This document beta'd by the generous LadyDisdain2014
Chapter 1: It Shouldn't Hurt to be a Child
One year after the end of the First Wizarding War, then simply called "The War" by the majority of the magical community, the savior of magical Britain was squalling in a broom cupboard under the stairs. He was alone, again, as his supposed caregivers doted upon their brat of a son. Dudley was crying because one of his toys had been taken by his two year old cousin. The boys were of an age, and it was perfectly natural that the young Harry Potter had wanted to stick one of Dudley's abandoned blocks into his own mouth to see what made them so fun. Dudley was spoiled rotten by his parents, and hated to share. When he cried, they placed all the blame on little Harry.
Mr. Dursley had warmed Harry's bottom, causing the toddler to squeal, and Mr. Dursley's hand to suddenly inflate like a balloon- leaving it rather ineffective as a paddle. Harry had been shut in the closet, Dudley consoled with biscuits, and Mr. Dursley with a cold beer. Petunia Dursley was doing her best to pretend that she didn't have a magical nephew, and knew nothing at all about magic in general. All in all, it was a typical day for the Dursley's.
"You're sure about this? Doesn't look terribly magical here to me, Sergeant," Major Thomas McAllister, Special Air Service, remarked as the car pulled into Privet drive.
"That's because it isn't. Young Potter was adopted by his only living relative. Petunia Dursley. Husband's a drill maker, she's a housewife. They're norms, just like you and me," Sergeant Charles Prewett repeated for the officers sake.
Thomas grunted, nodding in understanding. He had no experience with magic in practice, but in theory the Special Air Service and Britain's other special force branches had known something was up since 1971, when the first major magical massacre had occurred. Personally, Major Thomas had lost a brother to the Wizard War. His brother had been a norm, but that hadn't kept him out of the dark wizard's line of fire. Getting a special dispensation from the PM to actually do something had been a Godsend. Already several detachments, working in absolute secrecy, had been formed to investigate magical countermeasures and tactics.
As it turned out there were a few squibs in Britain's armed forces who had been rather forthcoming about the magical world when assured they wouldn't be given a psychiatric discharge. Already Britain's norms, as they had taken to calling themselves, were far better prepared for another conflict from or with the magical world. One step along that path was young Harry Potter, the only individual to survive a magical assault from the so-called Dark Lord. If he could be studied, in a humane, controlled way, perhaps they could gain some further advantage.
Sounds of young children's wails were clearly audible from the drive as the car pulled up. Both men were in civilian suits, not uniform, and Sergeant Prewett grimaced at the noise.
"Oh come off it now lad. That's the sound you'll be getting used to in just a few years, eh? Once you start having your own," Thomas said, grinning ear to ear. He had a young daughter at home, Rebecca, who had gone through her terrible twos with great gusto. "They've got another lad, Dudley, don't they? I imagine the two little tykes get along famously."
"Sounds bloody like it," Prewett muttered, provoking another chuckle from the major.
When they knocked on the door, their only greeting was a great bellow from inside. "WE DON'T BLOODY WANT ANY, GO AWAY!"
That provoked raised eyebrows from the soldiers, but the major bellowed back even louder, "WE'RE FROM THE GOVERNMENT, SIR. YOU'D BETTER COME ANSWER THE DOOR YOURSELF OR I'LL BREAK IT DOWN BY GOD!"
There was the sound of a scuffle inside as the children's cries intensified. A loud banging could be heard, along with mutters of "Stuff it you little menace! Feed and clothe you and this is all the thanks I get? Bloody magic!"
The joviality on the major's face vanished, replaced by a brief stormy scowl that smoothed into a neutral expression. The Sergeant inwardly flinched, then schooled his face into an equally neutral expression. To most, the soldiers' faces would look blank, but to a careful observer the truth behind the masks could be discerned: it was a killing face.
The door opened to reveal the rotund and flushed Mr. Dursley. "Yes, what is it? You've upset the children, making such a bloody racket. Just what the devil do you think-"
"Mr. Dursley, we're with the NSPCC. We've come to investigate reports of child abuse at this residence," the Major stated, causing Dursley to go suddenly pale. "You are Mr. Vernon Dursley, are you not? We're here to see about your nephew. Harry Potter."
A few minutes later, Sergeant Prewett was taking a statement from Petunia and Vernon, while Dudley continued to cry. Harry had stopped as soon as the major had picked him up, and was now hiccuping as the big Scott carefully dried the young boys tears. A quick inspection of the child showed bruising both old and new on his legs and buttocks, an old scar in the odd shape of a lightning bolt, signs of neglect, and possibly malnutrition. The lad was underweight and filthy, as if he hadn't been washed in days. His hair was matted with grease and filth, and the clothes were soiled due to lack of changing.
"Have a look at the other one, Sergeant," Thomas ordered, his voice cold.
The Dursleys babbled their story, odd happenings, the boy was cursed, he was a monster who tormented their lovely son. Thomas had Dudley pegged as a spoiled brat as soon as he laid eyes on him, an overweight pig of a boy who had received all the love and care Harry had not.
Thomas' voice shook with barely contained rage as he put the now content Harry back on his shoulder. "Write them up, both of them. The lad comes with us. Leave the pig."
