr South's personal guards burst in, brandishing a handgun.

"Sir! Exit Plan Alpha!" The man spun and fired a few shots down the hall, ducking back against the wall and reloading.

Harry glanced mournfully back at his still steaming breakfast.

Mr South stood calmly, and gestured for his guests to follow him over to the far wall, prising open a panel to tap in a code which opened a concealed doorway. He ushered them down the fluorescent lit hidden passageway, closing the door behind them.

They emerged into a large garage filled with assorted vehicles, and slid into a discrete black limousine that was idling near the door they'd exited. The driver immediately took off, gently accelerating out the door and onto a side street, smoothly whisking them away from the firefight occurring in the building behind them.

Mr South sighed and pulled out his phone, tapping out a few instructions and sending them off. Putting the phone away, he took in the expression on his young friend's face.

"Don't worry; I've been expecting that for a few weeks now, it was just unfortunate that you happened to be there at the time. Now, what did you need? Your message indicated it wasn't within our usual dealings."

Harry straightened, looking the older man in the eye. "I need you to pretend to be my father so I can sign some custody papers. Bradshaw was in a car accident last night, and he left custody of his kid to my adult identity – I have no idea why, since he knows perfectly well who and what I am."

Mr South merely blinked slowly and folded his long fingered hands elegantly in his lap, crossing his legs. "I assume there is more to this for you to be so hesitant to call in this favour."

Harry nodded lightly, jaw firm. "The child is magical, and so am I. My magical signature needs to be on those papers. I'm aware of your past, and I realise the depth of what I'm asking you to do for me."

The arms dealer froze, his eyes narrowed harshly. "Is that so?"

Harry nodded again, holding the older man's piercing gaze.

Mr South pursed his lips and cocked his head thoughtfully, his eyes never shifting from the tiny boy opposite him. "And you're calling in a favour for this?"

Harry didn't move, not needing to acknowledge the non-question.

A slow smile spread across Mr South's face, wider than had been seen in many decades. "You could do that, or we could trade."

Harry quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, shifting to mimic his opponents posture.

"I'll help you sign the papers. I'll even loan you one of my lawyers if you need one until Bradshaw either dies or recovers enough to work again."

Harry smiled coldly, not biting. "In exchange for?"

The predatory look never shifted. "I want to know who you really are. Everything. I knew you were magical, I can feel it radiating off you, and it's only gotten stronger over the years. You're not ordinary, even by wizarding standards. You, my friend, are interesting."

Harry half closed his eyes, considering. "And what would you do with this information? I know you; weapons aren't the only thing you deal in. You're also the biggest information broker in the UK."

"It's pure curiosity on my part, I assure you. You're too valuable as a contact and client to throw away by selling the information."

"And when I'm not?"

Mr South paused, smirking faintly. This was one of the reasons he liked the boy so much. He was one of the few people he could spar with. The verbal thrust and parry made the blood sing in his veins, and he had to stifle the almost giddy pleasure than ran shivers up his spine as they haggled.

"I will offer you an Unbreakable Vow to do everything in my power to protect your secrets. I'll even go so far as to let you choose the wording." There was no mistaking the hungry look in those grey eyes.

Harry felt Alex twitch very faintly next to him, and recognised the weight of what had just been offered. He hummed softly as he thought. "I'm open to negotiations," he said finally.

Mr South relaxed, content with the knowledge that the information that he had been burning to know since he'd first met the half-starved waif was within his grasp.

The car slowed to a halt, and the driver emerged to open the door; ushering the men into the safe house.

It was an average place, nothing like you would expect for a man of Mr South's wealth and standing. Generic carpet and dull wallpaper was matched with bland but comfortable furniture; a few pieces of inoffensive art decorated the walls and a few bouquets of pale flowers lightly scented the air.

Harry snorted in quiet amusement at the less subtle than usual surveillance equipment hidden in the pictures and flora. Clearly this safe house hadn't been prepped by Mr South's usual team. He chuckled. Newbies.

They were greeted by a new compliment of guards, and shown to a secure sitting room where they could continue their business.

"Would you care for something to eat? I apologise that our previous attempt was interrupted so rudely." Mr South was pouring on the charm, for all that he still looked like a hound on the hunt.

Harry shot him an amused look and nodded. "Thank you."

