9

Chapter 8

"A week, and you've found nothing?" Lucius Malfoy hissed dangerously.

His contact, a man of dubious morals and worse reputation shifted nervously. "I'm tellin' ya, there ain't nothing to find! Nobody knows who Charleston and Petrikov are working for! Nobody even knows who he hired 'em through! When they was at Diagon, they never referred to 'im by any name, not even a nickname. There was a family with 'em, but nobody knows who they was either, and all of 'em was wearin' an Obscuration Charm! There is nothing to work with!"

Lucius tapped his cane on the marble floor in irritation. His guests would be arriving tomorrow evening, and he still didn't have a name for the boy. Every single one of his sources had turned up exactly the same as the odoriferous man cowering in front of him, and Charleston had deftly avoided giving him even the slightest hint during their correspondence.

Lips tightly pressed together in frustration, he negligently tossed a small bag of coins at the man. "Fine. Get out." He watched the man skulk away, and resigned himself to waiting another day for answers.

He detested going into a situation blind.

Harry was currently dripping with sweat and breathing heavily as he sparred in the lounge room with Sergei. They'd been at it for nearly four hours, and Harry was at the end of his endurance. Not that you could tell.

"Harry Potter!" Marcel shouted indignantly from the doorway, where he stood loaded with grocery bags. "What do you think you're doing? I specifically told you to avoid physical training until after your healing!"

Harry swept a foot at Sergei's ankles, only to have the older man jump lightly over it and follow up with a bruising kick to his side.

"I'll live," he grunted as he righted himself, finally calling a halt to their practice.

"I tried to stop them," Alex muttered from behind his newspaper.

Marcel rounded on him, practically crackling with irritation. "And I'm sure you tried very hard before letting Harry do whatever he wanted. You're supposed to be looking after him!"

"No, Blanca," Harry interjected firmly, his voice laced with steel. "They are to appear to be looking after me when other people are around. They are here to teach and protect me. Despite our friendly relationship, they are my employee's, as are you. They follow orders, and you should learn to as well, before it gets you in trouble." The boy wiped his face with a towel that his sparring partner had dropped into his outstretched hand.

"Healers Rights," Marcel began, only to be interrupted.

"Are not a thing in this case. If I need to burn off some energy and get some training in, then I will, and you will not stop me. Are we clear?"

Marcel and the tiny boy glared at each other, before the older man backed down slightly. "Will you at least let me check you over afterwards?"

Harry relaxed, nodding calmly. "Sure. Why else would I keep you around?" He grinned cheekily at Marcel's outraged look, and calmly sat at the table for the healer to run his scans. He looked at Alex. "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

Alex nodded, calmly folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "Yes Sir. Your robes have been collected and checked over, and we've confirmed that he hasn't been able to find any information on you or the Andrews."

"Good. Anything else I need to know about?"

Alex nodded, sipping his tea. "The six bodies from yesterday have been found, but the police have no leads. I'll keep monitoring it of course, but I doubt there will be any problems; you were thorough with your cleanup. I'm expecting we'll hear from Gutshank some time today, or possibly early tomorrow. Vahan's reputation is growing, and Bradshaw will probably have a few requests from new clients, if you're interested." Seeing Harry nod, he continued. "The houses have been settled and paid for, and the penthouse sale should go through tomorrow. I thought I'd spend the weekend arranging furnishings for the houses, and Monday after school we can shop for what you want in the penthouse. I thought you might like to head that one."

Harry waved negligently as he sipped his hot chocolate that Marcel had forced onto him. "I don't care. Just make sure the furnishings are appropriate. I don't want to have to redecorate every time the fashion changes."

"Very well, Sir. Hmm," he consulted his notebook briefly, though he really didn't need to. "No word from your cousin, yet, which I admit to finding surprising. I'm beginning to wonder if someone isn't helping hide the failure of the wards around number four. I can't imagine Dumbledore being lax enough to miss them falling for nearly six weeks." He pursed his lips, thinking. "I'll give some thought to who it might be, and get back to you."

"Fine. Also, don't refer to Dudley as my cousin again. He is not family, despite being a blood relation. I have plans for him and his gang when they are a bit older, but I want to make it clear to him that he will be an employee, nothing more. If I don't, he'll think himself above his station and cause trouble."

