Author's note

Hello, I'm niv-mizzet, and this is my first published chapter of my first published fic. As such, the only beta used has been the Microsoft Word spellcheck, so I apologise for any poor spelling and grammer. I hope you enjoy, and apologise in advance for the length of time there will be before the next chapter is posted, as I intend to write until about 5 before I post anymore. If I can fill this out enough, and find the motivation to finish it, it will end up a multi-story series, therefore if I fall short and someone wants to pick it up, I will not begrudge them the nightmare of a task therein, especially trying to make sense of my limited, highly disorganized notes. Anyway, enjoy, and I look forward to hearing your opinions (that means review).

Niv-Mizzet

Disclaimer

I do not own any character or other part of either J. 's Harry Potter series, or Robert Muchamore's CHERUB series. As such blah blah… immunity from prosecution… plot is however mine… please ask permission if you wish to borrow from this fic, any ideas or concepts that I create. Any uncredited reference to ideas that have been used before is either coincidental or subconscious. Please inform me if one occurs, and I shall deem which category it fits into, and any subconscious will be asked nicely if I can keep them.

Prolouge

Albus Dumbledore turned to the rickety wooden table that had been sitting in the middle of room since last Halloween, the mild suspicion on his face visible only to the most experienced of observers. Worryingly, one of the assortment of strange instruments was giving off a note slightly flatter than it should have been. A slight flick of his wrist, and his wand was in his hand, a detection charm on his lips. "Sometimes it pays to be old," Albus thought ruefully. "That was a demonstration of speed and style that only the truly experienced could perform." However, before Albus could actually do anything of note, the machine paused for a short moment, and then reset itself, it's pitch returning to its correct levels. Albus breathed a sigh of relief, and sat back down. "Those devices are more trouble then they are worth" Albus thought, then instantly rebuked himself. This was for Harry Potter; the boy magic itself had sent to rectify his biggest mistake. No amount of trouble was worth more than that. But that train of thought brought him on to the second biggest mistake he had ever made; leaving Harry at the Dursley's.

Today was Harry Potter's second birthday, and the monitoring instruments were playing havoc with Dumbledore's nerves. Lily's final spell before her death allowed Albus to place a set of wards more powerful than those of even Hogwarts on a given location and the people in it, powered by mutual love and respect. Albus had foolishly placed them on the place he received these the most, with family. Vernon and Petunia, however, were giving him limited amounts of these things, amounts that would surely reduce as Harry became older and moved closer to the point in his life in which his magic would begin to show itself. How could he have forgotten Petunia's reaction to the letter he sent her, a young girl of eleven, informing her that, unfortunately, whilst she had a large enough magical core to perform the level of magic necessary at Hogwarts, her magical channels would never develop enough for her to be able to force it through a wand with the power needed for a spell to take place. As it was, the grudge she had on her sister was beginning to be projected onto Harry, slowly weakening the wards further, and trying to rush Dumbledore back into the corner, with little chance of escape. A decision would soon be made for him.

Petunia Dursley wasn't sure whether or not it was her nephew's birthday. After all, it wasn't as if she actually cared. The boy wasn't hers, thank god. She had no more to do than give him food and a roof, and she was fine. So why did she feel so much guilt over her and Vernon's future plans? Surely it would help the boy if they succeeded in beating the freakiness out of him? So why did it feel like the wrong path? And would that awful sister of Vernon's ever shut up?

Harry and the Dursleys had just picked Marge up from the sea port upon her return from holiday, and were planning on having her stay for a couple of days. However, she was in the middle of a ferocious argument with Petunia about keeping the boy in the first place, with Vernon acting as a mediator and, as such, they barely saw the lorry that broadsided them.

Vernon and Marge died instantly, the impact being enough to kill them both as they sat, faces forever fastened in a look of absolute terror. Petunia, however, was different. The only thought that crossed her mind was protecting the two children that were in the car with her. The force of will she demonstrated was enough to guide the entirety of the magical core that she, as well as all muggles, possessed through the now open magical pathways, the difference between the magical and non-magical populations, and all into the blood wards. The sacrifice made was so similar to that of her sister that the blood wards' protection extended to lorries, and the two young children in the back both survived.