Settling themselves into the cushion strewn chairs, Harry pondered silently as his men cleared the room and Mr South ordered his guards to make a breakfast for them all.

When he had Mr South's attention again, Harry nodded decisively. "Let's keep this simple, shall we? I will answer all of your questions truthfully, as long as we are in a location where that information can be kept private. You vow to not reveal any information you may learn about me, my associates, or dealings without my permission. You come with me and pretend to be Mr John Smith – oh, don't look at me like that, it's a perfectly serviceable name – and distract them while I sign the papers. Sound fair?"

Mr South smiled thinly, and dipped his head into a faint nod. "Perfectly reasonable. It's a pity we couldn't haggle the details more, but I understand that you have other demands on your time right now. Would you like one of your men to act as binder?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't actually expect an Unbreakable Vow. Just your oath should be sufficient. I'll return the favour."

Chuckling, the stately man leaned back, drawing a slender ivy wand from his sleeve. He didn't miss both of Vahan's men tensing slightly. Careful to keep the wand tip pointed in non-threatening directions, he lightly drew on his sparse magic. "I vow on my life and my magic that I will not reveal the secrets entrusted to me by the person known as Vahan to anyone by any means that I am able to prevent, and will accompany him under the pretence of being Mr John Smith to collect his ward today. So mote it be."

Harry shot him an amused glance. "I notice you said nothing about using that information against me if you have the opportunity."

Mr South smirked. "Fancy that."

Shaking his head mirthfully, Harry borrowed one of Sergei's wands to make his own vow. "I vow on my life and my magic to answer the questions posed to me by Mr South regarding my identity and history up until the time this vow was made truthfully, provided such questions are asked in a place where privacy and confidentiality can be ensured. So mote it be." The boy shot the glaring arms dealer a smirk.

"That's cheating. You won't give me any updated information." Mr South found himself in the rare position of having to fight back a pout.

"Fancy that." Harry's cheerful response was almost lost in the confusion of the door falling open and the guards tumbling in, four of them landing in an undignified heap on the floor.

"Um, Sir?" One of the more agile men began hesitantly while his colleagues picked themselves up hastily. "About breakfast…" He cleared his throat and shuffled slightly.

"Yes?"

Harry watched with interest. It was fun seeing Mr South pin his irritated gaze on someone else for a change.

"Well, this safe house hasn't been used in a while, and while we gave it a check over last week like you ordered, Luke here," he nodded in the direction of a very pale and sweating man barely out of his teens, "missed that there was a problem with some of the wiring and equipment in the kitchen. So, we tried to make breakfast, but the house is now on fire and we need to evacuate." He cringed.

Harry sighed.

Harry looked around the hospital hallway, scouting entrances and exits and hiding places and potential threats. He'd been relying on his men too heavily for general security; that had to stop. He couldn't afford to let himself get soft - Dave would be disappointed if all his work went to waste just because Harry got lazy.

He quickly spotted his new ward sitting quietly in the hallway next to an open door, and was faintly impressed at how well behaved the boy was to stay put when he was obviously bored out of his skull.

"Connor?" He stopped in front of the boy, looking down at him from a height that was somewhat less than he might have desired.

Connor Bradshaw looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition.

"I know you!" He whispered, his hazel eyes darting around to check for lurking eavesdroppers. "You're the boy who saved Mum and me from the bad men!" His expression clouded slightly at the mention of his mother, but he firmed his chin and refocused on Harry. "Dad told me that if anything ever happened to him and Mum to find you, and you'd look after me." He cast a quick glance at the open door next to him, his gaze settling for the briefest moment on the machine draped shape of his father. "Are you going to look after me now?"

Harry sighed slightly and sat down next to the boy, trusting Alex and Sergei to keep watch for any overly interested parties.

"Yeah, I am, but it's a little bit complicated, so I need you to listen closely, ok?" He paused until the wide eyed boy nodded, his auburn curls stirring slightly at the motion. "I'll be looking after you, and legally responsible for you, but nobody can know that I'm Mr Smith, alright? As far as anyone else knows, Mr Smith is my adopted father. That will make you like my brother." Harry pointed discretely to the patiently waiting Mr South. "That man is a friend of mine, and he is pretending to be Mr Smith for today. So you need to pretend that you know and trust him, got it?"

