"Hey, Darlene, got another one for you!" called Sgt. Harvey Feinstein of the Surrey Police Department.

Darlene Woodruff sighed. She was the acting head of the Surrey Branch of Child Protective Services. Their previous chief had recently resigned along with what seemed like half the department, and Darlene was buried in backlogged work. No doubt Feinstein was here to add yet another case to her already overworked department.

"What is it this time, Harvey?" she asked wearily.

The officer shrugged. "Nothin' unusual, probably a runaway. Got a call from Surrey Public Library, kid there was looking suspicious. He was just sittin' there reading all quiet-like, but he looks like he sleeps on the streets, and smells like he hasn't seen a shower in weeks. Skittish little thing, probably abused. I thought it was right up your alley."

Darlene sighed again. Cases like this came up far more often than she liked, but she knew how to handle them.

"Did you get a name?"

"Said his name was James," Harvey told her. "Didn't get a last name, and I doubt that's his real name anyway. Not a fan of men, I can tell."

Darlene nodded. That was hardly unusual. Still, much as she hated adding another case, she was grateful for the brief distraction from paperwork. And she was glad that it was Harvey who brought the boy in – he had a real soft spot for kids. Most beat cops would just end up throwing them back on the streets to avoid the extra work for themselves.

"I'll grab some sandwiches and run his prints, yeah?" Harvey offered.

"Much appreciated," she said honestly. At least she'd get lunch out of the deal.

She walked over to their "interview room." It was an office that they had appropriated for talking to children picked up from the streets. It was locked to prevent them from leaving, but had a relatively homey feel. Darlene made sure there were always toys and coloring materials available to keep them occupied, and some stuffed animals for the younger ones to help them feel safe. There were cameras up in the corners but it was as nonthreatening as she could make it.

She knocked on the door and entered, getting her first look at her newest charge. James was a young boy of about eight, she estimated. He was a tiny slip of a child with a mop of messy black hair and bright, piercing green eyes. James sat on the edge of his seat, clearly ready to bolt at any minute. She smiled at him gently, trying to put him at ease.

"James?" she asked softly. "May I come in?"

His gaze sharpened. She had the bizarre and highly uncomfortable feeling that he was staring into her very soul. He stared for what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a few seconds; eventually he must have found something that comforted him, because he gave her a small smile and relaxed ever-so-slightly.

"Do you mind if I sit down? I'd like to talk for a bit if that's alright with you," she told him.

He shrugged, and she sat down across from him. "How are you doing today, James?" she asked.

"I'm okay," he told her in a surprisingly deep, gravelly voice. "Who are you?"

"My name is Darlene," she told him with a warm smile. "Is it alright if I call you James?"

He nodded.

"Do you have a last name, James?" she asked him.

The pause before he spoke told her that his answer was almost certainly going to be false.

"Smith," he said.

She nodded, pretending not to notice the untruth. It wasn't the first 'Smith' who'd come from the streets.

"I'm with Children's Services. Do you know what we do here?"

He pondered that for a moment. "Do you put people back with their relatives?" he asked, his smile vanishing from his face. It was replaced by his initial calculating gaze.

She noted sadly that he had said 'relatives' and not 'family.' Undoubtedly he'd been treated poorly by his family – either abandoned or a runaway.

"Sometimes," she answered carefully. "It's our job to make sure every young boy and girl has a nice, happy home to go to."

He let out a soft snort of disbelief, but said nothing in reply. She repressed a sigh.

"My friend Officer Feinstein brought you here because some people were concerned about you being all alone –"

"I wasn't doing anything wrong," he blurted angrily. "I just wanted to read my book."

"What were you reading?" she asked.

"A book about snakes. They took it away from me. I wasn't bothering anyone," he insisted.

"I know you weren't," she said gently. "You aren't going to be in trouble."

"You're going to try to make me go back to the Dursleys," he shouted angrily. "I already told you people that I'm not going!"

Darlene blinked. He'd been here before, evidently. At least she'd gotten a real name to go on. She could look him up in the files later.

"Why don't you want to go back to your relatives, James?"

He glared at her silently.

"We don't have to talk about them, then," she suggested. "Do you like snakes?"

He nodded cautiously, suspicion plain on his young face.

"What do you like to do in your free time, when you aren't reading about snakes?"

"I walk a lot," he offered. "I talk to Sam."

"Oh? Is Sam your friend?" An adult? Or an imaginary friend, perhaps?

James nodded. "He's a snake. It's his birthday coming up, I want to get him a present."

"I see," she told him. Either a snake lived near him, or it his imaginary friend wasn't even human. "What do snakes want for their birthday?"

He frowned in thought. "I don't know. He likes mice, but he usually gets those himself. I thought about getting him a rock he can sleep on."

She nodded. Most likely it was a real snake that he had found. If he lived near snakes, he was probably sleeping in the woods somewhere outside of town.

"That sounds like a good idea," she said encouragingly. "I'm sure Sam will love it."

His smile was back again, green eyes sparkling.

"So, James, since you haven't done anything wrong, would you like to go home now?"

His smile became a full-fledged grin, and he nodded his head eagerly.

"Where's home for you? We'd like to have a talk with whoever you're staying with, just to make sure they aren't worried about you."

"I live by myself now," he told her, sounding quite proud of this fact. "Nobody worries about me, except Sam."

