The Kindly Ones Chapter 1, a harry potter fanfic

The Kindly Ones

Chapter One

Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice.
– Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Tough.

Mind cast back many years, Harry remembered that word fondly. Sitting with his arm broken – but only a dull ache for now, a content smile spread across his face as the pool of blood spread from the cooling body across the room, finally reaching his shoes. His eyes rose as the woman choked on the fluid from the severed artery, spurting equally into her own throat as onto the floor. His aim was improving.

Still, it wasn't the word itself, so much as the memories that sprung up from that day. Memories and the mentor that made glorious days like today possible. Pity he would need new shoes, though.

It wasn't a word the young boy had heard directed at him in a good way yet. Maybe he was just hearing things. "Excuse me, sir?"

Leaning down and picking him up by the elbow easily, the policeman, dressed in a rather severe uniform and with his hat on and everything, gave him a slight smile. "I said, you're pretty tough, aren't you. It's not important," waving off any reply the young boy may have had, the man looked after the fleeing bullies with a frown. "Know them?"

Green eyes automatically shot to the piggish boy, huffing in the back of the group of four. "No, sir."

The man tilted his head, and the hat followed, making the small boy's lips quirk in a grin. He immediately hissed in pain, as the split in his lower opened further. "Now, now. Lets get that looked at."

"I need to be heading home," looking back at the way the troupe of older and larger boys had gone, the boy seemed ready to bolt. In truth, he wanted to. He was warned many, many times not to talk to police, and not to get his cousin in trouble. This smacked of trouble.

Ian Grieve reached out and snatched the child up by his collar, seeing the intent clear enough. Sighing to himself, the man looked back to the alleyway, seeing a head duck back on the other side, watching them. Looking back at the scrap of a child, he was again irritated at how far some things had to go, before someone acted. Grimy, looking like he'd not washed in a week, and then beaten severely. Glancing over his thin arms, Ian's lips drew into a line. And not the first time. "Hold on a moment. Did I just see four other boys roughing you up?"

Shaking his head, the small boy refused to meet the man's eyes. "No sir."

"Now, I know I asked them to stay here, but they ran off. Do you happen to know any of them?" Officer Grieve would bet fair money the boy knew them all, at least by name. If he thought about it a moment, at least one seemed familiar enough to him already.

Shivering now after the adrenaline of the moment had worn off, the little boy shook his head again. "No sir, don't know any of them." Trying to shrug the man's hand off, he winced as his shoulder screamed at him. Without thinking he whimpered as his knees went slack.

Seeing this child nearly fall, Ian made a judgment call. Picking him up, he carried the wincing child to his car, and set him in the passenger seat. "Alright. Well I can't have you out after curfew... so lets go for a ride. Now, usually it's polite to introduce yourself before you start asking questions... let me apologize for that. My name's Officer Grieve. You can call me Ian though, I let all my friends call me Ian," letting his voice go conversational, the policeman settled into the squad car, making sure his passenger was seated safely.

Moments wore on, as the two sat, and finally Ian decided to try another tactic. "Now, I can call you 'you', or 'young man', but that's going to be confusing at some point. Do you have a name I can call you by?"

"I'm... not supposed to talk to strangers."

Masking his frustration, Ian laughed. "Oh, you're a smart one too. That's good, and you're right. But you know," gesturing at the car, Officer Grieve smiled at the little boy, and got him to at least look up. "I am a policeman. We're the ones you go to, if you're in trouble. That means you can trust us."

Swallowing, the child heaved a sigh and tried to huddle by the door. "Harry."

"Harry? Fine name, yes. We have a Harry at the station, very good man." Picking up the receiver to his radio, Ian smiled. "Station, Officer Grieve, copy."

"Station here, Officer, go ahead." Harry listened, having only heard such conversations in the odd movie snippets he could manage, from the cupboard. Somewhat more curious than wary, he peered over his shoulder to the man and his radio set.

Smiling, Ian pointed to a small battery of switches, then pointed to the roof of the car. The young boy cottoned on and started playing with them, with his good arm as Ian started the vehicle. Out in the winter snows, the lights could be seen to flicker and beam. "I have an W1, maybe seven years old, possible 273a, subject to 240 and 242. Parties still at large, and I have young Harry, here with me. Station, I told him that I have a friend named Harry there, can you put them on for me?"

The other line paused, and Harry flicked the lights over the car on and off as they drove. "Ian, I'm surprised you didn't recognize me," Officer Grieve smiled, glad that Alan got the hint so easily. "Harry, are you listening?"

"Here you go, son. Chat with them while I drive. Just press that button on the side," Ian handed the handset over, to a wide-eyed young boy.

"H-hello?"

Alan heard the wavering tone and his heart went out to Ian. After a moment, the dispatch officer shook his head and painted on a smile. "Good afternoon, Harry. Nice to meet someone with a name like mine. Bet your last name isn't the same though, mine's Wilson."

"Potter, sir."

Noting the child's name, Alan flagged down one of the duty officers, and had them start on records. "Harry Potter, huh? Well that's a good name, bit more interesting than Harry Wilson. Is that your father's name? Or your mothers?"

Confused, the young boy looked to Ian, who he could have sworn was looking at him a moment ago. "Um. Father's, and mother's sir."

"Oh, well good then, good to know they're both about."

"No, sir," looking away, Harry heaved a sigh and seemed to choke back something he'd thought to say. "They aren't."

Alan winced, and scratched out the note he was working on, to make another. "I'm so sorry, lad. You're not staying at an orphanage are you? You have family?"

Eyes narrowing, Harry looked from Ian to the radio for a moment, thinking about his answer. Officer Grieve noticed this, as the young child was anything but subtle in his suspicions and wariness. Lips thinning, he was beginning to see a pattern. "It's OK son," he said soothingly. "Harry's a good man, he just wants to know if there's someone he can call, to let know what's going on. People worry, if their children are out so late, and they don't know where."

"Oh," turning back to the radio, Harry's expression turned scared. Vernon could care less if he was well, or out late. He would care about police coming by, or asking questions. Oh what to do! He couldn't tell them about the Dursleys! His uncle had warned him, never, never ever to talk to the police, and even beyond that, never mention them. The beating he'd taken over simply asking why was reason enough not to think about it again. "They... they're out of town."

"Did they leave you alone, then?"

Stupid Harry, this isn't working! How to get out of this, how to... "No, no. I'm staying with some friends of my family," gaining confidence in his lie, the young boy went on quickly. "I'm staying there while my family is abroad. I was... just on the way there, yes. Tonight. My first night there."

Ian looked over and saw the look on Harry's face, and then turned back to the road. "Harry, who are the people you're staying with now?"

"Vernon Dursley and his family. They were expecting me, so I should get there soon, or they'll worry," he said quickly.

