Author's Notes:

This is the first story I have felt confident enough in to post, and I hope that all of you who are kind enough to review will also give me healthy doses of critique: 'I like it' is nice, but 'I like it, but I think blank-to-blank could be improved by such-and-such' is better.

I intend to post mostly unedited work, then repost it when I have the chance to go back through it, and maybe get a beta. Therefore, chapters that were initially pretty bare bones will be randomly upgraded from skimpy on words to verbose. When this will happen, I can't say, as I am a student and my first responsibility is to my schoolwork.

I claim no ownership of characters, themes or plot devices used in this story which closely resemble those of the Harry Potter series. The Harry Potter series was authored by J.K. Rowling, and as such, all characters, themes and plot devices are her property, and/or the property of others involved in the Harry Potter Franchise.

I claim no ownership of characters, themes, or plot devices used in this story that closely resemble those of the Alex Rider franchise. All characters, themes, or plot devices of the Alex Rider series are the property of Anthony Horowitz.

Prologue

When Mrs. Number 5 discovered that the Dursley's nephew, an adorable little boy of 2 years, slept in the cupboard under the stairs despite the family's obvious means to provide better, she didn't know what to think. So she consulted Mrs. Numbers 6, 8 and 3, who gossiped amongst themselves and to their friends on Magnolia Crescent, and so on until it was known throughout the whole of the area and was the subject of much misinformed speculation. Somewhere along the line, the police were called and an investigation begun, which found the inhabitants of number 4 Privet Drive to be guilty of neglecting their nephew, as well as unfit guardians (more juicy fuel for the local gossip mill).

There was a great deal of speculation as to the severity of the neglect. It must have been quite bad, people concluded, as the little Potter boy had no where else to go, and would end up in "the system". It was no secret that the Child Welfare system would likely not be all that much better then what he was leaving behind.

While a fruitless search for and Evans or Potter relations was conducted, an unexpected thing happed. A man by the name of Timothy Smithers showed up, entirely unannounced. His claim to be Vernon Dursley's cousin could hardly be disputed, even before a background check was preformed – the man was immensely fat, though much jollier than his mother's unpleasant nephew. It was not but a few minutes after meeting the little Potter that he declared that he would take the boy in should no relatives be found. The Police and the Welfare Services were stunned initially, and unsure. They were reluctant to send the child off with a man was of no blood relation who had appeared out of nowhere. Other than confirming his relation to Vernon Dursley, the background check had revealed little about the man. Here was a man that had no experience with children, whose personal files were scarce, and whose employment records would not be accessed.

Mrs. Number 5 never did find out exactly how the man had convinced the authorities to let him take Harry with him to live in London. All she knew was what she had heard from Mrs. Number 7, who's heard from a Magnolia Crescent resident who had a brother working in the Police Station, which was that the man, Smithers, had some special connections, and that the case had gone to the higher-ups. Within a week, everything was settled, and one Mr. Timothy Smithers was the legal guardian of one Harry James Potter, aged two years and four months.

As for the Dursley family, they were unable to face the gossip and shame, and moved out of their house at number 4, Privet Drive as quickly as they could.

Mrs. Number 5 never saw any of those five individuals again.

Though she did not make any connection to the vacating of Number 4, the housewife of next-door Number 5 saw a very strange old man wearing a nastily bright dress on her street about a month after the adoption of the Potter Boy. He had walked up and down the street as though looking for something, and had stood outside number four while conversing with a tabby cat. Though she ushered her daughter inside and glared at the man's disruption of the neighborhood's normalcy, she dismissed him as a crazy person. After he left, cat on his heels, she never saw him again either.

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