Albus Dumbledore returned to his office and sat down. The very thought of Harry Potter was driving him to distraction, so the large cracking sound that came from the device linked specifically to Vernon Dursley was the last thing he wanted to hear. He looked up in horror as the small drum that was linked to Petunia swelled to twice its original size before it too split, and held his breath as the instruments that indicated the health of both Harry and Dudley began to dull.

"Fawkes!"

Dumbledore threw on his travel cloak and summoned his deluminator, eyes burning with power. It seemed there was not long before the wizarding world lost it's only hope, and he was ready to do what it took to prevent that, even if it meant his own life. He tuned back to his desk, only to find that his phoenix had not yet left his perch.

Wait

At this command, Dumbledore instantly relaxed. The phoenix rarely spoke, but when he did, he was to be obeyed without question. Only once had he disobeyed Fawkes, and he had lost his sister because of it. He was sure the phoenix knew who had cast the curse that had killed her, but dared not ask. It would grant him no peace, no

matter the answer. Immediately, more changes began to take place on the table. The two dulled instruments were quickly getting brighter, and the clouds the small train was puffing were a blood red colour, indicating the wards were more powerful than ever before.

Now we go

Next thing Albus knew, he was standing on the side of the road, watching the wreck that had once been the Dursley's car as it began to catch fire. Seconds later, Fawkes dropped the two children in his arms, as the old man looked on in shock, tears in his eyes. He knew what had happened, and now the two cousins' would grow up without parents. He turned on the spot and apparated to the hospital wing. Let the boys sleep for the night. He had to decide their futures.

Hours later, Albus Dumbledore was still at a loss. For the blood wards to be maintained, the boys would have to live together effectively ruling out most magical homes. The boys had no relatives left among the living, and the muggle care system would split them up even quicker than the wizarding world. If only there was a magical family that would not mind the loss of prestige that a muggle would bring, with even the Weasleys avoiding their squib relative. He could probably have persuaded them to do so anyway, but the extra money would bankrupt them quicker than you can say school supplies. Again that could be solved by unsealing the Potter will, but that would be a whole new kettle of fish. There was the Lovegood's, but the Harry would probably end up too lost in a fantasy world to do anything against Voldemort and family tradition dictated that the Lovegoods crafted their own wands. How could he pass on a wand with Fawkes feather, specifically for priori incantatum, when it had taken a lot of blood from both Harry and Voldemort to ensure that Harry received it. It was not his fault that the boy was not suited for that wand, but if everything was to turn out for the greater good, and yet the boy were to survive, it was about the only chance he had, as Dumbledore was sure that training him would result in a second Voldemort, more powerful than the first could ever be. As Albus Dumbledore continued to ponder his plan in its entirety, a light chuckle began from the corner of the room. "What?" Dumbledore fumed, finding Fawkes' laughter infuriating.

You have been given a number specifically for this kind of situation you old fool. Use it

Albus was now thoroughly confused. Another hour or two passed as he went through every memory stored in his pensive, before he found the one he was looking for. A conversation with Old professor Dippet's painting on his second day as headmaster.

Albus searched his desk for the number he had been given the second day of his promotion to headmaster of this absurd school. He found it scratched into the leg of his chair, and immediately made the call. The number belonged to one Doctor Terence McAfferty. A man better known, by those who knew him, as Mac, or by his job title: Director of operations at CHERUB HQ. Dumbledore explained the situation to this Mac at great detail, to which the reply he received was most satisfactory. It was a simple, three-word sentence.

"We'll take them."

Dumbledore hung up his phone with a sense of relief. He was glad that he had given Arthur free reign to tinker with muggle objects, as the items he could steal from the Weasley patriarch were fascinating. The phone, still fully operational yet powered by an eternal battery pack, was one of the more interesting, and he had gone to great pains to remove all memory of it from Arthur, preventing the technology from reaching the hands of those with less noble ambitions.

Time to stop admiring that mobile of yours Albus. You have plans to re-write

At those words, Albus immediately withdrew a parchment and quill. Factoring in the training and conditioning Harry would receive, any fears of a new Voldemort were suddenly boundless. At this thought, a smile lit up the old man's face. "Time to see about getting the old teaching boots back on," he thought. "Not until after Voldemort's return though. We can't have him getting arrogant can we Fawkes?"

The phoenix trilled in agreement, then left on a flight about the grounds, he too considering the path that now lay in front of the young student.

Good luck young Harry. You will need it.