Connor nodded, a serious expression on his face. "Would I have met you too?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The beaming smile he got in return was enough to cause Harry to raise an eyebrow in surprise. He could practically see the boy developing some sort of bizarre hero worship type complex, and in all honesty, he found it vaguely unnerving. Still, good practice for how he would be treated in the wizarding world, he supposed.

A discrete cough from Alex had Harry glancing up to see a harassed middle aged woman who must be the magical social worker approaching at a brisk walk.

The woman eyed them as she approached, and quickly zeroed in on Mr South. Extending a hand as she crossed the final distance, she gave a jarring couple of shakes before dropping his hand. "Mr Smith? Right, I'm Tamara Burns, thanks for coming so fast. I'm sure you understand the delicate nature of this case, so how about we take it somewhere less public?" Without pause, she turned on her heel and strode away, expecting the men and children to follow along like ducklings in her wake.

Mr South shot a faintly disgruntled look at Harry which earned him nothing more than an innocent grin, then took both boys hands and towed them gently after the officious woman.

The room she had selected was only down the hall and around the corner, but it was so tiny that it barely classed as more than a broom closet, and certainly couldn't fit Alex and Sergei in with the rest of the party. Both men did a quick scan of the room, then assumed position at the door, pouting slightly that they wouldn't get to see how their boss pulled off this latest sleight of hand. A pity too, since they'd made a wager about what method he would use.

Settling herself to one side of the low table, Ms Burns dug in her worn brown satchel and withdrew a handful of parchment, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face.

Adopting a bored tone, she began reciting what was obviously a standard notice. "These parchments are charmed to remove the results of all glamours, potions, and artefacts that alter or conceal appearance or magical signature. When you sign, it will register your magical signature, and keep it on record. Any attempts at fraud will result in your magical signature being tagged and traced, and aurors summoned. Upon signing this document, you will be Connor Bradshaw's Magical Guardian until he reaches the age of his majority, even in the event of him returning to his father's care, due to Mr Bradshaw being non magical himself. These documents are also legal in the muggle world, and will be automatically filed with the appropriate agencies. Do you understand what you have been told here today?" She turned an uninterested gaze onto a blank faced Mr South, ignoring Harry's quiet whispering into Connor's ear.

"I do, yes. Am I required to use a blood quill?"

"No, just a normal quill is fine." She handed over a Self-Inking Quill, her slightly glazed eyes turning to the doorway where she distractedly began to check out Alex's firmly muscled backside. To her credit, she managed to keep it subtle – only a faint flush and a slight wetting of her lips gave her away.

Harry released a soft breath as his gentle wandless Notice-Me-Not charm took effect. He'd tagged Alex about a week ago with a Focus Charm for a prank - though Sergei had called it a training exercise when he'd suggested it - and was rather pleased he'd managed to slip the charm on the paranoid mercenary without it being noticed. He was shaking slightly from the strain – wandless magic really took it out of him – and quickly signed the papers before handing the quill back to Mr South and released the spell with a stifled grunt of relief.

His head instantly bloomed with pain as his migraine returned with a vengeance, and he closed his eyes, resting his head on Mr South's suit covered shoulder. Cracking an eyelid to glance at the clock on the wall, he dimly registered that it was barely ten in the morning, and he still hadn't had breakfast.

"Thank you, Mr Smith. Here is a leaflet on your rights and responsibilities as a Magical Guardian, and a copy of the papers for your own records. Feel free to contact us if you have any questions." With barely a glance, she was out the door and gone before anyone could say a word.

"Well," Harry murmured. "That was fun. Connor? We'll need to stop by your house and get anything you'll need. We'll be staying with a friend who's looking after some kids who've been hurt, and helping him care for them, so make sure you pack up all your clothes and a few toys and things, ok? We can make another trip if you've forgotten something, but I'm not sure when."

Connor nodded and took Harry's hand, pressing close to his side and leaning on him much as Harry had been leaning on Mr South a few moments before.

"Have you eaten?"

Harry started slightly as the gentle tone in Mr South's voice. He couldn't recall having heard it before, though he recognised the look in his eye, so he supposed it may have happened during his own early interactions with the man.

Connor shook his head, burrowing closer to Harry, forcing the older boy to release his hand and wrap an arm around Connor's shoulders so he wasn't knocked off balance.

