AN: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I'm merely playing with the grown-ups' clothes…

Yes, Your Highness

Paranoia?

If there was one thing Harry owed to the noisy housewives of Privet Drive, it was his ability to know when he was being watched.

Keeping his head bowed over the bush of roses he was supposed to be trimming, Harry raised his eyes and surveyed the street. He had left his glasses in his cupboard, useless with all this rain, but he could still see well enough to know he was alone, which, considering the weather was not that surprising. Even with the deafening sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the occasional crack of thunder, he could hear the sound of the television and the Dursleys' stupid laughter. He closed his eyes, and could almost smell the tea and cakes he had prepared, and feel the warmth coming from the fireplace. But when he opened them, the smell of the humid earth and the feel of his soaked clothes reminded him of the harsh reality. Once his gardener job was over, all he would receive would be a glare and a glass of water, straight from the tap. If he was lucky, maybe he could catch some sleep in his warm cupboard, but he doubted it. The closer his birthday got, the meaner the Dursleys behaved. It was almost as though his aunt and uncle were panicking, like his eleventh birthday marked something special. They kept throwing nervous glances around, and frankly, Harry was starting to feel apprehensive too, which was really annoying because he had no idea why they were so worried!

Two days ago, he had gone with his aunt to the grocery store to show her what to buy for the special meal he would have to prepare for Dudley's admission in Smeltings Academy. They were waiting in the line when she caught sight of the security agent. Harry had never seen her so pale. Without buying anything, Aunt Petunia nearly ran out of the store, tugging forcefully on his arm all the way back home, and had talked in hushed whispers with Vernon while the young boy prepared the dinner. Now, Harry would never call his aunt sane, but she was far too attached to her reputation to lose her cool in public like that. Which beg the question, what had been so special about this agent? It could have been an old acquaintance, but where could she have met him? They were too different to belong to the same social circle; the stoic dark skinned-man almost embodied the military spirit with his impeccable stance, clean-shaved head, and muscular built. His aunt had always looked down on the soldiers, calling them 'brainless thugs', though never in their hearing range, of course. No, Harry really couldn't understand the blonde's reaction.

This time, when the tingling sensation came back, his head snapped back, and his eyes looked frantically around for the culprit. There! Catching a movement in his peripheral vision, Harry quickly turned around, only to see a rotating CCTV camera. But Harry was sure it had not been there before, so why? It wasn't as though Little Whinging was known for its criminal history. Actually, according to the neighborhood, Harry was the only 'delinquent' here. Though if you counted Dudley and his little gang of bullies…

He frowned up at the camera, which seemed to be spending more time focused on him than on the other side of the road. He automatically waved his hand, and immediately felt foolish. His burning cheeks brought him some warmth, and he hurriedly got back to work. The sooner it was over, the sooner he could go back inside.

Cleaning his dirty hands with the rainwater, Harry slowly made his way back inside, carefully wiping his dirty shoes on the doormat.

"You better have done your job thoroughly, boy, because if you didn't, you can say goodbye to your dinner."

Even if his 'dinner' only consisted of a slice of bread and a piece of ham, it was true that he couldn't afford lose it, as sad as it was.

Seeing his aunt's eyes zero on his stained clothes, he quickly thought of a way to distract her.

"Have you noticed the new CCTV camera in the street?"

There, that ought to make her forget him. After all, as a self-proclaimed 'well-informed neighbor', she had to know all about it. This piece of information didn't have the intended effect. Instead of launching into yet another diatribe about how she had heard from Mrs.X, who had heard from Mrs.S, who herself had, and etc…, her face turned as white as a sheet.

Trembling, she turned to her husband who was in a similar state.

"Vernon… You don't think that they-"

"Nonsense!"

Already, fury was replacing fear, and his reddening face slowly approached its famous purple shade.

"But who else-"

"The bloody government, that's who! They put those blasted things everywhere, wasting the honest people's money…" the last part was grumbled, and sounded suspiciously like the beginning of an over-used rant.

Giving a shaky smile, Aunt Petunia gave a small jerky nod.

"You're- You're probably right. Why would they act now, after giving no sign all this time?"

Having properly reassured herself, she turned back to her nephew, and wrinkled her nose.

"Don't stand there dripping on the carpet, boy! Go take a shower! You have five minutes."

Knowing that his aunt was serious about the countdown, he ran up the stairs, shed his clothes - almost lose an eye in the process -, and stepped under the blissfully hot water.

After rubbing himself raw, he ignored the way the now scalding water burnt his skin, and thought back on his aunt's recent reactions to seemingly ordinary details.