The three men nodded, finding the rationale to be sensible, having met the brat in question.

Their conference was interrupted by a tapping at the window. When Alex let it in, the post owl swooped over to Harry, perching on the back of the chair next to him and offering its foot. Harry gently detached the shrunken package from its leg, and absently offered it a biscuit to nibble.

Opening the package, it automatically resized, revealing a thick folder and a note on the top.

"It's from Gutshank," he announced quietly. He skimmed the letter, and quickly flicked through the folder, stopping occasionally to read a few lines in more detail. "Alex, tell Bradshaw I want a meeting first thing tomorrow, before school. Gutshank has really outdone himself, I'm impressed." He left the table and retrieved a sheaf of high quality paper, penning a request for a meeting to discuss the goblin's findings. Attaching it, he carried the owl back to the window and sent it winging back to its master.

"Dumbledore is watching my account, but hasn't been able to get access. Not for lack of trying though. Gutshank has provided full account details, and once I've seen him and provided a few drops of blood, I'll have full access to all of my vaults. Apparently Bradshaw's paperwork voodoo with the adoption means that I can access everything before my majority, though nobody else will know that it's me and not my guardian. Apparently Dumbledore was my Magical Guardian, but that was declared null once the adoption was signed, since the papers accept my magic as Mr Smiths. He doesn't seem to be aware of the change though, which works to our benefit."

He put the papers away in the safe in his room, returning to the table and picking up his fork when Marcel placed the full plate in front of him. He listened absently as his men discussed Gutshanks findings and the plans for the next few days, chewing slowly. Things were shaping up well. It wouldn't always be that way of course, but that was what his men were for. Perhaps he should plan a visit to Mr South again soon; he wanted some new toys.

Bradshaw happily met with them, gleefully adding the details Gutshank had unearthed to the files he was building on Dumbledore and the Dursleys. He also handed over what his sources had managed to dig up on the Malfoys, something which made Harry grin viciously.

As Alex had expected, several people had contacted the lawyer to request Vahan's protection, and were willing to pay through the nose for it. There were even a few offers from smaller gangs to amalgamate into Vahan's network, if he'd have them. His reputation for looking after his people was spreading, and more of the smaller groups were looking to trade up their current situations.

The boy passed the files off to Alex, requesting he assess each of the people involved and assign a few capable bodies to do the grunt work for the various projects he had running.

A quick text to Mr South had an appointment for Saturday morning, and a short drive later Harry was waving to a hyperactive Daniel as they headed towards their first class for the day.

Dressing carefully in his new robes, the young crime lord examined his reflection critically. The midnight blue robe hung to his knees and was edged in black, held closed with a multitude of tiny buttons up the front and at the sleeve cuffs. The collar was a low Mandarin cut, magically stiffened and altered by his men to conceal a garrotte wire and several needles dosed with a paralytic agent. It had also had several sleeping runes embedded that would trigger and protect his throat from any efforts to crush or slice it. Marcel had suggested adding one to protect from poisons or harmful potions that were ingested, and Harry was so pleased he'd given the man a large credit account at Twillfit and Tattings as a reward. He'd also demanded the rune be standard on all his clothing, even if the other ones couldn't be worked on all designs.

The severe frock coat design of the robe gave the tiny boy an illusion of greater height, and the tailored pants and expensive boots added to that impression. Harry had been about to despair about his hair ever behaving itself and was convinced that it would ruin the entire effect he was aiming for, when Alex and Marcel came to the rescue, levitating a veritable apothecary's worth of lotions and potions behind them. Between them, they managed to wrestle his hair into a semblance of order, smoothing the unruly locks into gentle waves that curled teasingly around his delicate features. Finally ready to go, Harry allowed Alex to pull him close as they apparated to their engagement.

Apparating, while a distinctly unpleasant sensation was highly useful and Harry couldn't wait to learn how to do it himself. Sergei had mentioned that most people made a loud crack noise when performing it, but that with practice, the most powerful wizards and witches could do it silently – it was just so much effort that most didn't bother. Harry decided that he would do so, even if he had to boost his power via some of the rituals he'd read about in the books he'd borrowed from Sergei. The mercenaries had both laughed, assuring him that he had no problems in the power department, and the rituals wouldn't be necessary. Harry remained unconvinced, but had let it go for the moment.