Nodding, Officer Grieve flicked on the small switch that let his radio stay in transmit mode. "So, Harry, just to make sure I understand. Your family is out of town, and you were on the way to these Dursleys, when I found you? And they're expecting you."

"Yes sir."

"And this isn't where you normally stay?"

"No sir."

Running a hand along his chin and the neatly trimmed beard there, Ian nodded. "OK, Harry. Well, I need to stop off at the station and get something, but we'll only be there a minute. Would you mind keeping me company till then? You can use the radio, and keep your namesake on the other side company for me."

"I... I really should be getting back home," Harry whispered, hoping desperately they'd not keep him. The longer he stayed with this man, the more Vernon would be cross. And that was already a certainty, as far as he knew.

"You know how dangerous these times are, Harry," Ian said lightly, smiling at the boy. "You keep the other Harry on the line for me, so I don't have to be out alone. We'll get a spot of tea and maybe a biscuit, and then back to your family."

Harry's stomach answered for him, at the mention of food.

As he wandered about the Station, Harry boggled at how many people smiled at him. It was simply unreal. He'd been at school for two years now, and with the Dursleys six, as they kept reminding him.

He must be grateful for the time he'd spent under their hospitality, Harry reminded himself. He could have had to fend for himself, like they always told him.

Still, in all that time, the neighbors, schoolmates and visitors he'd seen all treated him with at best distant aversion. Harry assumed it was his freakishness, as his uncle called it. Something from his father. It always sent the man into a rage whenever he felt the need to remind Harry to keep such things to himself, but for the life of the young boy, he couldn't recall what it was.

It was just him. Something about Harry made uncle Vernon mad.

These people must not know about the freakishness. That's why they're so nice, Harry reasoned finally, after accepting a warm cup of tea and sitting at a table in a rather cluttered but homey room.

"Excuse me sir," he began, trying to drink the strong tea slowly, as not make himself sick. "I must be getting back soon. It's late." His eyes widened as a young woman brought in a tray of cakes and cookies, and sat them on the table. Swallowing hard, Harry wrenched his eyes back to Officer Grieve. "Please."

Ian was sure of his suspicions at this point. He'd picked up a light report, and what he'd read wasn't good, at all. Harry was the son of a young couple who'd disappeared some years ago, and was currently staying with his mother's sister. Family name, Evans, married name Dursley, of course. "Oh, I'm sorry Harry. I have to do just a spot of work, then I can run you back," Ian apologized, gesturing at the platter Wendy had brought in. "Why don't you have a snack?"

"Sir?"

Blinking at the young man, Ian knelt down beside his chair. "You can have some of those if you like, Harry."

Green eyes wide again, Harry smiled and reached out, wincing as he'd used the wrong arm. Ian immediately called for someone while Harry shuffled his tea between hands so he could reach better.

Patricia Greenstead wasn't accustomed to being called into officer's spaces, to see to her duties. When she'd looked to Ian severely, expecting some answers, he's merely pointed with his chin to the desk. When she saw the emaciated, bruised and bloodied young child there, she nearly screamed at him for not bringing him directly to her. Only a firm hand on her arm and a quick pull outside kept her mouth shut.

But only for a moment. "Ian Grieve what the devil are you doing with him up here, and keeping me from him?" Reaching to open the door again, she was rebuffed as the man stood between her, and it. "Explain, Ian, before I get the Captain."

"Pat, just cool off a moment," the man ordered her, his voice low. "Just hear me out."

"You have one minute. Starting half ago."

"Damn it, Pat," sighing, Ian gathered himself. "I picked him up, after seeing some young roughs beating him in the park. He obviously knew them, hell I think one was related to Antony Polkiss. Had his face," smoothing back his hair, Ian leaned on the wall by the door, now that he had Pat's attention. "I asked him about family, and he got dodgey."

The part time nurse, usually on staff as often as half a week on loan from the local hospital, let her brow rise at that. "You think-"

"Neglect? Probably. Abuse? Likely," the man finished quietly, looking to her steadily. "He's wary. I think he's been warned off talking to the police. Which in itself, in damning. We can't force him, we can't hold him. I'm stalling as-is. I need you to get me something to go in with."

"I think I can do that. Brief me."

Harry sat happily, trying to offset his need to get back to the Dursleys and avoid Vernon's wrath, with the hunger that was threatening to turn him inside out with so much food nearby. He'd had one cake, and desperately wanted another. Mouth watering, he was reaching to take up his second when the door opened slowly, and a woman peered in. "Harry?"

Snatching his hand back, Harry looked to the woman guiltily. "Yes ma'am?"

Patricia schooled her features, on seeing him again. Here sat a very, very badly treated young boy, in what looked like cast-off clothes for someone twice his size. Ratty and unwashed, the clothes had an awful odor, reminding her of a pet store. "Harry, I was going to take you down to the little infirmary and get you a fresh change of clothes, but to do that, I'll need you to tell me some things. Would you like some better fitting clothes?"

"I'm... these are alright," he said warily, not knowing what this woman wanted from him. New clothes?

"Heavens no," laughing at the young man, she smiled reassuringly. "No, those won't do at all. You want to meet the Captain don't you? You see, usually visitors are taken to get a new pair of clothes, to meet him in if theirs are a little old, or dirty." She'd said the word Captain with intended emphasis, hoping the young man shared most of his age group's fascination with the force, and the romanticized action entailed. Gesturing to herself, Patricia made a little spin for Harry. "My uniform, for instance. The Station gave me this. Would you like to see the Captain? We just need to get you into a new change of clothes.

"I'm sure Ian forgot to tell you about them, but Ian here is a bit of a rule-breaker," grinning at the Officer in question, she turned back to Harry. "Would you mind? This way I don't get in trouble."

Looking down at his clothes, Harry bit his lip. "I'm sorry, I know they're dirty-"

"Shush. It's alright, we aren't judging. Come along. Ian! Get that snack tray, Harry's barely started it."

As they walked, Officer Grieve handed him another cake. "Harry, you can trust Patricia. She's a nice woman."

Eying the man warily, Harry gave a curt nod, while nibbling on the baked good. "Yes sir."

Shortly he was lead into what he assumed was a changing room, but it was the biggest one he'd ever seen. One full wall was mirror, while there was a huge table in the middle for clothes, he assumed. "You wait here. I'll bring in your change of clothes, and Ian here will let the Captain know you're almost ready."

Harry sat with his cakes and cookies and tea and boggled again. Why were they being so nice to him? This certainly didn't sound like the way Vernon told him the police would be like. In fact, this wasn't how anyone had acted around him.

Ian and Patricia eyed each other once the door shut. "What are you on about?"

Pat shook her head slowly, "He won't let us get close. That much is obvious. You get the recorder running, get Alan and the Captain. I'll get you your warrant." As she walked to the infirmary, Pat murmured angrily about systems and holes and cracks and people falling through them.