"Let's get out of here, we'll grab something from the vending machine, and have something proper when we get to The Nest." Harry paused and cocked his head in thought. "Mr South," he asked slowly. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a couple of house elves, would you?"

Mr South shook his head. "I'm afraid my dealings are exclusively in the muggle world. Were you unable to buy some at the Ministry?"

Harry shook his head in resignation. "No, they were out of stock." He pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses up his face slightly. He head was pounding worse than it had when he'd woken up, and he was finding it hard to think.

Observing Harry closely, Mr South frowned and cast a quick glance at Alex and Sergei. "Is there anything else I can help you with? You don't look well."

Harry shook off his discomfort as best he could and straightened, barely aware that he hadn't released Connor, or made any move to do so. "I'm fine. Thank you for your help today. If you want to arrange a time to ask your questions, send me a message next week and we can set something up."

Harry stepped out of the room, Alex and Sergei falling into step next to him.

"So, Boss, how did you do it?" Sergei couldn't resist asking.

"I made her check out Alex's arse," Harry replied with an innocent look, completely ignoring the outraged noise Alex released.

Sergei smirked, glancing up at Alex. "Well, who could blame her?" He adopted a breathy simpering tone. "He's so dreamy!" The normally humourless Russian found himself the focus of four pairs of incredulous eyes, and stiffened his back slightly. "What?"

Harry cracked first, his voice a choked whisper. "Did he just make a joke?"

Alex nodded, a faintly awed expression on his face. "I think so. It's hard to tell."

"Isn't Sergei displaying humour one of the signs of the Apocalypse?"

"So says the ancient prophesy. At the very least, several civilizations are almost certainly about to crumble."

Sergei scowled and swept ahead of them, scouting the way and frightening several nurses with his ferocious expression.

The group made their way down the busy corridors, dodging nurses and other patients and their visitors, stopping long enough for Connor to see his father and Alex to duplicate and link the chart at the end of the bed.

They paused and grabbed two sandwiches from the vending machine, deciding to eat and walk at the same time. Connor eagerly scarfed his down, shoving it into his mouth as fast as he could manage, chattering all the while. They might have gotten out of the building without incident, if the enthusiastic child hadn't tripped over his loose shoelace, and started choking on the last bite.

Harry dodged out of the way as Sergei stepped forward and whacked Connor on the back, only to be clipped by a passing orderly with a gurney.

His eyes fixed desperately on his untouched sandwich, watching it sail out of his hand and across the hall, splattering across the wall with a disturbing wet sound and sliding to the floor in a slick lump. He stared, frozen in disbelief.

Eyes prickling, he swallowed harshly and lowered his head. He was determined not to be such a baby about missing just one meal, though right now it felt like the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

Harry sat in the car, feeling sullen and trying to ignore the amused looks Sergei and Alex kept tossing him. Mr South had departed in his own limousine once they exited the building, but even he had tossed the petulant crime boss a humoured glance or two.

Harry noticed the area they were passing through, and sat up quickly.

"Take a left here," he instructed Sergei.

He felt giddy, his favourite sandwich bar was along this street. If anywhere was safe from whatever breakfast curse had been cast on him today, it would be Maria's. The middle aged woman who owned and ran it had always been kind to him, slipping him the odd extra item when he was unusually hungry over the past few years, and frequently doing the same for many of the street kids. Her husband was a nasty piece of work though, and Harry suspected that he would need to step in eventually. He'd seen too many unexplained bruises on the kindly woman to let that pass. She may not be one of his, but one good turn deserved a protective bullet, or however the saying went.

His relief turned to dread as he saw the police line blocking access to Maria's shop. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes. "Pull over, find out what's happening."

He waited in the car, one arm draped around Connor as the younger boy cuddled up to his side. He flipped idly through some paperwork that the ever efficient Alex had shoved at him, and ignored his stomach chewing holes through itself.

The front door opened, and Sergei slid back into the driver's seat, turning to look at his diminutive employer. "Hostage situation, Boss. Owner's husband flipped, claims that he'll see her dead before he lets her divorce him. It's looking bad."

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Can you deal with it without the cops getting in the way? I like Maria; I like it even more when she is intact and unharmed."

Sergei bared his teeth wolfishly. "I can do that. I assume you'd rather I didn't make a mess this time?"

