Eleven years is a long time when you hate the people caring for you.
Eleven years is a long time when you're an outcast, abandoned by society and those drunken people who you once referred to as parents so, so long ago; that time when you didn't even know what a parent was.
Eleven years is a long time for a person who has given up on the illusion known as life.
It's especially long when your so-called family has deemed you unworthy of their presence; unless it is to beat you, or shove you into the cupboard you call your sanctuary, or mock those who you thought had loved you, or force you to do chores that a child of your age shouldn't be doing. It hurt when they would talk about your freakishness when they knew you were listening, or how they would chat about how stupid your drunkards of parents had been to die in that car crash ten years ago.
This was what Harry Potter's life was like for as long as he could remember.
"BOY!" a vicious rumbling voice stirred the dust and cobwebs hanging on Harry's ceiling, making Harry sneeze as the mix landed on his nose.
"Yes, uncle Vernon?" he shouted meekly though the door. The door to his cupboard was wrenched open by a pair of meaty hands, and little Harry came face-to-face with his ill-tempered uncle.
"Why hasn't breakfast been made yet, boy?" he asked with rage in his voice. Harry was about to answer when a knock came at the door. The large man looked back to the malnourished child, and took hold of his hair before throwing him farther into his 'room'. The boy's head made impact with the wall with a sickening cracking sound that would make a lesser man wince. Heavy footsteps retreated to the front door. An almost non-existent creak of the door opening was enough for the house to go deathly quiet. At the door stood a man with a long white beard, his hair was also white in color, and longer than his beard, his blue eyes twinkled with knowledge, and his elderly form was posed in a friendly manner, but held an air of intimidation.
"Hello, would you happen to be Vernon Dursley?" the man asked. Vernon nodded and opened the door wider, allowing the man inside.
When the man came in, Vernon turned to make his way to the living room, but he didn't make it far before a cold cylindrical piece of metal was held against his back.
"Well, I'm glad you are sir. You see, I've been told my some of my sources that you have been holding a kidnapped child in your house for the past ten years. His name is Harry Potter, black messy hair, green eyes, lightning bolt scar on his forehead; does this ring any bells, sir?" the old man asked.
"W-Who are you?!" Vernon screeched.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore, but that isn't the answer to my question."
A soft knock came from the coat cupboard under the stairs.
Surely the kidnapped boy wasn't…
"H-Hello? Have you come to take me from here, sir?" a small voice asked from the confines of the enclosed space.
"Shut up, boy!" Vernon roared. The muzzle of the gun nudged against his back harder, and the fat man went stiff.
"You, Vernon Dursley, are under arrest for keeping a kidnapped child, and possible assistance in the murder of his parents."
And that was how the eleven years of torture were ended for the green-eyed boy who had given up on life; and the years of training to be an undercover detective for this man had started, training to hunt down the notorious Voldemort who had murdered the boy's parents.
~X~ Eleven years later ~X~
Japan was roughly the size of America's California, and Tokyo alone had more than the population of all of New York City. This fact made it difficult for Harry to walk around, but made it easy for him to go mostly undetected; his height was about the same as most people around him, it was times like these that he was glad he was short. In his hand was a case that might have been for an instrument of some kind, but Harry knew otherwise. Inside the case was a small stash of black market weapons, just a few pistols really. Still, he needed to get these back to the station so he could shows the others the way to where he had gotten these.
It had been six months since he had been put on this mission and it was coming along very well. In fact, this time next week everyone he had seen wandering the black market would be behind bars; and he would be happily spending all the cash he will have collected from the job. Life couldn't be easier.
He shoved his way through the crowd to get out of the stream of people; he had reached his destination. He waltzed in to the station and straight to the back where he knew his partner for this job would be awaiting his arrival. He was glad he had gotten to work with the eccentric little man, even if he hadn't done any of the field work at all.
"Yo, Flitwick-san! I've got these guns here," Harry said as he pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. He waved it around a bit before sliding it over the desk to the short man in front of him. "And this – this is the address of the black market where I found them. There are a few of them around that area as well, so you might want to stake out the area before you go in." Harry set the guns down on the desk next to the slip of paper with a smirk.
"We can't thank you enough, Potter-san. How much longer do you plan to stay in Japan for? We could always use a helping hand here at the station," Flitwick said hopefully. Harry smiled but shook his head.
"Sorry, after I get the cash from this mission, I'm on a four o'clock plane back to London." With that Harry waved and walked out the door, a stupid smile plastered on his face. He'd be back home in London soon enough.
~X~X~X~
The Japanese government had so graciously gifted Harry with quite the sum of money for this mission. He really didn't need it though, he had vaults of cash left to him by his not drunkard parents. Although it was nice not having to dip into his savings for his trip back to London. A good ten thousand pounds; the Japanese had been very kind and had it converted for him so he didn't have to worry about going through the process in England.
