DISCLAIMER: I don't own DW, HP, or the Borrowers. I wish.


Wizards are not the only people that are a secret. Except borrowers are even unknown to wizards.

Borrowers look completely human apart from their size. A borrower could fit in the palm of your hand. They're called borrowers because they basically live off of humans; they live inside walls, under floors, and in order to survive they 'borrow' what they need. They never take what will be missed, what they don't need, nothing noticeable. And they vow to never ever be seen or heard by the humans. They believe that humans are horribly vicious and will crush a borrower on sight.

One particular young borrower named Skyla had the unfortunate luck of being seen. She had just managed to escape, pack lightly, and run out of the house. It was 2 A.M. and she was already five blocks over on some street called Privet Drive, which was quite a distance for her. She had already decided that the humans on this street were much too clean and orderly and would notice things missing right away.

There was nothing notable about Skyla. She was five inches tall, had long and wavy black hair and blue-green eyes. She was about twenty-one years old, very young to be all on her own. Her mother had died shortly after childbirth, and her father, who taught her to borrow, was caught in a poisoned rat trap. She had dug him a shallow grave, got back up. And prepared to live and support herself. She had inherited her mother's hair, her skinny arms, legs, and fingers, but she had her father's strength and his adventurous personality.

Now she was nearing the corner of Privet Drive, and she was happy to be rid of it, but it began to pour rain.

"Oh, great!" she hissed under her breath. She scanned the street for some kind of shelter, an empty milk bottle or something. Even better, she found an overturned basket in front of Number 4. Admittedly, it was an odd thing to be sitting around, but it was as good as anything.

After an especially fat raindrop splashed on her head and drenched her hair, she ran over to the basket, lifted the edge and ducked in.

There was a large blanket underneath for some reason, but it made the space warm. Skyla un-shouldered her backpack, wrung out her hair, and then threw herself on a knot of fabric near the edge. It was so soft and comforting that she nearly fell asleep at once.

All of a sudden, the faint sound of an infant's cry found her ears. She sat up, listening harder. It was coming from within the folds of her blanket. Curiously, Skyla stood and followed the cries. As the sound got louder and she got closer, her shoulders began to ache. She began to glance around nervously. This type of feeling was common in borrowers and was nearly unique for each; it warned them when a human was near.

She stopped moving and listened for footsteps nearby, but none could be heard. So she turned back and began searching among the blanket's folds.

A borrower-sized baby was revealed, and her feeling flared stronger than ever.

Tentatively but curiously, she picked up the baby and cradled him in her arms. The black-haired baby slowly stopped crying.

'How can this be a human child?' Skyla thought. It just wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. Could it?

She noticed a thin trail of liquid along the child's cheek from the corner of his mouth. She wiped it off with a finger and sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled of strawberries and some kind of dairy. Hesitantly, she touched her tongue to this mysterious liquid. It tasted like it smelled with a strange aftertaste, like undercooked meat. Why anyone would feed this to a baby baffled Skyla, and she wiped the rest of it on her sleeve. She realized only then that she was absent-mindedly rocking the child.

Skyla stood and the sound of crumpling paper could be heard under her feet. She looked down and kicked away the fabric in the way, revealing a folded up scrap of paper. Curiosity blazing, she moved the baby to her hip and unfolded the note. It read:

"To the borrower who finds this baby"—at this point Skyla got chills—"this baby has been changed for his own good. He is human, but please, raise him as your own. His name is Harry Potter and he is very special.

"Raise him well. Keep him safe."

There was no signature.

Skyla looked at the note, then the baby. His large, green eyes looked up at her pleadingly, making her heart melt. She couldn't leave him here. Not in front of this house. She had seen this human family. They wouldn't even see him and he'd get chucked out in the bin. Skyla wouldn't let that happen. She couldn't.

Then she remembered the child was human, and it was humans that killed her father. That she hated humans.

But how could anyone hate something as innocent as a baby? And at this size, he wouldn't be any threat to her. What was she to do? Skyla brushed the baby's raven hair back, conflicted. She noticed the lightning-bolt shaped scar above his right eyebrow. It intrigued her. She reached a hand to touch it, and then she hesitated. She concluded that he was indeed a very special baby.

"You're my son now…Harry Potter," she whispered, pressing her lips lightly to the child's scar.