William was still on duty when she arrived, which was the one kink in her plan, were he to be already off on the way home. "Will, I need a favor."

Maybe fifteen minutes and five cakes later, the nurse returned with a small khaki bundle of cloth in her hand. "Well, Harry I have to apologize. I couldn't find a suit in your size, but we can't have you meeting the Captain in those clothes. This will do. I'll just turn my back, and if you need help, let me know.

Looking over the khaki jumper, Harry had to wonder that they had one in his size. Still, he had no idea how police stations worked, so figuring it best not to get his hosts in trouble – that would delay him he figured, he started peeling off his rags and changing.

Patricia kept her eyes glued to the side mirror, watching as more bruises, new and old were revealed. When Harry cried out from trying to get his shirt free, she turned with a surprised look. "Here, let me help."

"No it's-"

"I insist, I am a nurse after all. It's what we do," she said quietly, inspecting Harry's back as she carefully untangled the shift from an obviously twisted, possibly minor dislocation of the shoulder. "Harry, I need you to tell me the truth a moment." Looking pointedly at the mirror, she turned so those on the other side could see the ragged wells and bruises that littered the boy's back.

Her tone changed, Harry swallowed, and nodded.

Mouth pulled to a terse line, Patricia looked at the joint with a wary eye. "I can tell your arm has been bothering you all night. Will you tell me how you hurt it? I can make it feel better if so."

Shaking, Harry was at an impasse. If he told on Dudley, and got him in trouble somehow, Vernon would be unbelievably cross. Considering the small ache now, with what could be, Harry shook his head fervently.

Sighing, the nurse delicately ran her fingers over the boy's shoulder blade. "Then I'm sorry, but this will hurt a bit."

"What do you-" crying out, Harry's vision grayed at the edges as the woman pulled sharply on his arm suddenly. He heard a sick pop and felt his arm go numb, after flaring angrily with pain. The dull ache was gone, but oh how it's leaving stung! Tears welling up in his eyes, Harry blinked furiously, refusing to do more than he had.

"Tough," Ian stated again, watching Patricia reset the boy's shoulder. He'd had his own dislocated once, falling off a stair and grabbing for purchase. He never wanted to have that sensation be his again. "Not sure that's a good thing, at this point."

Captain Brian nodded, his lined face reddening with anger. "You've shown me enough, Ian. When he's dressed, your warrant will be on the duty counter. Get me some bloody answers."

Brow rising, Officer Grieve saluted as his commanding officer left the observation room, on the other side of the mirror.

Avoiding the bulk of the bruises and scrapes on Harry's back, nurse Greenstead helped the young boy into the khaki jumper she'd commandeered from the youth lockers. Usually those were kept for the odd child without a workout suit during the weekend Boy's School outing, where they'd come to practice self defense. She figured it wouldn't be missed. "Now, isn't that comfy?"

"Yes ma'am."

Tutting, Patricia smiled at Harry and ran a hand through his rather messy hair. "Call me Pat, Harry."

Hesitating a moment, Harry nodded and looked back up at the woman. "Yes ma'am... I mean yes, Pat."

Nodding back, she straightened his jumper slightly. "There. Right as rain. Lets go see the Captain." With a smile, she lead Harry back outside, knowing the same Captain was likely having a drink to settle his nerves, after seeing the state of Harry's back, if her guess was right.

Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but to be honest, he was having a grand time. First, he'd met some very friendly people, who didn't seem to think badly of him. Then, he'd gotten to ride in a police car, and see the inside of a Station! He wondered how many other people his age had done so. The cakes and cookies and tea were very good as well, and he'd not been so well fed he thought in weeks. Warm, sleepy and comfortable in the rather plush jumper, it was easy to nod off, as he rode beside Ian. Officer Grieve, that is.

Glancing to his passenger, Ian smiled, before sweeping his eyes to the mirrors, seeing the Captain and Patricia in the next car back. Behind them, would be the two officers Captain Brian had called onto the case.

The file on Vernon Dursley said little – the man was a non-entity. No record, no outstanding anything. His son had been cited twice for violence and belligerence in his school, but no outstanding record was made. The vagueness made them wonder if perhaps something else was going on that they'd missed.

Also disturbing was Vernon's work record. Not in that it was bad, quite the contrary. If Harry were indeed staying there as a ward of the Dursleys, there was no reason at all for him to be so malnourished, and wearing such horrid clothes.

Patricia was adamant about burning them, in fact. She'd lied to Harry and said they were being cleaned, for him.

Of Vernon Dursley's wife, there was even less. Apparently a homemaker, she was Harry's only surviving blood relation.

Pulling up to 4 Privet, Ian looked about himself at the carbon copy homes and grimaced. All rather well to do, at least middle class. Again, he looked at the painfully thin and bruised boy beside him, lightly dozing with his arms crossed across himself.

He almost envied Gregory and Charles their work, questioning the family.

Captain Gerard Bennet Brian watched as his officers went to question the man, Vernon. From his vantage in the car, he only saw the man's at first hostile, then utter submissive reaction to his men's initial introduction. Brian could only assume the man was expecting Harry, and thus his anger when opening the door.

Shortly, his men were invited inside.

After only three minutes, they were walking back out, one with Vernon sputtering and yelling back at the officer, pushing him forward with a hand on his shoulder. Already cuffed, the corpulent man and his son, while a rather stridently protesting horse-faced woman were escorted to the waiting car.

Snorting, the man shook his head as the fat fool spotted Harry's car, Harry still sitting there in the seat apparently, and forgetting himself went to lunge at it. A swift swing of a baton dissuaded the man.

Sadly, it only seemed to increase the woman's volume.

Rolling his eyes, Captain Brian lamented his staff's intact chivalry, and his lack of foresight in bringing only male arresting officers.

Morning sunlight picked out the details Harry had missed in the room, the night before. Officer Grieve's room in the Station seemed very lived in, aside from the couch, which he knew was well used. It had that squishy, dented and often-slept-in feel.

Having woken on the same, Harry wondered why he was still here. Didn't he get taken back to the Dursley's last night? A noise and motion to his side had the young man searching for his glasses.

"To your right, just by the foot of the couch at your head," the voice of Ian stated, coming from the vague blur near the room's door. Taking up his glasses, Harry blinked at the man as he came in with a small tray of food, and a glass of juice. "Once you've had some breakfast, I'd like to talk with you a bit, Harry."

Nodding, the young boy happily ate, only wondering idly now about the Dursleys, and his absence. These people had treated him so nicely, had been so nice. He wished it would never end, but dreaded the eventuality. It wasn't how things worked for Harry Potter.