Looking at the massive gates and winding drive leading to Malfoy Manor, Harry found himself mildly impressed. He could see the benefit of displaying such wealth openly, even if he personally found it wasteful. Image could make or break you, he knew, and the Malfoys certainly knew how to work that in their favour.

The grounds were gorgeous; immaculate lawns dotted with albino peacocks surrounded by vibrant gardens and mature trees. The path to the door was lined with smooth stones set into the ground that Alex informed him quietly would glow in the dark, gently lighting the way for evening guests.

Crushed white shells shifted slightly underfoot as they made their way to the impressive building, the path meandering in lazy curves through the immaculate greenery and ending at the white marble steps.

Harry smiled slightly, murmuring to Alex as they mounted the steps and approached the door. "I've heard of accessorising, but building a house to match your hair colour seems a tad excessive."

Alex stifled a snigger, but Sergei wasn't quite so lucky, caught off guard for once.

They were met at the door by a diminutive being with huge eyes and bat like ears who proclaimed her name was Muffy, wringing her hands on the carefully pressed pillowslip that passed as clothing.

Harry skimmed his eyes over the creature – house elf, he recalled from his lessons – and nodded politely as it took their cloaks.

Following Muffy through the corridors to the drawing room, Harry absorbed every detail he could about the house and the people who lived in it, adding the observations to his mental portfolio on the family.

He'd read about the Malfoy family during his studies of both history and society, and the file Bradshaw had provided supplemented many modern details that the books had missed. Unsurprising really, since the details Bradshaw's sources had unearthed were not really the sort of things one would want published, especially if one was keen to avoid prison time.

Taking a seat near the fire once they'd been left in the drawing room, Harry took a moment to settle his mind. The Malfoys would make excellent allies in his future business endeavours in the wizarding world, and they had contacts that even Sergei admitted rivalled his own.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting," Lucius murmured as he swept into the room.

"Perfectly alright, Mr Malfoy, we haven't been here long." Harry smiled slightly, standing and offering his hand to the older gentleman. "I believe that it's time I properly introduced myself. I'm Harry Potter."

The look of unadulterated shock on Lucius Malfoy's face was one that Harry would treasure for the rest of his life.

Lucius blinked, hastily shutting his jaw and schooling his expression back into calm neutrality. "Mr Potter. I must say I'm honoured to be hosting such a celebrity in my humble home." He carefully shook the boy's hand, bowing his head very slightly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Please don't do that," he asked quietly. "False modesty is unbecoming, and we are both above such games."

Lucius smirked slightly. "Very well. If you will follow me, dinner will be served momentarily."

The dining room was much like the rest of the Manor, beautifully appointed and luxurious almost to the point of absurdity. After being introduced to Lucius's wife Narcissa, and reintroduced to Draco, they seated themselves at the table.

"So, Mr Potter," Narcissa began as they settled into their first course – a delicious light soup that Harry couldn't hope to identify. "There has been a lot of speculation regarding your whereabouts over the years. Are any of the theories correct?"

Harry smiled, amused. "Not even close, Mrs Malfoy, though I admit to finding some of the ideas to be highly entertaining. I believe my current favourite is Miranda McCall's theory that I'm living in a Tibetan monastery learning how to control my 'destructive power' through meditation and a diet of rice and caviar."

Draco snorted slightly into his soup, earning a reproving look from both of his parents.

Harry smirked slightly at the blond boy, before returning his attention to his hosts. "It's complete rubbish of course. I also eat foie gras." He sipped another spoonful, smiling slightly at the adults' startled laughter.

The dinner conversation was light and Harry found himself amused at how transparent the Malfoys were to someone with his skills. For all of their posturing and carefully primped superiority, they were quite mercenary at heart, easily attracted by those who promised the most power and prestige. His observations matched with the file from Bradshaw, and the briefing his men had provided, so Harry decided to continue his plan to cultivate a further relationship with the family. Draco would be in his year at Hogwarts, and would hold significant political influence amongst their peers, Lucius had the political clout to smooth away some of the more troublesome issues that might occur, and Narcissa was viewed as the pinnacle of social fashion. If he had them onside, everyone else would fall neatly into line.