The security agent had barely spared them a glance, and, if Uncle Vernon was to be believed, the apparition of surveillance camera in Privet Drive, though unnecessary, was not that surprising.

Now, as much as Harry despised his aunt, even he knew that, except when her family was concerned, she wasn't prone to demonstration of madness - at least not in public. The fact that she hadn't even slowed down in her escape from the store when everybody stared at them was very worrying indeed.

Who were those 'they' his aunt spoke so fearfully of?

What did she mean by 'all this time'?

Hearing the sound of footsteps in the corridor, he turned off the water with a sigh. Sometimes, it seemed as though his life was just one big question mark.

His aunt rapped sharply on the door and Harry hurriedly dried himself with his small towel, before tying it around his waist.

"I'm done!"

"Then take your clothes and go do the laundry, then you can eat!" and she was gone again.

Harry sighed again, louder this time. His work in the garden had exhausted him, and after the relaxing shower, all he wanted to do was to eat and sleep. He could smell the mouth-watering fragrance of the honeyed ham and the mashed potatoes he had spent an hour cooking under the strict surveillance of his aunt. He groaned, and his stomach agreed with a growl of its own. Harry patted it lightly.

"I know, I know…"

Well, better be quick about it then.

If the Dursleys thought for one second that everything would go back to normal, they were certainly proven wrong the next morning.

Oh, Petunia still woke Harry up at an ungodly hour, yes, and he did cook the daily full English breakfast, true, but to the horror of two of them, the obviously very expensive-looking letter was a clear sign that the nightmare was only beginning.

Harry probably would have paid more attention to his eldest relatives' facial expressions if he hadn't been so furious. He had been so stupid! He knew them well enough to anticipate their reaction. As if they would ever let him keep something valuable! Though, he had to wonder? Why would anyone send him a letter?

Actually, judging by the lack of stamp, the sender hadn't bothered with the Post Office. That, the great quality of the envelope, and the official-looking wax seal… The writer was obviously wealthy and old-fashioned. But it just didn't make any sense! And yet, it was his name and his address written on the smooth paper, both unnervingly very detailed. It may have been his first letter ever, but he was pretty sure that this much information was not normal.

Mr. Harry James Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

It almost seemed as though the sender was merely showing off his knowledge of Harry's living arrangement. He had to admit, though, it was both impressive and eerie. At first, he thought it that maybe this was just a hoax, that someone was aware of his situation and had decided to play a prank on the Dursleys, but the writing itself screamed dignity. Clearly, the one behind the letter was not the type to waste their precious time on a simple joke.

The sound of ripped paper snapped him out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head toward the infernal trio. With a slightly manic smile, Vernon walked to the fireplace, and threw the pieces of paper in the flames. Harry automatically made a move in its direction, before stopping, wide eyed, and lips moving soundlessly.

Hearing his uncle's voice turned his desperation into burning fury.

'How dare he!?'

He clenched his teeth, his jaw aching, and the small pain temporally cleared his mind.

'One day, they'll pay. I swear they will regret every hit, every insult, and every order. One day…'

They had just destroyed the only thing that ever belonged to him. His clothes and books used to be Dudley's, and even his glasses had been found in some lost objects box. He had never been so determined to leave this bloody house.

Without waiting for the usual demand, he directly went to his cupboard, retrieved his art supplies, and vented his hate, frustration and determination in his drawings, only stopping when his fingers grew numbs. Different scenarios of the Dursley's gruesome deaths flashed through his mind, and he poured them on the paper. The experience was strangely therapeutic.

After the letter incident, Harry was forbidden to step out of the house, which meant that his only way to escape Dudley's gang was to stay in his cupboard all day long. Unfortunately, being free of his gardener duty didn't mean that he was exempt of his other chores, and so could only hide when those were done. Suffice to say that Harry got his fair share of bruises and scrapes during this hellish week, and his aunt's and uncle's growing paranoia only got more and more annoying as the days passed.

The young boy was polishing the silverware when his uncle frantically barged in the room, as if he had been running. The last part alerted Harry that something terrible had happened.

He hoped it concerned Marge. Did that make him a bad person? He thought about it for a second, before he gave a mental shrug.

'Meh, I can live with that.'

He refocused on Vernon who was still gasping for breath in the middle of the living room under the worried gaze of Petunia.

"Vernon dear, what is wrong? Is it Marge?"

Harry crossed his mental fingers.

"Pack your things, we're leaving!" Vernon bellowed, a mad glint his eyes.

"What-"

"They' re here!" he hissed urgently, his mustache twitching in rhythm with his eyebrow.