Closing the door quietly on the boy and his breakfast, Officer Grieve turned to the Captain, looking more grim than usual, even for a Monday morning. "Sir," snapping to attention, Grieve wondered what would have the man here so early, but figured it would have something to do with his charge, in the office.

"At ease, Ian, this isn't the military," Brian chided, settling against the wall opposite with a sigh. "Just came by to give you the news directly." Expression going grim, he continued at Ian's curious look, "And keep you out of holding."

Automatically Ian straightened, quelling his rising suspicions. "Sir?"

Nodding at the man's restraint, even given the circumstances, Brian motioned the officer to follow him. "I have the full report so far, from Patricia once we got the young man back in, and from the Dursleys home and questioning. Now, officially there was no case till Patricia examined Harry, but I want to make this very clear. You are not to pursue, or follow up on this investigation. Period."

Stalling in the hallway outside his commanding officer's door, Ian had to make sure he heard the man correctly. "Ah... yes. Sir." So. That's how it was. Sighing, the officer prepared himself for a trying morning.

"Have a seat." Settling himself behind the large desk that dominated the room, Captain Brian pulled a rather thick and new looking file to the center of the desk. "Our preliminary report. So far... well Harry's case is going to be handled by Child Services, and the department is going to be cooperating with their actions. I'll give you today, since you were the one to bring this in, to look over files and evidence." Pushing the large file across the desk, the ranked officer looked Grieve over carefully. "Can you stay objective on this?"

"Sir." Still reeling slightly at being put in this situation again, Ian looked at the reports, thumbing to relevant pages with easy practice. Medical examination reported four broken ribs, none of which had been treated properly before mending. At least seventy-five percent of the bones in the boy's arms had been fractured in the past, and he had a badly twisted shoulder currently. That he'd not suffered complications from those was miracle enough. Patricia suggested strongly a thorough examination, at the hospital.

Domestically, the results were still coming in. They had trouble locating exactly where the child had been kept, and were debating bringing in dogs when one of the on-site investigators found a cupboard that seemed to be where he had been locked up. Rereading that passage, Ian's eyes narrowed. "Sir, am I to understand that filth locked Harry in a closet room, where he was unable to so much as leave for the use of facilities regularly?"

Nodding gravely, Brian went about pouring himself a glass of Gin. "His health is just above the level one would expect in a third world country. Remarkably, he seems to have come out of it all without much permanent damage. Resilient little guy."

"Permission to speak to the family, sir."

"Declined," Brian stated firmly. "You will neither approach, nor take part in this investigation. This isn't Aaron, Officer Grieve. Your son, tragic as that case was, cannot be helped. Harry's case is his own."

Closing his eyes and taking a breath to calm the anger swelling in his chest, Ian nodded, finally. "Understood. May I then speak to Child Services in regard to Harry's future arrangements."

Captain Brian had expected this, but in truth had little answer for the man. He knew it wasn't healthy for Ian to fixate so on Harry, considering his own son's tragic loss, but then, perhaps they two could help one another. "Granted. If you find a leave needed, to get things organized, submit the form to personnel, I'll approve it."

"Thank you sir," standing, Ian made to leave but Brian's hand came across and took him by the shoulder.

"Take Harry by the house today, so he can collect his things. And remember what I told you."

Though Harry understood part of what Officer Grieve told him... it still seemed unreal. Vernon and Petunia... even Dudley being held? Over how they'd treated him. Blinking in the sun as Ian drove him back to the only home he'd known, Harry thought back on things and found himself more confused than ever. "Sir?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Why... why would they do that? I don't..." trailing off, Harry stifled a sniffle and fixed his eyes intently ahead. He'd been afraid before, he's even been bitter and unhappy, in plentiful amounts. This... this was new.

All these years, of his 'family' telling him he was abnormal, a freak. Telling everyone he came in contact with he was some aberrant, degenerate or charity case, and in truth they were the ones in the wrong. He'd had no reason to believe otherwise. Closing his eyes, Harry felt the desire to harm, to hurt them back for all they'd done to him. Instinct almost quelled such a thing, but he struck at it savagely, with memories of his own pain. Each time his conscience would remind him that revenge was wrong, he remembered being beaten. Crying himself to sleep over an aching chest, or arm. Nights that became days without food. Eventually, that little voice grew silent.

All he knew, was them. All he knew, was what they'd taught him, what they'd told him. It was a wonder Harry had survived, the woman Patricia had told him the night before. Too sleepy to understand then, Harry hadn't considered such a thing in the scope of what was now happening.

Reaching over, Ian laid a hand across Harry's shoulder, trying to reassure the young man. "Some people are just wrong, Harry. They can't bring themselves up any higher, and so find someone to take down, to make themselves feel better. Those are the kind of people we work to put away."

Nodding, Harry swiped a damp nose across his sleeve. "What's going to happen to them?"

Ian's lips thinned, as they drove a moment in silence. In truth, he knew that were the injuries, the conditions something more recent, maybe a bit worse, the Dursleys would likely be in jail a long, long time. As it was, with the proof historic and the conditions horrid but not critical... likely the filthy lot would be back in their home within the week, with the case stuck in courts for months.

Harry would be remitted to state care, and likely placed in an orphanage till an appropriate family could be found. All the Dursley's claim to the boy would be forfeit. As for a home... well till the CS could place him, Ian was more than happy to help the child.

Pulling up to the home, Ian sat with Harry for some time, just looking at the place silently. He had no idea what kind of things Harry would be thinking right now, but hoped the young boy would talk with him, if he felt the desire. "They aren't here. It's just you, and me. Ready?"

Nodding, Harry opened his door, shortly followed by Ian.

Inside, the home was precisely what Ian had figured. Upper-middle class decoration, tacky, obviously the woman Petunia's doing. He found little of anything that would actually indicate a man lived here, outside of the den and the television, which was better than average. Walking to the kitchen, Ian checked the refrigerator and the pantry, noting the rather excessive stocking in each. Perishables that would last a three families for a week, but would expire much too soon for one.

Sighing, Ian knew he was simply stalling the inevitable. Walking back to the entryway, he saw the evidence tapes and tags on the door, waiting for him. Along the edge, he saw the locks, and knew well why the Captain had forbade him to speak to the filth that did this. Slipping the tape loose, he opened the door and immediately drew back.

Ammonia and the stale smell of captivity assaulted him, bringing him to coughing and choking behind a hand. "Bloody hell," he swore, looking back though watering eyes. There on the floor was a broken and stained mattress, little better than a crib pad if he was honest. Dust, broken toys, and chips of wood and plaster were the only other things in the room. Off in the corner, a hole had been broken into the house's underpinning, obviously for Harry's use.

Slamming the door shut, Ian stood back and took a number of deep breaths, not only to calm his nerves but to banish that smell from his memory.

"Harry?" Realizing he'd let his attentions wander, Ian cursed and went about looking for the lad. He needed to keep a level head, with the young boy, and getting bent up by his anger was not the way to do so.