Retiring to another lavish sitting room after dinner, Harry settled himself onto the comfortable sofa between his men, while the Malfoys draped themselves artistically around the other furnishings. Harry idly wondered if they had prearranged positions based on what company was present. He found the idea tickled him more than it should, especially when he imagined them practicing.

"You have a lovely home," Harry murmured softly, sipping at the cup of tea he'd been handed by Muffy.

Narcissa blushed prettily, a gracious smile faintly crossing her lips. "Thank you. Interior design is something of a hobby of mine."

Harry cocked his head, turning slightly to Alex, receiving a barely perceptible nod in return. "Would you be interested in a small project along those lines?"

The elegant blonde narrowed her eyes slightly, interest sharpening her gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

Sipping his tea calmly, Harry pursed his lips minutely. "I have recently purchased a rather lovely penthouse, and find myself in need of suitable furnishing. Mr Charleston here is excellent at anticipating my desires, but unfortunately that does not always extend to such things as this." It was a complete lie, of course, he had exquisite taste, but Alex was much too valuable to waste on furnishing a property when there was other business to conduct. "Would you be interested in such an undertaking? I don't imagine it would be particularly time consuming, the property is only five bedrooms after all." He sipped his tea again, watching the melanin challenged family closely. "Of course I would offer appropriate compensation for your time, I wouldn't presume upon a favour so early in our relationship."

Narcissa's lips twitched in amusement. "But at a later time you might?"

Harry smirked back at her. "I suppose that depends on how well we work together, doesn't it?"

When Narcissa's tinkling laughter rang out, Harry knew he had won.

"Very well Mr Potter, shall I arrange a meeting with you via Mr Charleston to go over the specifics?"

Arriving home from the Malfoys, Harry dropped wearily into his favourite recliner, watching through half closed eyes as his men settled in for their briefing.

"Well?

Alex lifted his head slightly, clearing his throat. "You did very well, Sir. Charming Narcissa Malfoy was an excellent idea and will make it much easier to gain favour with Lucius. Draco is a bit of a non entity at the moment since he'll follow whatever his parents say, but he's just as quick as his father, with his mothers' gemütlichkeit. He'll be valuable if you train him right."

Sergei looked at his counterpart sideways, pursing his lips in irritation. "Your German is terrible. Please don't use it again."

Alex glared, huffing tetchily. "You're Russian; stop complaining. It's not like it's your language I'm butchering. Besides, I need to practice."

Harry waved a hand slightly, dispelling the brewing argument. Ever since Sergei had confessed to speaking no less than thirteen languages, Alex had been sulking over his apparently measly eight and had decided that German should be his next project.

"Argue on your own time. Anything else?"

Alex subsided, resuming his professional mask. "I think you have a good chance of convincing the Malfoys to work with you. They're still powerful, but their popularity took a hit at the end of the war. They'll see you as their ticket back, and you can capitalise on that. You should consider moving to Potter Manor, too. It's more secure, has the facilities we need, and is close enough that you could hobnob more easily. It will also give you more input into shaping Draco into something more useful than arm candy. If you don't like the décor, I'm sure Narcissa would be happy to help you out." He smirked, still pleased to have gotten out of decorating the penthouse.

Harry shot him a faintly revolted look at the idea of having anyone, especially Draco Malfoy as arm candy. "Alright, but I want you to teach me to apparate and cast the obscuration charm as a matter of priority, I have a lot of business in London." He paused for a moment. "A couple of detection spells for consumables too, in case I'm ever without my rune."

Sergei sighed faintly. "We'd best be getting you a wand then, Boss. Even then, you may not be able to apparate for several years yet. Your magical core isn't fully developed yet. Worst case, we can teach you how to make portkeys. A permanent one between the Manor and penthouse might be worthwhile anyway. You should always have an out for emergencies."

Harry nodded, accepted that he may have to be patient. "Alright, I want you two to develop appropriate code names for the different safe houses too, and get them all properly warded. Emergency portkeys to several different locations would be worthwhile too; I don't want to be limited in my escape options."