Harry shook his head. "Quick, clean, and invisible. I want a sandwich, damn it." He ignored the strange look he received from his men, and turned back to his paperwork.

A few minutes later, Sergei was sliding back into his seat, somehow managing to look even more stoic than usual. He placed his hands on the steering wheel, and waited.

Pursing his lips in irritation, Harry closed his eyes. "What happened?"

Sergei shrugged. "I went in and dealt with him. But he'd trashed the place, and she was too shocky to make you breakfast, even if the kitchen was intact. Sorry, Boss. On the upside, she'll be fine."

Harry leaned back in his seat with his arms folded, and pouted.

Connor shifted fretfully against Harry's side as they approached the Bradshaw's townhouse.

Harry had been pleased that the boy didn't chatter incessantly after the initial burst in the hospital, and so tolerated the wriggling for longer than he might have otherwise. Eventually, however, it got the better of him.

"What is it?" He asked, barely keeping the snap out of his voice.

"When will we be coming back here?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll send someone around every so often to check the place and pick up the mail, but there's no need to be here regularly. Why?"

Connor looked at his hands, clasping them nervously in his lap. "Mum has - had - lots of plants." He took a shuddering breath. "She was really proud of them." He squirmed, not wanting to continue, surreptitiously dashing a hand across his cheeks.

Harry twitched an uninterested eyebrow. "You can bring a couple with you if you want, and I'll arrange for someone to care for the rest until we know what's happening with your Dad." He noted Alex on his phone, texting instructions to the appropriate person. "Bring your clothes and a couple of toys you can't do without, and pick out what plants you want to bring. We'll empty out the fridge and cupboards, since even if your Dad wakes up tomorrow he won't be home for a while. Do you have any pets?"

Connor shook his head. "No, Dad was ok with me getting something, but Mum wouldn't let me. She said that I wasn't old enough for the responsibility." He pouted cutely, a sly look starting to form in his eyes. "Do you think I'm too young for the responsibility?"

Harry chewed his lip slightly, most of his attention on the paper he'd gone back to reading. "No," he murmured absently, oblivious to Alex and Sergei smothering laughter at how thoroughly he'd just set himself up. "Let's go pack up your house and make a list of what my guy needs to do when he stops by."

They climbed out of the car, and made their way up the well maintained slate paved path, stopping on the front step under the porch. Harry looked expectantly at his companions when they all stopped with him.

"Who has the key?"

There was a pause, when everyone looked at everyone else, and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Seriously? Nobody remembered to grab the key?" Harry gritted his teeth, trying not to lose his temper. "Sergei," he gestured for the Russian to break in. "Alex, get a new lock fitted."

His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it, focusing on Connor's fascinated expression as Sergei casually picked the lock, mere seconds passing before the door popped open. The Russian could have used magic, but he preferred to practice his muggle skills in non-magic areas ("Bad habit to be completely reliant on magic when you do a lot of business with muggles, Boss.").

Harry smiled slightly, deciding that Connor would start lessons with Alex and Sergei. It would keep him occupied, and since he was now Harry's ward, he represented Vahan; it wouldn't hurt to train him up. Bradshaw might not approve, but if he had any objections, he shouldn't have named Mr Smith as guardian.

They crowded into the narrow Entryway, the honey toned wood and warm burgundy highlights making for a warm and inviting space. The air was perfumed with the various flowers that Mrs Bradshaw had cultivated, clipped, and arranged around the house.

"Alex, go with Connor to pack up his room. Sergei, with me; we're handling the kitchen." He strode down the hall, familiar with the house layout from his early investigations of the lawyer.

He barely noticed the homey cottage style kitchen, focusing instead on rummaging through the fridge. "You have got to be kidding me!" He snarled, slamming the door shut and stomping over to the pantry. "I can't even get something to eat here?"

Sergei stifled a chortle at Harry's outrage. "They were on their way to do the grocery shopping when the accident happened." He walked out the connecting door to the garage, and came back with a couple of cardboard boxes, into which he started to pack the few odds and ends from the pantry and fridge.

"That's no excuse," Harry huffed. "No leftovers, no bread, not even a muesli bar! What kind of animals plan their meals that closely?"