While Ian seemed to be investigating the house, Harry walked to his cupboard and stood outside it, looking blankly at the tape that crisscrossed it. Harry wondered what Ian meant, by "Gather his things." Harry didn't have things.

He did have a good memory, for what had happened though. Few things defined themselves in that, but one of those came to him, as he walked up the stairs idly.

Vernon had beaten him with a belt, many, many times. One time, after he'd been found to have gotten better grades than Dudley in school, something Harry found more work to do than actually succeed, Vernon had been particularly foul.

It was a Friday, and like most of Vernon's Fridays, he came home drunk and loud and angry. Apparently he was the butt of most of his employer's and coworkers jokes, and though he could have begged off the social event, the stupid man had little spine for actually standing up to people of his own stature. Dudley spent little time winding the corpulent man up into a rage, and Harry had slipped during the initial beating.

He'd said it was too hard to be stupider than Dudley.

Furious, the man had seized him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs, then thrown him across the room they'd entered. Harry, dazed had lain there, shaking off the pain and impact for a few moments till he realized he was in the bath.

Only a few seconds of confusion lasted, till the fat man returned, and this time he didn't have a belt.

The knife was huge, at least to Harry's eyes. Perhaps it was the fear in him, or the anger of Vernon or both, but the thing looked as big as a sword. Later, Harry would realize it little more than just a wicked hunting knife, but it still gave him nightmares.

Crossing the hall to the bedroom, Vernon's bedroom specifically, Harry opened the door and instinct had him ducking and looking about warily. Stepping quickly to the man's dresser, Harry remembered what Vernon had told him, waving that wicked thing under his nose. "No further than a reach from my bed. You remember that, freak. Remember that you owe me that worthless hide of yours, for all these years, and I'll not hesitate to skin it off you!"

The upper right hand drawer was the one. Reaching in, Harry took out the sheathed knife, and turned to leave the room. Not looking back, he didn't bother to close the drawer.

Ducking into Dudley's room, he took a jacket from the piggish boy's closet, too big for Harry but it had pockets inside the lining that the unpleasant Dudley boasted at shoplifting with. It suited Harry's purpose fine.

When Ian came looking for him again, Harry was in the restroom, settling his coat in the mirror. "Just a moment," he called, nervous. Police weren't the bad guys, he kept reminding himself. Regardless he didn't feel guilt at taking the knife. It was his fear. He'd not let another hold that against him, ever again.

Arabella Figg was in a state. Through the night, she'd been tending her cats, one birthing a litter of kittens of course when things would be going so far from right. By the time she'd noticed the noise and lights, the Dursleys were already being led from the home, hands in shackles and at the mercy of muggle police.

"Dumbledore!" she'd all but screamed into the fireplace, throwing far too much floo powder in and nearly singing her wall with the resulting wash of flame. "Emergency!"

Shortly she could see the man's face in the flames, looking to her curiously. "Arabella, what is the problem? It's quite late."

"Police! The Dursleys! Oh, I don't know-"

"I see," the Headmaster said quietly, looking contemplative. "Step back, Ms. Figg. I'm coming through."

Blinking, she did as the man asked and shortly the stately form of Dumbledore, sky blue robes and his grand beard were standing in her den. Taking out a small pocket watch, the aged wizard regarded it with an unreadable expression. "Strange. Most strange." Standing with the woman outside the home, but within the wards she had, the old man watched the proceedings with a critical eye. "Have you seen anything that would indicate why the muggle law enforcement would see the need to incarcerate the boy's family?"

Arabella shook her head furiously, but looked pensive. "They leave him in the care of a babysitter often, as they go out, taking their son, but no. I mean they're family, Dumbledore. What would they do?"

"Babysitter... interesting. And the young men? Dudley, I believe his name is, how do he and Harry fare?"

Shrugging, Ms. Figg watched as the said fat child was struggling against the hands of an officer, spitting curses that would make a sailor blush. "Ah, well children will be children... They quarrel and fight but are still-"

"I see," eyes narrowing, Dumbledore looked over the cars and watched as the Dursleys were taken away. "I think, for now Arabella you should go tend to your cats. I will speak with you again, if the need arises."

Sputtering a moment, the woman sighed and simply went back inside. Kneazle half-breeds wound around her feet as she sat and thought back to the boys and the family she'd watched for so many years. Children were cruel – this she knew. Being a squib born to magical parents taught her that. But still, she grew up well enough, despite the bullies. Wasn't that all Dudley was? A bully?

Disillusioned, Dumbledore walked down the street as the cars drove by, watching as the wards he'd worked meticulously to tie to the woman who was Lily's sister flickered and died. "They would hold till his seventeenth birthday, as long as one of his blood shared a home," he recalled wearily. Minerva would likely not let him hear the end of this, remembering the scathing speech she'd rattled his windows with after placing the boy with the muggles.

The question remained, what would cause this place to no longer be the boy's home?

Though to most people in the Station, Ian had little hints of a social life, the opposite could not be more true. Ian Grieve had a late wife and son, and lived still with his daughter, who was a year older than Harry. Alicia had been hit hard by the tragedy that left their family a ruin, turning inward in many ways. Gone was the bright blue eyes, the radiant smile.

His only daughter was a bright girl, and like most intelligent children, took too much onto herself without reason. Though Ian tried hard to make sure his only child knew the deaths of her mother and brother had nothing to do with her, guilt was a stubborn stain to wash clean.

Harry returned to Ian's office, and saw the officer holding a picture up, staring at it with a distant sort of fascination. Not wanting to disturb the man, but curious, he walked quietly behind Ian and peered at it as well.

Framed in a simple but well polished silver casement, the photo could not have been more than a few years old. There, Ian stood in his uniform, less decorated but trim as it was now. Beside him was a pretty woman, smiling quietly with her hand across a small girl's shoulder, who could have been her very young sister. Both were dark of hair, long and straight, with blue eyes that shone clearly, despite the camera's distance. Before Ian was a young man, maybe older than the girl, who shared his features. Dark eyes, blonde hair, the youth looked prone to brooding, but carried a smile regardless.

"Rather quiet when you feel the need, aren't you, Harry?" The words shocked the young boy, and he nearly fell back but for the hand on his shoulder. "Easy. Easy. They're a pretty lot, aren't they?" Gesturing to the woman and his children, Ian smiled sadly.

"Yes sir," agreeing more automatically than anything, Harry calmed his thumping heart and tried to remember this man wasn't the enemy. He wasn't one of those others. Not like Vernon.

Taking a long breath, Ian let it loose and breathed out his tension, sadness and memories with it. "Have a seat, Harry. There's some things I want to talk to you about."