Their conversation was interrupted when Alex's phone chirped an incoming message.

Glancing at it, Alex scowled. "The Millers are having some problems. They came under your protection this morning, but I haven't found anyone to take guard on them yet, so we'll need to handle it personally."

Harry groaned slightly. "One of you deal with it. I'm too tired to crack heads this evening, and I still have homework to do."

Sergei grinned as he stood, quickly checking over the arsenal concealed in his clothing. "Any particular message you want passed on?"

"Tell them Vahan sends his love," Harry called facetiously as he exited down the hall.

Saturday morning, Harry walked down the street on his way to pay a visit to Mr South. Alex and Sergei were both out on some delicate jobs for him, and Marcel was off doing a favour for Bradshaw. He didn't mind being alone for a change, relished it in fact. He'd known going in that he would be allowing many details about himself and his network to become known to his guards, but he hadn't really anticipated how vulnerable he would feel. The oath the men had sworn would prevent them betraying him, of course, but that didn't make being so exposed comfortable.

He turned the corner, only a block away from the warehouse the arms dealer was currently using for some of his bigger toys.

An unmarked police car pulling up next to him caught his attention, and his emerald gaze quickly swept over the two men getting out of it.

'Clothing wrinkled, assorted pastry flakes and small drops of sauce. Hair messy, bloodshot eyes, strong scent of cigarettes, skin grey from exhaustion. Glancing at each other for support or confirmation. Attempting to make themselves non threatening as they approach. Task force of some kind, probably homicide, and been working nonstop for days.'

Harry eyed the men warily as they approached him, keeping his body relaxed through sheer force of will. He'd serviced some cops when running with Mike's gang; he knew perfectly well how brutal they could be when they had the mind for it.

"Hi," said the older of the two men, his silver hair rumpled from too many fingers run through it.

'Habitual gesture of frustration, Harry noted absently. Drinks coffee, black, no sugar.'

Harry backed up a step, ready to run. He wasn't genuinely afraid, but he knew that these men would expect him to be, and he readily adopted the role.

"I'm Inspector Gregory Adama, and this is my colleague Sergeant Thomas Brady. We were wondering if you could help us with our enquiries?"

"Um, I guess? I'm just a kid though; I don't know what I could do to help." Harry stumbled over his words, peering up through his fringe and chewing his lip nervously.

Adama smiled warmly down at Harry, his bloodshot navy eyes warm.

'Married, ten years or so. Experienced with children, probably a father or very involved uncle,' Harry glanced between the men, leaning slightly closer to Adama when he saw the unfriendly look on Brady's face.

"What's your name?" Adama was crouched now, trying not to loom over Harry's tiny frame.

"T-tiny, sir," Harry stuttered, looking as pitiful as he could manage without bursting into laughter.

"It's nice to meet you, Tiny. Where are your parents?" Adama glanced around, as if expecting said parents to jump out from behind a non existent bush.

"Dead, sir." Harry bowed his head and slumped his shoulders slightly, eyes firmly on his trainers as he lightly scuffed his toe on the ground.

Adama sighed, looking like he wanted to give the boy a hug.

"Guardian? Who looks after you?"

Harry shrugged, staying silent. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, blindly thumbing a message to Bradshaw.

Adama sighed again, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Alright, would you come back to the station with us? It's nearly lunch time; we can get you a drink and something to eat. Sound good?"

Harry looked up, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm not a rent boy."

The aging inspector looked startled for a moment, before comprehension dawned. "No, no, nothing like that. We just want to ask you a couple of questions, that's all. You aren't in trouble. I just thought you might be hungry. There's no catch."

Harry snorted, eyes darting between the men. "Yeah, heard that one before. I don't do tricks, right? And even if I did, I'd cost more than a sandwich!" He moved to storm past them, but was completely unsurprised when Brady growled impatiently and grabbed his arm.

"Get in the car, kid. We just need to ask you some questions. And I'm pretty sure Social Services will want a word with you, too." The dark haired Sergeant ignored the irritated look from his partner, and shoved Harry unceremoniously into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him.