"What about your relatives?" she asked again. "I'm sure the Dursleys want to know you're alright."

He scowled. "They left me to die. I won't go back, and you can't make me!"

Abandonment, then. Those were tricky cases to deal with, if the family had gotten away with it – and they usually did. "If you can't go back there, we can send you to a nice home with lots of other children," she offered. "All you have to do is tell us a bit more about the Dursleys and then we'll find the best home for you. I'm sure there's a nice family out there looking for a boy like you to add to their family – doesn't that sound nice?"

"I want to leave now," he said firmly, his face a mask of determination.

This time she did sigh aloud. She'd seen that face many times, and she knew she was getting nothing else out of him. Standing up she made her way to the door. "We'll be in in a little bit to talk about getting you a good place to go. Feel free to do some coloring in the meantime – it's supposed to be very relaxing," she gave him a parting smile. He jerked his head in acknowledgement, and she left, shutting the door behind her softly. She made sure she heard the click of the lock and returned to her office quickly.

"How'd it go?" Harvey was sitting in her chair, feet propped up on the desk – but what caught her attention more was the plate of sandwiches and bags of crisps he had brought with him.

"Well enough," she told him truthfully, as she led him to the filing room to look for his file. "Got a name to go off of, at least. He's been here before, he says, so he should be in the system. Does the name 'Dursley' ring any bells?"

To her surprise, he nodded slowly, frowning in thought. "Actually, yeah. I remember a Dursley family from a case 'bout a year or two back – filed a missing-persons case for their nephew, seven at the time. Said he was disturbed and ran away from home."

Her eyebrow raised in surprise. "I'm impressed you remember," she told him.

He barked out a laugh. "I only remember because their son threw a tantrum right in the police station, somethin' about not wantin' to waste time lookin' for 'the freak.' Horrible folks – couldn't even produce a recent picture of him. Had to use an old school photo."

"What's the chances that there's another Dursley family out there that has been missing a young relative about that age?"

"About none," he said with a shrug. "But I'd be careful – the Dursley chap is old friends with the Chief. Golf buddies, I think. We'd need hard evidence, otherwise little James is goin' right back there."

"Likely that's what happened last time," Darlene shook her head in frustration. "You don't happen to know what his real name is, do you? I can always call the school, they'll likely know if you don't."

He thought for a moment. "Potter was the last name. First name… Harry, maybe?" he ended, unsure. Still it was enough to go off of. And sure enough, Harry Potter's name was on one of the old files.

Darlene flipped through it quickly. "Let's see… declared missing a year ago… no evidence of mistreatment… picked up twice since without charge… escaped custody both times before they could return him to this family. Not much of use, really."

Harvey shrugged. "Are you surprised?"

"Not at all," she sighed. "Do you mind if I eat before doing anything else? I'm starving."

He chuckled and followed her back to her office. She grabbed one of the sandwiches and bit a huge chunk out of it before pulling up some new paperwork.

"Do you want to try talking to him?" she asked, not wanting Harvey to have to stand there watching her fill out forms. "He's not going to talk with me for a while, and unless the building catches fire I'm not going anywhere until I've finished this sandwich."

Harvey laughed. "I'll give it a shot. Lord knows Dianne has been on me enough to lose some weight, so maybe it'll be better if I get used to skipping meals." He gave his slight potbelly an exaggerated pat, and she chuckled. Harvey often complained about his wife giving him a hard time, but she'd never seen him mention her without a smile on his face. Bless him, she thought, tearing into her roast-beef sandwich with relish.

She had just taken her second bite of the sandwich when Harvey rushed back into the room.

"He's gone!"

"What?!" she stood up in alarm. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Harvey replied quickly. "The door was still locked, but he's not in the room!"

They ran back to the room to find that, indeed, there was no trace of young James. It was as though he had vanished into thin air.

"You're sure the door was locked?" she asked. She clearly remembered locking it on her way out, but it was possible that he'd somehow picked the lock… then snuck past them… without them hearing it… Well, that was the best idea she could think of.

"Definitely locked," Harvey told her. "He might've picked the lock, but why lock it back up on his way out?"

"I've no idea," she told him honestly. "Any chance he's hiding in the building?"

Harvey just snorted. "If he's not in that room, he's definitely not in the building. He's probably gone back to wherever it is he's been hidin' out the last year or so. He'll turn up again, sooner or later."

"This is the third time he's gotten out of here before going back to his relatives. Kid's a regular Houdini."

Harvey gave a rueful chuckle. "Well, looks like I'll have some paperwork of my own to work on. I better head out now if I want to be home for dinner."

"Good luck," she said gloomily, looking forlornly at the giant stack of paperwork on her desk still waiting to be completed.

"Have fun writing up your talk with our little 'Boy-Who-Disappeared," he said with a smile. "I'll let you know if anything turns up on our end."

"Thanks for the sandwiches," she said, and gave him a half-hearted wave as he strolled out of the office. With a huge sigh she put down her sandwich and started filling out her encounter report. As she went to write the boy's name she gave a final little chortle. 'Boy-who-disappeared' indeed. What a silly name for a child. With a shake of her head she plowed on with her filing. By the end of the hour the little boy with messy hair and green eyes was nearly forgotten, buried under a mound of other charts and files.