Looking behind him, Harry took in the large chair Ian indicated, and hopped up, letting his feet dangle over the edge. "Am I in trouble sir?"

"What?" Laughing a moment, Ian shook his head and smiled, noting the tension leaving Harry as he did so. "No, not at all. People don't just want to talk to you, because something's wrong, Harry. Sometimes, they want to tell you that something's right."

Blinking, Harry simply nodded, absorbing this bit of information. Though he assumed such to be true, thinking on it, the evidence of it was... scarce.

"Anyway... I wanted to speak to you about some people, who will be asking you some questions soon. Now," gesturing to the photo again, Ian's smile turned a little sad. "I know your family wasn't very kind. In fact I would like very much to speak with them, but I'm not allowed. Regardless of that, these people will ask you some things, and I want you to be as helpful and honest as you can."

Harry thought about this and had to admit, so far nothing Officer Grieve had done had been bad. Not to him. These other people made him nervous, but he was fast learning that this man's words could be trusted. So far. He was about to voice his agreement, when Ian leaned across the desk, a very intense look in his eyes.

"Now, that said... honesty is something some people can't really see for what it is. Do you understand?" When Harry shook his head, eyes going wide, Ian nodded and leaned back, peaking his fingers and looking to the office door briefly. "Let me explain.

"Say, for instance... I know that many things a man across the hall had done were very bad. But, I had no proof, other than what I was sure of. Now, this is the important part Harry... always be sure." Pausing, Ian looked pained a moment, but seemed to work over whatever dark thoughts were upon him. "Now, say I have one bad thing, that could be proven very mild... or very severe. What would be the right thing to do?"

Biting his lip, Harry considered the quandary for a long time. He guessed that Ian was making an analogy to his own life, but why? Putting the man in context of Vernon, Harry's eyes narrowed. "I... the right thing, if I was sure, would be to prove the worst things."

"Good!" Smiling widely, Ian laughed quietly, reaching up to run a hand through his graying ash-colored hair. "Not always is that right. Not always can we see crime so easily. Do you understand Harry? Being sure isn't easy. It takes time. But when you are, you need to act."

Confused by the direction all this was going, Harry's face betrayed those emotions. "Why?"

Favoring the small child, so deep in his own world of hurt that Ian couldn't help but feel a kinship, the officer smiled warmly. "Harry, sometimes the good guys can't do what's right, because to stay good guys, they have to do what people think they should."

Nodding, brows knit in concentration, Harry agreed.

"Now, sometimes, not always, but sometimes bad people can't be punished, because the good guys simply can't do it and stay good guys. Do you understand?"

"Is this why the Captain won't let you see Vernon?"

Smiling, Ian nodded again. "Exactly. He's making sure I stay the good guy, by not doing something bad, to the bad guys."

"But why?"

"Because when the good guys start doing bad things, no matter why, people stop thinking of them as being right," Ian replied sadly. Harry seemed to cotton on, and nodded firmly.

Looking back up to Ian, his green eyes carried something the officer hadn't seen before. They had an intensity, a spark. "So, sometimes we have to make sure the right thing gets done, even if the good guys can't."

Nodding, Ian sighed and relaxed into the chair he sat in. "Sometimes. But you, you don't have to worry about this right now." Taking up a file, he opened it up to a page with Harry's medical history. "For now, lets look at the past, and think of how to make what some people will see as many distant bad things, as a bit more important."

Harry stood and crossed to the desk, standing beside Ian much to the man's surprise. Not that the officer hadn't expected the young boy to be adverse to seeing his own justice done, but more that the intensity in those green eyes flared all the brighter, at his words.

That night that Ian picked him up, at the hands of Piers Polkiss, Dennis, Malcom and Dudley, Harry had received possibly the second worse beating of his life, at least that week. At least, that's what the counseling team from Child Services heard, from what appeared to be their worst case of the year.

Initial notes, just on the boy's state of being were dreadful, but after the accounts given, tour of the home in question, forensic evidence and testimony taken from neighbors and the boys involved, the team had other ideas.

Though many had seen child neglect and abuse cases in the past, this was far and above unreasonable. Traces of skin and blood were found under Dudley's nails, taken at the Station, and also on one other of the young men. When questioned in depth, Harry admitted his uncle was 'a very angry, sometimes violent' man who only hit him 'a few times a week, unless he was ungrateful'.

At this point officers were required to stand watch over the family, as they stewed in their cells. One inquisitor had managed to get herself into the holding area and was found verbally dressing down the purpling and furious Vernon, riling the man to the point of sputtering incoherence.

Evidence further damning was the preposterous lies told by the entire deviant family about the young boy. There was no wonder at the ostracism he'd received at the hands of school, peers and community. A righting of attitudes was shortly done by the team, as pictures of Harry's injuries and the cupboard itself were circulated.

People have an odd way of dealing with guilt, those on the Child Services team knew. Once those they'd spoken to learned Harry's case, most were direly regretful of their treatment of the boy. So much so, that many were very forthcoming with new or supporting information, to their investigation.

Perhaps in retrospect, many would see the trials as a modern day witch-hunt, but few could be deemed as truly sympathetic to such abusive, violent and neglectful behaviors. Through Dudley's staggering stupidity in suggesting a 'Harry-hunt' during the afternoon during patrol hours, the family was left a ruin.

Vernon's position disappeared overnight, as did any of his financial sponsors, on his bank loans and mortgages. Any debts he had due, were in the process of being called in against his home and properties.

Petunia was in a similar state, having little else to call on other than her husband's due. Both adults were sentenced to three years and probation after, but the sentence was increased to including mental care, once the two started spouting off some nonsense about magic. That they'd repeatedly referred to Harry as a freak in the courtroom as well as during inquiry did nothing to soften the jury's or their prosecution's anger.

Dudley was remanded to the Juvenile Care center, where he would take up residence with the other problem children, one other joining him being Piers. Though the CS team could not find definitive evidence about the other two children involved, Piers and Dudley were conclusively shown to have very unhealthy violent tendencies, and these needed to be addressed. Though not as pleasant as an orphanage, the Juvenile Care facilities were far superior to the treatment Harry had received, which he was reminded forcefully.

Only once was there an inquiry about the cases, by an older gentleman going by the name Albert Du'moir, apparently a distant associate of the family. Unbelievably old looking, yet spry and with a good attitude and personality people recalled, he was given the polite version, and a generic printout that many presses had received while wanting the data for their printings. Growing grim and mumbling on mistakes, the man wasn't seen to return to the Station till long after the hearings.

It had been three months, and while not everything Ian wanted was accomplished, at least for young Harry, most was passable. Once the Dursleys had lost whatever custody they had – it was a common-law situation apparently, as no recorded will for his mother Lily Potter was available, Child Services started the process for placing Harry into an orphanage.