The room at the police station was spartan, aging and saggy lounge chairs in decades outdated fashions carefully arranged to be as non confrontational as possible. There were windows all around the room, but covered in horizontal blinds to give the illusion of privacy, most of which were currently closed. A small coffee table sat nearby, as battered and dreary as the rest of the room.

Adama and Brady entered, followed closely by a plump woman in her late twenties.

"One sandwich, as promised," Adama smiled, clearly trying to make up for the 'scare' his partner had inflicted on the trembling boy. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Harry, realising the boy would never take it directly from his hand.

Harry eyed it suspiciously, earning a snort from the older man.

"Yeah, it's station food, but no matter how soggy it is, it won't kill you. If it did, I'd be dead years ago." He smiled, and added a bottle of apple juice and chocolate bar to the small offering.

Harry shifted away from it, and cast a glance through his fringe at the woman who'd accompanied them.

Taking her queue, she smiled at the timid boy. "Hello, Tiny. I'm Amanda. I'm from Social Services. I'm here to make sure that you're looked after and that you don't get scared while Inspector Adama and Sergeant Brady ask you some questions. Do you understand?"

Harry shrugged silently, drawing his feet up onto the edge of the couch, hugging them close and making himself as small as possible.

Adama cleared his throat, and pulled out a small tape recorder, setting it on the table and switching it on.

"Alright Tiny, before we get started, I want you to know that you're safe here. We can protect you if you want us to. You only have to ask." Adama settled himself opposite with Brady at his side, Amanda perching on the couch next to Harry.

Harry peered over his knees, green eyes bright with anxiety.

"Now, we've been hearing a few things about someone we believe you know. His name is Vahan." Here, Adama paused, his sharp gaze watching Harry closely. "Have you heard of him?"

Harry chewed his lip slightly, then shrugged. "Yeah, who hasn't?" He glanced away from the Inspector's penetrating gaze, picking at a thread on his jeans.

"But you've more than heard of him, haven't you, Tiny." Adama's voice was soft, coaxing.

Harry glared for a second, then dropped his gaze and returned to picking the thread.

"We've spoken to a few other people, and do you know what they've said?" Adama continued. "They say that a kid, one that looks a lot like you, is known as Vahan's Boy. They didn't know your name, but they all gave the same description, and they were all very sure that you are the only one who knows who Vahan is." He paused, inviting a response, then continued when it was clear that Harry had no intention of speaking. "Vahan is under suspicion for close to twenty murders, and lots of other bad things too. If you talk to us about what you know, we can keep you safe from him. We can make sure you have a new name, a new home. Have you heard of Witness Protection?"

Harry nodded slowly, as if thinking things over. Bradshaw should be passing instructions to Harry's bought cops any moment now. He cursed himself for forgetting to have Sergei cast the obscuration charm on him before he left the apartment that morning. He was getting careless, relying on Alex to remember things for him. He would make a point to fix that.

"Will you tell us about him?" Adama was practically leaning out of his chair in anticipation, his eyes gleaming. Brady didn't look much better, though he managed to maintain a semblance of his cool disdainful look.

Harry peered up slowly, meeting the Inspectors eyes. "You can't keep me safe from him," he murmured softly. "He can reach me anywhere."

A loud siren split the air, causing all the adults to jump and peer around before scrambling to their feet. The ear piercing noise changed to a loud whoop, signalling an evacuation of the building.

"No!" Adama shouted, rushing to the door and sticking his head into the corridor to ask a passerby what was happening.

Harry grabbed the offered food, clutching it to his chest. Waste not, and all that. Plus, he had a cover to maintain.

Adama pulled his head back in, cursing. "It's a fire alarm. We need to evacuate. Tiny, I want you to stay with -" He trailed off, his eyes quickly skimming those present. "Tiny? Son of bitch!" He kicked the chair in fury as he spotted the opposite door slightly ajar and his only solid lead gone without a trace.

Harry sent a message with his apologies to Mr South, and headed home as quickly as he could manage without drawing attention to himself.

Entering his apartment, he tossed the truly awful sandwich into the bin, and finished chewing the chocolate bar, washing it down with the last mouthful of juice.

"Boss?" Sergei questioned warily, seeing the furious expression on the normally pleasant face.