The moment he stepped off of his plane he had been greeted by an old friend; a tall man with snowy hair and sky blue eyes.
"Well, hello sensei." Harry greeted in English, though there was a Japanese hint in his voice and the wording wasn't exactly English. Consider it his way of telling the man that he still had yet to get used to his mother tongue again. Dumbledore smiled warmly at him for his attempt to speak properly again after a full year of speaking next to no English.
"Welcome back, Harry. I have a request of you, if you would be so kind as to hear me out?" Dumbledore requested. Harry shrugged and trailed after his old teacher.
~X~X~X~
An hour after Harry had gotten off of his plane it was 2100 hours and he was tired. He almost fell asleep in car on the way to where ever it was that Dumbledore was taking him. He had dozed off during half of the explanation about whatever it was that Dumbledore wanted him to do.
Apparently, Harry had been recruited to be part of a special task force in London that solved crimes in a Sherlock-Homes-like way. As he had been out of the country and his phone number had been changed for the sake of international calling, there had been absolutely no way to contact him and tell him about this.
Also, on a very special note, their next mission was an infiltration of Voldemort's forces! This was what he had been dreaming of since he had turned twelve, being able to take down the bastard that set his life into a string of messed up moments with his last living relative. While Grindelwald, a famous serial killer who had been the one to start a gang war that had the FBI on their toes, had been the one to start his trauma by forcing his parents into the heat of the fight, Voldemort had ended up being the one to actively seek his parents out to kill them. He had been the one to put a bullet through his father's head for a swift death, and his mother… his mother fought valiantly to save his life, but she to found a bullet in her head; but her efforts gave enough time for the FBI to show up and come smashing down the doors, Lord Voldemort only had enough time to carve a lightning bolt into infant Harry's head as his gun had run out of bullets.
Anyway, Harry was upset to hear that the position as spy for the mission was already taken by Severus Snape, a man who had a knack for vicious "potions" as many people called them; horrible formulas that could paralyze a grown elephant with a sniff, crazy brews that could cure the most uncommon of poisons, ways to drain the life out of a man with a sip. He might have been an amazing chemical mixer, but he had a personality like a bottle of his skin boiling brew; heated glares, too much sass, an unworthy amount of hate for everything with legs, greasy. If Harry really thought about it, he guessed he was perfect for the position as spy; he'd fit right in.
It didn't stop him from being upset about it though.
It also hit him where it hurt to hear that ever position for that mission was filled and that he would have to do something else in the meantime. Harry was very pissed off about that, he was looking forward to killing the bloody bastard.
He didn't stop himself from grumbling about that though, much unlike the fact that a greasy bat got the position of spy.
Soon they had arrived at their destination, and Harry had to admit that he was a bit impressed with the place. Harry had always had a liking for the Victoria Era and snakes, and this house fit his tastes to a tee; a grand piano, dark colors and fancy patterns, greens, blacks, silvers, four poster beds (Harry wasn't sure why those were there), snakes seemed to be a reoccurring theme in the house, golden statues, and portraits. All very beautiful, and Harry couldn't help but feel like he would live there willingly if it hadn't been his work space.
"Harry, consider this place your home. I know that it's a bit dreary, but we're trying to lighten the place up. It originally belonged to Sirius Black. You remember him right, your godfather?" Yeah, Harry remembered him. How could he forget? He was the closest thing he had ever had to a parent, and then Voldemort swooped in like a crow a stole his soul away to the depths of hell. Harry held back tears, he had yet to get over his death, and had been drowning himself in work to try and forget. "You know Harry, in his will he said that after Voldemort was dealt with, he wanted to give this place to you; to live in, not to work in, of course. It'll definitely be much brighter when Voldemort is gone." Thing was, Harry didn't want it brighter. He wanted it to stay like it was, he loved it like this. It seemed to sit his current personality like a wet suit.
Harry was lead up to his room. It seemed the beds were there because it had originally been a house for an old, rich family, and they hadn't found the time to renovate the rooms into offices yet.
The moment he got to his room he shooed Dumbledore out and collapsed on his bed, desperate for a good night's sleep. He could deal with the other residents in the house later on tomorrow, for now he wanted to sleep away his thoughts of his Godfather – even if that meant sleeping with a nightmare riddled sleep.
~X~X~X~
~X~X~X~
A/N: So this was a challenge from BlueEyes White Dragon Sorcerer. So I thought I might as well try it out. I might combine the later chapters into a oneshot. I'm not sure though. This is my first challenge, and I do so love a challenge. Tell me what you think in the reviews. A fair warning, There is a high chance that I'll forget about this for half a year and come back to it. I don't mean any harm, but I've got to get all these ideas out of my face before I can work on my earlier stuff, ya know? Also note, I have no beta! Thanks, ttfn!
~Nylffn