Ian immediately stepped in. Though he had a daughter, the man was well off, with enough money to last him through his age thanks sadly to his wife's passing and his own family's fortune. Not much, it would last the children out into their education, luck holding. He also had the services of a maid, who was a live-in since his wife's death.

Most of their objections satisfied, the panel had one sticky moment, that being the closeness of the man, in a professional sense to the boy. When they'd asked the Captain about this, the older man took off his hat and stared at the panel as if they'd told him the world was flat. "Are you daft. Listen, if the man shares an emotional bond to the child already, what are you complaining of? It's obvious he cares, or he'd not go to the lengths he did to see justice done."

"We have worries he was simply replacing his feelings, for his dead son Aaron onto Harry, Mr. Brian. That is all." A prim woman on the panel corrected him, and to her confusion, the Captain nodded.

"Such a thing I warned him of too." Wearily, the old gentleman smiled at the panel, "but Ian is not a stupid man. He knows Harry is not, nor can ever be Aaron. If anything, he feels responsible for the boy's fate, and has already taken a hand in showing responsibility for his sake."

A younger man, in a rather silly blue suit was the next to ask him a question, "Do you think it wise that your officers be so connected to their cases? That kind of responsibility isn't very professional."

"Young man," Captain Brian chided, shaking his head. "If we don't show some responsibility, some compassion for the people we serve and protect, then why not hire mercenaries?" Standing, the man replaced his hat and regarded the panel with a slight frown. "If you want impersonal, professional protection, hire mercenaries who only care for money. If you want people guarding your children from abuse and neglect, or looking after the same neighborhoods they live in as well, then my force is what you have."

And older woman shot her colleague a withering look, while standing as well. "Captain Brian, please. Have a seat, we didn't mean to offend you.

"I have here the statement you submitted for Ian Grieve in regard to his intent to adopt Harry Potter," the woman went on placatingly, after the aged officer sat again. "Do you still endorse him? Understand this question is only a formality, with the form, to assure it an accurate document."

"I do, with highest regard," was the Captain's firm reply.

"Very well then. The panel will deliberate over the next hour. Thank you, Captain Brian."

"It was my pleasure."

By the end of the day, Harry had a new home.

Harry and Alicia were not, Ian admitted, a good match. Melody, the maid he had hired on to help with his daughter and the home, was adamant that the young man would rankle the young miss.

It seemed to be the understatement of the year. Alicia's sometimes explosive temper was something Harry was utterly unphased by. This only served to enrage the girl further.

Ian made it a point to sit with the girl, after Harry had been settled into his own rooms in the house after having Alicia's temper explained to him. Though Harry seemed to be very understanding, there was a shadow of wariness there.

Ian was in no mood to deal with another of his daughter's tantrums that night, but reminded himself of her own pains. "Young miss, sit down and we'll have a chat."

"If this is about Harry, we have nothing to say."

Raising a brow at her openly hostile tone, Ian merely pointed at a chair and narrowed his eyes. Alicia sat with a huff. "That's alright then, because I don't need you to speak, I need you to listen. So this works out fine," seeing her earlier words turned around, the young girl made to retort, but Ian clapped his hands loudly once, startling her. "Be still. We've all heard enough of your voice tonight, and it's become tiresome. Now, you can listen some.

"You aren't ignorant of Harry's past," he continued quietly, staring intently into his daughter's eyes. Though she was bright, and before her mother's death, a cheerful and rather joyous little girl, Alicia had become bitter and brittle since that day. Harry's introduction into their home was going to cause issues, he knew, and this was the one he'd expected. But he had a plan, for how to handle it. "Nor is he of yours. You may think I'm replacing Aaron, or-"

"Think? You are! And I'm not going to be a-" she was cut off as Ian sighed and stood, moving toward the door. "I won't..." when the door closed after him, she blinked and looked at it, not understanding.

Picking up her diary, she began to write. Though her script was slow, it was something her mother had given her, and she was determined to use it. Each night, after writing just a bit in the pages, be it important or trivial, she sealed the book back in her dresser and slept a bit easier.

Mom,

Dad's being a prat. I can't think of how else to say it. Do you know what he's done? Some boy, someone else's boy is staying with us. I don't care why, mom. He's not Aaron. He's not Aaron...

Sniffling, Alicia closed the book unable to write more because of her own tears. Settling it on her nightstand, she curled up and slept, after her crying ran its course.

Though they didn't necessarily get along, the two had an uneasy truce for the most part. Harry was timid, quiet and wary, the kind of person who only caused problems on accident, while Alicia was driven, angry and reckless, which made it so she was constantly in trouble. Some would see this as being a set up for disaster, but as Alicia avoided Harry for the most part, there was little overlap.

Ian was beginning to lament his daughter and adopted son's relationship ever improving, until the first day of their return to school. Though Ian had cautioned against it, Alicia had insisted she take her mother's gift, the diary, with her. It was her security blanket, and coping mechanism in many ways. Which was why Ian almost demanded she not take it, till Harry looked at him intently, and shook his head. Not one to be cowed by a child often, the officer spared her one more look and a sigh, before relenting.

It was the break period at lunch that ended up being the defining moment in their relationship as siblings. Harry was quietly reading, something he did almost fanatically since his adoption by Ian. Over on a bench by the edge of the schoolyard green, he sat with his backpack and piles of books, oblivious to the world around him.

Alicia was sitting with her small circle of friends, when the school's inevitable clique of troublemakers made their appearance. Though the rumors around Harry had mostly been quelled, he wasn't the target today.

A rather pretty but unpleasant girl by the name Sonya Jennings crept up behind Alicia, with her little gang hanging back. Just as one of Alicia's friend's eyes widened with surprise at seeing the blonde suddenly appear behind the dark-haired girl, that same blonde snatched away her mother's diary from Alicia's hands.

Spinning around in shock, Alicia fretted when seeing the precious book, her most personal connection left to her mother, being tossed to one of the prissy little Jennings girl's friends. "Stop, hey give it back!"

The schoolyard, like most, had it's own laws. Children aren't by nature some of the world's most gracious, kind and forgiving creatures, and so seeing the normally withdrawn and isolated Alicia call out for help and start running after a book, most simply gawked or observed with interest.

Not all.

Though Sonya maintained that she was the most beautiful of the girls in the school – at least to her grade, she didn't make it a habit of keeping other pretty young women as friends. This, she explained, was simply fate. There was only so much beauty in the world, and with most in her possession, how could they be beautiful as well?

Harry had earned her glare once for laughing loudly at a similar discussion that morning, but when she'd turned to bite off a sharp retort at the boy who'd insulted her, she stopped on seeing him.

Though the rumors, to most people were forgotten, she remembered them well enough. Sneering, she turned to Harry, "And why are you here? I thought they kept the simple children locked away?"