"Get Alex and Bradshaw. Now!" Harry snapped, stalking into his bedroom for a change of clothes.

Five minutes, and his men were assembled in the living room, a startled Marcel tagging along since he'd been with Bradshaw when the summons came. Harry had a moment of appreciation for magical transport. It made sudden meetings much more convenient.

"I got hauled in by a pair of homicide cops today, asking questions about Vahan. Apparently, people have been talking, and while they couldn't work out who Vahan is, they linked me as a contact for him."

The men shifted slightly, but didn't interrupt.

"Bradshaw, our associates performed admirably today, even allowing me to pull off my escape with a bit of dramatic flair. A+ for timing! Arrange a reward for them, I don't care what. Just make sure it won't arouse suspicion; I don't want any of them even potentially compromised. Make sure they know who it's from and that there is more of it if they can get me information on the Vahan Task Force and the people on it. In particular, focus on Inspector Gregory Adama and Sergeant Thomas Brady. I want to know everything from first steps to wanking fantasies, got it?" Seeing Bradshaw nod, he dismissed him with a portkey, turning to his other men. "I want to know who has been talking to the cops, and I want them dealt with. If you uncover anyone of importance, I'll deal with them personally, but anyone else I leave in your hands. Make sure everyone gets the message."

The mercenaries smirked. "Any particular message, Boss?"

Harry smirked back coldly. "Tell them, Vahan sends his love."

In the next two weeks, every person with even the most tenuous of underworld connections learned to fear the name Vahan. Every person who had spoken to the police was interrogated thoroughly, and those who had fingered an associate of Vahan were silenced permanently. The mutilated corpses often made positive identification of the bodies impossible without a DNA match, and since few of the corpses had their DNA on file, most of the bodies went unidentified and unclaimed.

But those with a hand in the uglier side of London life knew. They knew every single person who disappeared, and they knew why. And when the cops came hunting, they found unanimous silence at every turn. The London underground had learned their lesson, for now.

Anthony Michaels was not a stupid man. After having met Vahan's Boy, he'd known Vahan had the potential to be a big fish in their world, and that simply wouldn't do. So when he'd heard the cops were hunting around for information on the brat's boss, he hadn't hesitated to point them in the little whelps' direction. And now, as he stuffed wads of cash from the safe into a duffle bag, he knew he was going to pay for it. He held out a vague hope that he might escape Vahan's Hounds long enough to disappear, but realistically he knew that the Hounds would make him disappear in a more permanent and less pleasurable sense before he would get the chance. Still, it wouldn't stop him from trying.

His frantic movements slowed to a stop as he heard the lock click on the door behind him. He didn't turn, knowing there was no point.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

The temperature in the room dropped, the glass in the picture frames slowly cracking as a deep frost stretched across them.

"Now, Mr Michaels? No. First, we are going to discuss payment."

Finally turning, Anthony took in the incongruous sight of the tiny boy lounging elegantly in the uncomfortable guest chair, flanked by two of Vahan's Hounds, and that fucking lawyer that started it all.

"Payment?"

The boy examined his nails disinterestedly. "Payment, Mr Michaels. I considered actioning the dispersal plan I mentioned on our first meeting, but I've had a better idea."

At a slight motion from the boy, Bradshaw stepped forward, placing his briefcase on the cluttered desk and opening it. He pulled forth a small bundle of papers, and placed them in front of the sweating man as Sergei shoved him forcefully into the seat.

"You are going to sign over everything to me." Harry murmured, still not looking at his trembling prey. "I've had copies of your real books for ages, and I think that tidy little profit you turn over would look much nicer in my account. Sign the papers."

Anthony glanced up into the glittering eyes of the men around him, and slumped in defeat. Picking up the pen, he signed where indicated, and closed his eyes in resignation. It was over. Everything he'd worked for his entire life, gone. As the huge Russian grabbed his arm and the oddest squeezing sensation overcame him, Anthony Michaels mentally raised his last drink in salute to the child who'd fooled them all.

The office was quiet after Sergei had departed with their last target, and Harry took a moment to roll his shoulders to work out some of the tension.