The housewife's eyes widened so much they seemed to be on the verge of popping out of her skull. Without a word, she got up and raced to the second floor, screeching Dudley's name.

Harry stood in the kitchen, stupefied. Seeing this, his uncle furiously pointed his finger toward the hall, in the direction of his cupboard.

"Are you deaf, boy? What are you waiting for?"

Taking a small brown paper bag, Harry made his way back to his cupboard, apparently too slowly for his uncle who snapped at him to hurry up.

Quickly hiding his arts supplies and books amongst his few clothes, he considered the Nutcracker, before carefully wrapping it in his uncle's old pair of socks. Who knew if they would be coming back?

The car door had barely been closed before Uncle Vernon stepped on the gas. It was only after the third hour that his aunt dared to question her husband's actions.

"Vernon, love, are you sure that-"she hesitantly began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"I saw them, with their black suits and sunglasses!"

"Maybe they were just ordinary bodyguard…"

"No! You know which day we are tomorrow, don't you?"

She turned an alarming shade of white, and stared at Harry in the rear view mirror. She stayed quiet after that.

They didn't stop once, even when the sun set and the stars came out. Harry was growing more and more worried. Ever since he could remember, his uncle had never missed a goodnight sleep, and from what he could see, Vernon was not used to still be awake at 2am. It was the fourth badly repressed yawn in an hour, and the sleepy boy was starting to think that, just maybe, he was going to die.

Another yawn.

Okay scratch that, he was definitely going to die. Should he start praying? In his experience, it never changed anything, but at this point...

'Though it would be kind of ironic' he sluggishly thought. 'Being the sole survivor of a car crash at one year old, only to die in one ten years later…'

And then he fell asleep.

The next morning, Harry woke up to the sound of rain, and, except for his sore back, it was by far the most peaceful awakening he'd had in years. He was pleasantly surprised to find all his limbs still attached to his body, but he was, however, not happy to find himself confused, again. He really hoped it wouldn't become a habit, but with his luck…

They were just entering one of those almost deserted coal mining town, and the artist in him couldn't help but notice how depressing it looked. Everything seemed to be in a different shade of grey: the buildings, the houses, the sky, even the people. He could almost mistake the rain for ashes.

All in all, the town seemed to be able to dull even the most upbeat person.

Uncle Vernon parked the car near what seemed to be the abandoned port, and got out of the car, slamming the door.

The silence seemed to grow heavier by the second, but none of them tried to break it.

The beefy man came back half an hour later, a long package under his arm, and a smile on his face. He held up a bag full of food, as if he was coming back from a tiring hunt.

"Everyone out, we have finally arrived!"

He led them to a small boat, and gave his car keys to the man standing next to it.

Ignoring his wife's protests and questions, he started the engine of the boat. The only thing in sight being a crooked little shack, their destination was easy to guess.

The miserable house was as fragile as it looked, and the fact that his uncle was ready to make his precious family sleep, and maybe even live there said a lot about the importance of the situation.

After a measly meal and a fake crying session, curtesy of Dudley, Harry lay down on the hard floor - dirt actually – and waited until Dudley's breathing had slow down and became loud snore to take his drawing pad out of his bag. Having been bored out of his mind during his time spent away in his cupboard, he had made a small animated cartoon representing a small birthday cake on the corners of the sheets of paper.

When his cousin's watch beeped, Harry started flipping rapidly through the sign, blowing on the candles in synch with the drawings and stared sadly at the last picture.

Happy Birthday Harry!

Against his better judgement, he made the same wish as every year, all the while resigning himself to another year spent with the Dursleys, without anyone coming to take him away.

With one last sigh, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes… only to reopen them a second later when a great boom filled the cabin.

The door opened with a loud bang, and in the doorway stood the tallest man Harry had ever seen, reaching almost 9 feet.

With the storm behind him and his height, the intruder was truly awe-inspiring, and for a moment Harry thought he was an angel of the Apocalypse.

It wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he made his wish, but he certainly wasn't about to complain.

Hello gentle readers!

First of all, thank for the support and the reviews. I was kind of nervous, still am actually, so it's great to know that some people enjoyed this idea.

The next chapter will show most of the differences between the two worlds, especially this version of Diagon Alley, and the meeting between Harry and his "half-sister".

The idea of this story comes from Harry's alibi in most crossovers (in which Voldemort is 'just' a terrorist, and his adventures are 'mugglified') and a recent Kuroshitsuji binge watching/reading, mostly for the different roles of the Noble families.

Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm not too sure about it...

Have a nice day (or night)!