He'd turned those eyes on her, and she couldn't keep from drawing back from the fright and surprise at the clarity and intensity she'd seen there. "Not all apparently," he'd replied quietly, holding her gaze easily. "Some they seem to let out, to boast and play at being princesses." The morning class had broken into laughter there, and the pink of her dress was only matched by the flush of anger on her cheeks.

He was lucky there was a teacher walking by, or she would have scratched those eyes out of his head.

Harry saw the same girl, as she sneaked up behind his adoptive sister. He wanted to yell a warning, to do something but Ian had made it a point in their talks that he be sure before he acted. This was one of those nights he was going to have a talk about when to be sure, and when to prevent, Harry grumbled to himself.

As Ian had predicted, now Alicia's diary was in danger, and the dark-haired girl was running after it, missing the foot that was placed in her way. Falling hard on her wrist, she moaned and rolled over onto her back, hand cradling a fast-purpling sprain or worse.

The pudgy girl who'd caught the book laughed, then tossed it back toward Sonya. Halfway there, Harry plucked it out of the air, coming to an unsteady stop by Alicia from his jump.

"You again, didn't someone ever tell you to mind your business, boy?" Sonya's irritation made her voice clipped and hostile, but Harry was more concerned with his sister.

Laying the book on her stomach, he stood over her and stared back at the blonde, whom he'd begun more and more to think of as a shrunken, bleached Dudley. Something clicked in him, at the word 'boy', though. Something black and unpleasant.

Harry found he wanted to hurt the little girl, striding angrily toward him. Straightening he glared back and to Sonya's surprise, smiled. "Or?"

"Or?" Uncomprehending, the young girl looked to her friends, whom shrugged at her in confusion. Sonya shook off her own irritation at the boy, and shot back, "Or what?"

"No threats?" He questioned her, laughing, Harry smiled wider at Sonya, stalling her advance. "Come on. Aren't you just a silly little bully? Threaten me. Or my sister. Lets see if you're as ugly on the inside as out."

The mob that had been previously watching the girls mock Alicia and toss the book around, laughing now and then with them now roared with amusement at Sonya's expense. Her mouth worked silently as her face screwed up in anger, embarrassment and confusion. Wasn't she the one they should be laughing with, not at? Why did they turn on her so easy? Looking about her in disbelief, the prissy little girl glared at Harry one last time before bolting off the schoolyard.

Boggling at Sonya's retreat, Harry sunk down by Alicia and helped her to sit up. When the girl didn't push him away like usual when he tried to help, the young boy looked at her in confusion.

"You made an enemy there," she commented idly, not looking up. In her hand was the diary, while the bruised wrist of the other lay ignored in her lap.

Shaking his head, Harry just sighed and picked the leaves out of her hair. When she looked at him and blinked, he just shrugged, continuing with what he was doing. "Life doesn't begin or end in school. She's just a mean spirited little girl."

Alicia bit back the immediate question on who he was insulting, realizing her own guilt was guiding her. Looking away, she nodded and hugged the diary to her closer. "This... doesn't change anything. You're still not my brother," she whispered softly, but her tone didn't have the edge it normally did, when speaking with him.

Leaning down, so he could see her pale eyes, Harry grinned. "No, I'm not. I'm Harry. But," he amended, standing uncertainly and favoring a foot, "you're still my sister."

Watching him wobble where he stood, Alicia's brow knit. "What happened to your foot?"

"Landed on it wrong," he replied easily, hobbling back to collect his books. Alicia followed shortly, standing with difficulty as well as her had no intention of using her bad wrist, or putting her mother's diary down to use the other hand. As Harry gathered his books into the satchel, she noted how he didn't whimper, or complain about the injury. His face didn't even register that it hurt. Thoughtful, she continued to follow him, throughout the rest of the day.

When they'd arrived home, Ian greeted them, having taken the day off early to see what mischief his two children had managed.

"Afternoon sir," Harry greeted simply, doing well to mask his limp. Without another word, he crossed to the den and sat his books down, taking one of his school texts out to read.

While he was trying to puzzle out Harry's odd gait, he heard his daughter coming into the house as well. Alicia stared after the young man, and Ian had expected the worst. Surprised, she only shook her head and smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek and trotting to the kitchen to... of all things join Harry at the table.

Only then did he notice the girl's wrist in a bandage, wrapped from before her thumb to up her forearm slightly.

Crossing to the den and the table there, Ian pulled out a chair and sat, regarding his children with a patient smile. After five minutes, the smile had broken somewhat, and he sighed. "Alicia, Harry, care to tell me how your days went?"

Looking to one another a moment, Ian could practically see the silent communication between them. When they both looked at him in unison, and said, "It went well, sir." he groaned.

Eventually he managed to get the full day out of them, by holding dessert hostage. Though Ian wasn't happy with Harry's goading at the bully Sonya, he also heard the hints of what Harry was doing.

Waiting. Being sure. Alicia didn't understand, but wasn't going to be cross about it, which reassured him that the two would be fine, given time. Remembering back to that morning, Ian had a sudden start. He only just remembered Harry's warning against arguing too much against Alicia taking her diary.

Looking up at the young boy, the two looked to one another. Harry stared back evenly, openly. His eyes only held mild interest and attention, Ian saw. He'd been in the force a long time, and though he wasn't and had no pretense at being psychic, he could read people. Guile and cunning were easy to read in one's eyes. Harry's eyes though, had neither. So assured, Ian wrote off the morning's coincidence to Harry's kind nature, and simply wanting Alicia to have something comfortable with her.

Smiling ruefully, Ian sent his two children to bed, happy that they'd managed to at least set aside whatever boundaries they could, that day. There were more, that he knew. Alicia's breaking down of her wall of hostility and Harry's act of kindness wouldn't change their relationship overnight. But it did an old man good to know they weren't fighting.

That night Harry sat awake, looking up at his ceiling. Though he had a good day, and made ground with being accepted by Alicia, something wouldn't let him rest. He tried to sort his thoughts, but they slipped from him too easily. Every time he thought something made sense, something that could or would be so distracting to keep him awake, the image or idea fled. Eventually, weariness swept over him, and in dream he understood.

Sonya's blue eyes, cruel and full of hate, looked back at him. Again, he was filled with that urge to hurt, to see her suffer like she'd tried to make Alicia suffer. It didn't matter to Harry that the girl he considered sister didn't really treat him as such – to him was principal. He knew why she was hostile and distant. Unlike Sonya, unlike Dudley and all the Sonyas and Dudleys and Vernons of the world, she had a reason. He accepted it.

Grasping on to that seed of idea, that desire to balance things, Harry slept finally, mind clean of dreams.

A/N: I couldn't think of three words that began with "H" to use as a title, that didn't come together like utter garbage.

For those of you who have to know, pairing.. possibly Susan Bones. It would add a nice symmetry.