"Alex, send Bradshaw home with a portkey, I don't want him here unprotected. You and I are going to clear the building. There was an income stream in the books that doesn't match up, and I want to check it out."

As his orders were obeyed, Harry glanced around the office noting the slight differences since his last visit. He saw Alex finish clearing out the safe, and send the grumbling lawyer home with a decent couple of wads for himself. Nodding in approval, he waited for Alex to clear the next room, and they began to systematically check the premises.

The building was three levels above ground, and one cleverly concealed basement. The upper levels provided very little of interest, just the standard rooms for gang members to sleep or fuck their latest whores, a couple of storerooms, a pitiful armoury, and a few stashes of drugs. Standard street thug fare, as far as Harry was concerned. The basement, however, sent the boy into a murderous rage.

The basement was partitioned into six small bedrooms, with a communal bathroom tucked away in the corner closest to the stairs. Each room was bare of all furnishings except for a single bed, filthy and stained with fluids best not pondered. Each room was occupied with a terrified child, except for the last two which contained a set of identical twins in each, one set of each gender.

Harry's rage built exponentially at each door that he threw open, though only someone who had spent as much time observing him as Alex had would be able to read it from his stony expression.

"Alex," The raven haired boy spoke quietly, his voice tightly controlled. "Message Sergei. I want Michaels alive for the moment. Tell him to feel free to have some fun, but I want him able to talk when I get around to seeing him." He pulled out his own mobile and sent a quick message to Bradshaw demanding Marcel's presence with enough medical supplies for eight children. He knew Bradshaw would be able to read between the lines and start making other appropriate arrangements at the same time.

"What's the plan, Sir?" Alex asked quietly.

"After Marcel checks them out, we'll move them to The Nest. Marcel will stay with them for now, and perform any treatment they need. When they've healed, they can either work for me or we'll memory charm them and find them new homes if they don't have one they want to go back to."

Leaving his subordinate to create the necessary portkey and arrange any necessities not currently in the house they'd dubbed The Nest; Harry quietly called all of the children out of their rooms and gathered them together.

"Pay attention," he called. "There has been a change of ownership upstairs. As such, there will be some changes. In a few moments, a special kind of doctor will be coming to examine you. Cooperate fully; you will not be hurt. You will be given a drink to make you sleep, and while you are asleep, you will be moved to a new place where you will be cared for properly and receive any medical treatment you need." Harry tilted his head slightly as he heard Marcel working his way down the stairs. "Form a line over there," he pointed to one of the walls. "You will be called one at a time to be checked over and given further instructions."

He spun on his heel, nodding to the stricken Healer, and stalked back to where Alex waited patiently for him.

"Sir, I've taken the liberty to contact Bradshaw to bring in someone to help Marcel with the kids. No matter how well behaved, eight traumatised little ones who need healing and constant care will be too much for him."

Harry nodded in acceptance. "Marcel has final approval over any assistants and any in house requirements. You are responsible for security and any other logistics. Give it a week, and then schedule me in for a visit every couple of days. I don't care what else you have to rearrange in my normal commitments; the visits needn't be very long."

Alex nodded, scribbling in his notebook. "I've organised for food to be brought in, as well as clothes, toiletries, books, and a few toys. It should all be there by the time Marcel has finished and is ready to transport them. I've also stocked the office with everything Marcel will need to keep complete files on each child and run the house." He hesitated, but continued at Harry's questioning look. "I'm aware that these children are almost certainly muggles, and we are breaking the Statute of Secrecy as it is by offering them magical treatment, but this task is going to be too much for Marcel even with one or two assistants. Might I recommend purchasing a couple of house elves? They can keep themselves out of sight with no problem, and a mild muggle repelling charm can be used to keep the kids out of the kitchen. If any kids manage to wander through, we can test them for magic and respond accordingly."

Harry considered this, turning the idea over in his mind. It certainly made sense in the short term, and other arrangements could be made if it didn't work out.

"Do it. As many as you think we need, and bond the elves to me."

Alex nodded, heading upstairs to make the necessary arrangements.

Harry cast one look back at the ragged waifs huddling against the wall, and his features hardened as he heard Dave's voice ringing through his mind, reaffirming Harry's purpose in this whole endeavour.

Protect them.