Sergei laughed. "Yes, out of all of the people you deal with each day, the Bradshaw's are the animals." He laughed harder when Harry merely made a rude gesture and stalked out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

Harry snagged the notepad from next to the phone, and strode around the house, jotting down things for his guy to check when they came to collect the mail and water the plants. He could hear Connor chattering away to Alex as they packed what seemed the entire contents of the boy's room, and felt some of the tension easing from his shoulders, even as his stomach growled angrily. It may be an odd little collection, but piece by piece, he was building his own family. It was a surprisingly comforting feeling.

A few hours later, the four of them met in the front room, and Harry found himself rolling his eyes in amusement at how much Connor "needed" to bring to The Nest.

Nodding for Alex to send everything to the Receiving Room via portkey, Harry turned to Connor.

"The place we are going is currently hosting some other children, but they will be sleeping while we make them better."

"Like my Dad?" Connor interrupted, peering up inquisitively.

Harry nodded. "Yes, though in your Dad's case he can't wake up just yet. The other kids are being kept asleep by us." He paused to make sure that Connor didn't have any other questions about that, then continued. "While we're staying at The Nest, we'll all be helping Marcel with whatever he needs to get the kids better. You will be expected to help out in whatever way you can too, but when you aren't busy with chores or helping Marcel, you will be having lessons with Sergei, Marcel, or I. Did your father explain that you are a wizard?"

Connor nodded, a little hesitant. "He said that I have magic, and that makes me special, but I can't tell anyone about it. He told me that when I go away to magic school that some people might not like me because Mum and Dad can't do magic, but that they love me no matter what anyone else says, and they're proud of me."

Smiling gently, Harry rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, gripping lightly. "Has your Dad started teaching you anything about the wizarding world? It's traditions and culture and the like?" He frowned faintly when Connor shook his head in the negative. "Well, we'll be fixing that. I'm still learning too, but Alex and Sergei are really good teachers, and Mama Andrews will probably want to get in on our lessons once she knows about you. Actually, that reminds me," He turned his head to Alex. "Withdraw me from school; I'm too busy to keep pretending to be average. I know Daniel is bored too - they won't let him skip grades - so you should talk to Mama Andrews about Daniel joining me for home schooling. Sort out the scheduling and details with her if he's joining us, just make sure that the program is challenging enough and covers both worlds. We'll do my additional training when Daniel isn't there. Mark up a plan for some basic training for Connor too. If he's living with us he needs to know how to not get himself killed." He paused, "Or me arrested; that's important too."

The men smiled, pleased that their boss was finally not wasting time and could finally do his healing as well, and then Sergei split from the group so he could drive the car back to The Nest, leaving Alex and the boys to vanish as the portkey grabbed them.

Harry could have wished for a better welcome to The Nest, but any mental grumbling he might have enjoyed was curtailed harshly when Marcel came tearing into the Receiving Room, grabbing Alex and Harry by the wrists and hauling them out after him. Connor followed along in bewilderment, completely overlooked by the crazy man in what looked like a maroon dressing gown.

"I need your help. The Nestlings arrived safely, and I've put them all on cots in the Drawing Room since we haven't furnished it yet and it's big enough for them all, but one of the youngest ones seems to have an allergy to the sedative. I need you help me purge her and keep her calm while I work out what one she can have. Her reaction is interfering with the scan results." Marcel spoke quickly, his usual flamboyance absent under the businesslike tone he used.

Harry was impressed at the glimpse of the professional side of his Healer.

"Sure. Do you need both of us? Because we need to get Connor settled too, and I'm not sure he should see this right now." Harry twisted his wrist free, but kept pace with the harried Healer, their boots clicking on the tiles as they strode down the airy hall.

Marcel blinked, and half turned to look over his shoulder at the little boy following behind them. "Connor?"

Harry nodded. "Bradshaw's boy. He'll be staying with us indefinitely. We'll fill you in later."

Looking slightly bewildered, Marcel returned his attention to the more pressing issue. "Both of you would be helpful, but I really only need one. Harry, I think you'd be best, since she'll recognise you as an authority figure from last night."

Alex immediately spun on his heel, catching hold of Connor's shoulder. "I'll go get Connor settled, and get started on what you asked, Sir. Call if you need us." He nodded slightly in Harry's direction, and steered the pouting Connor back the way they'd come.

"Bradshaw's kid, huh?" Marcel asked as he began prepping basins and cool damp cloths.

"They were in an accident last night. Mother's dead, Bradshaw's in a coma. He named Mr Smith as Connor's guardian. He's magical, so even if Bradshaw wakes up I'll retail Magical Guardianship. We grabbed a copy of his charts for you, by the way. I thought it might be worth bringing him here if you think you can do anything to help." Harry quietly followed the Healer's directions, beginning the process of purging the girl of the sedative.

"I'll look it over later, but he's got Squib's Bane. I doubt there's much I can do to help; though I suppose Connor might appreciate having him close. Hold her on her side so she doesn't choke."

Harry knelt on the cot behind her, bracing her back against his leg and supporting her neck with one hand. He grimaced slightly as the purge began, and the lavender sleeping draught began spewing from her mouth.

The girl began to squirm and whimper as the draught left her system and consciousness slowly returned, and Harry used his free hand to gently stroke the dark brown hair from her sweaty forehead. He rested it back on her hip, stopping her from rolling forward off the edge of the bed. He hummed softly; a tune that Sally had sung to him once after a particularly bad night.

"It's alright," he soothed quietly. "Just let it out. We need to get this out of you so that we can get you better. Just relax, everything will be ok." He continued murmuring gentle reassurances, and gradually the girl relaxed, leaning back against his legs and trusting him to support her head as she heaved.

Harry continued cooing and mopping her brow for the next two hours, murmuring reassuring nonsense to the vulnerable girl, until the purge was finally complete and Marcel could scan her and provide a sedative that wouldn't kill her.

Exhausted, the two men finally emerged from the temporary infirmary.

"You did well. If you ever decide to give up being a crime lord, you'd make an excellent nurse." Marcel chirped, offensively bouncy after such an exhausting task.

Harry glared. "Or, I could tell Sergei you tried to kill me and let him have some fun with you. He's been muttering about needing to practice his flaying techniques."

Marcel quirked an interested eyebrow. "Really? How did I try to kill you?"

Harry stomped ahead of him into the lounge room. "Excessive cheerfulness. It's like being beaten over the head with a rainbow."

The older man laughed loudly. "Oh, Harry, I can't help it if I'm always in a good mood around you!"

The boy scowled. "Don't take your fucking good mood out on me!"

They looked up as Alex stepped into the room from the hallway, brandishing a fistful of papers.

He opened his mouth, only to twitch his head slightly to the side to let the knife his young employer had thrown skim past his ear and stick, quivering, in the doorframe.

Harry's voice was low and dangerous. "Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'there's food on the dining table', I don't want to hear it."

Alex reached back over his shoulder without looking and yanked the knife free, slipping it into his belt. "Mm." He held out pile of folders. "You need to sign these," he handed over another bundle, "read these," and another, "and decide what you want to do about those. Marcel, this is Bradshaw's hospital file. It's self-updating. Also, Sir, Connor wants a puppy, since you said he was responsible enough to have a pet."

Harry blinked at his employee for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked into the office, trying very hard not to cry in frustration.

It was seven thirty before Harry finished the last of his work and emerged from his paperbound exile. The smell of roast lamb and vegetables tempted him down the hall, and he entered the Dining Room eagerly, practically choking on his saliva. The polished oak table was laden with a mouth-watering spread, and his stomach cramped in vicious appreciation.

Alex, Sergei and Connor were already seated, and Marcel was entering the room after a final check of his patients. Harry took his seat at the head of the table, and glanced around at his dining companions.

"Any mail?" He inquired.

"No, Sir?" Alex looked faintly puzzled.

"No police raids? Fires? Car accidents? Domestic disturbances? Medical emergencies? Urgent paperwork?"

A negative response met each question, Alex and Sergei looking increasingly amused, while Marcel just looked confused.

Harry sighed in relief, and stretched his hand forward to take some slices of lamb.

"Um, Sir?" Connor whimpered slightly, still unsure what to call Harry.

Harry paused, apprehensive. "Yes?"

"I don't feel very-" Whatever else he might have said was cut off, as his stomach contents made an escape at velocity, thoroughly splattering every item on the table.

Closing his eyes, Harry withdrew his hand and hung his head, taking a few deep breaths and ignoring the smell.

He stood slowly, and offered a hand out towards his miserable looking ward. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and into bed."