"But we-"
"I hear another word out of your worthless mouth Dursley and I'll damn well knock your teeth out. I don't care if the boy did make your hand swell with magic, as foolish a story as that sounds, you certainly deserve that much and worse. The boy has been beaten and locked in a small dark room without proper care. Be grateful your son seems to be in good health, so I don't question your ability to parent wholly. Obviously your nephew isn't wanted here. We'll find somewhere he is."
"I'll need to see a badge at least, I can't have a stranger taking my beloved nephew away without proper papers," Vernon Dursley managed, though he seemed to choke on the 'beloved.'
The papers were produced, as were the badges. The SAS was nothing if not prepared, and the men had initially planned to come as NSPCC agents here to award the Dursley's a cash prize and an invitation to an exclusive clinic for check ups on Harry. They also had badges for Metro Police, and their own military IDs. Real NSPCC agents would be on the scene shortly for a more thorough assessment, but Thomas wasn't leaving Harry there another minute. Whatever idiot had placed him in this abusive hell hole was on Thomas' permanent shit list. There was no excuse to put a child in an abusive home. Not ever.
"You did what?"
The PM's voice sounded shocked, and a little irritated at the Major, and Thomas grimaced at Prewett, who was giving young Harry a little milk that they'd picked up at the gas station on their way back to HQ.
"He was being abused. Beaten, left to scream his little head off in a dark closet and not cleaned or fed properly. I couldn't leave him there ma'am, I'm sorry."
There was silence for a moment, then, "Well, then I suppose it's for the best. Are those...people...being investigated?"
"Yes ma'am. Though to be honest, they did have at least some reason. The lad obviously has magic. Vernon Dursley's hand was swelled up to three times it's normal size and made silly squeaking noises like some rubber toy. I can understand their fear, but to take it out on the child is wrong. He can't help it."
"Should we find a magical family to take him in then? The must know how to deal with such things," Thatcher asked.
Sergeant Prewitt chimed in. "Not necessarily ma'am. Many magical children are raised by mu-, ah, norms. Often unawares. Most people just blow it off when magic does happen, which is fairly rare. As long as the child is well taken care of there shouldn't be any issue, he can be placed with the NSPCC to find a good home."
"Actually ma'am, I think I might take the tyke in. My wife and I...well, we have a little girl, Rebecca. She's three, and the light of my life, but we wanted a son as well. We...can't. The pregnancy was complicated, and the doctors say that having another child would likely kill my Alice. Taking Harry in wouldn't be any trouble at all for us, and I guarantee he'd receive better care. I'd treat him like one of my own, I swear it. Even if he does inflate my hand like a balloon."
"And tactically, it would make sense as well," Thatcher agreed. "We'd be able to test the boy all we wanted, and perhaps raise up a wizard on our side."
"True. Apparently the lad is something of a hero to the maggies, or so the sergeant tells me. I hate to think of a child as a tool, but it could work to our advantage."
"Not to mention that he needs a good home. Very well Major, we'll see to it that the proper papers are drawn up to make everything legal. Will you be needing any assistance?"
"Short term yes. All the things I've got for tykes are for girls, and wouldn't be proper for a lad like him. We didn't get any clothes or anything for him from the Dursley's, not that I would want the rags they seem to think appropriate. I can get some nappies and clothing for the lad, but it would cut into our budget quite a bit having it come out of the blue. The rest isn't an issue, we've plenty of room for another child in our home, and we've still got Becky's old crib and such."
"Do it then. At least some good has come out of all this mess today. One child will sleep a little safer tonight. Good work Major."
A few hours later, Thomas arrived home with Harry at 2 Whetton Road, Martins Heron. Rebecca ran down the steps, squealing with joy to see her father home. Smiling, the major set down the rather uncertain Harry and hugged his daughter. "Becky, this is Harry. He's going to be your little brother. Give him a kiss love."
The little girl obliged, which resulted in Harry deciding he didn't like this place after all, and beginning to squall and say "No more no more!"
"Oh someone's a bit cranky I see," Alice cooed, coming over to scoop up Harry, who only cried all the more.
"I don't think he's used to having someone hold him," Thomas said quietly, picking up Becky so she could get a better look at her new brother. "We found him locked in a broom closet."
"And I suppose I'm not supposed to be asking any questions about why you were poking about in broom closets kidnapping little boys am I?" Alice teased. She was used to the military secrecy, though it did irk her from time to time.
"There's a team coming by tomorrow to debrief you. Raising little Harry could be...interesting. Still, we've wanted a son, and that's what's best for the lad. Government's sending over the legal adoption papers soon. Apparently his supposed family couldn't wait to be rid of him."
"Well it's settled then. He's home. Harry McAllister. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Come on then, let's get this one to bed. He's had a long day. Hopefully he doesn't mind a pink onesie. Come on love, let's go."
Together, the newly expanded family walked inside, to a new future.
"What do you mean, Harry Potter isn't with his mother's family anymore?" Dumbledore demanded. "It is of the utmost importance that he stay with that family, despite the circumstances."
"Look, I'm sorry Albus, but I told you that family was awful. Someone called the NSPCC. They took him away from the house before I even knew what was happening," Ms. Figg said, clearly exasperated. "I told you that the whole thing was a bloody mess to start with. Those awful people! Abusing a child like that. Still, you should be able to locate him fast enough and find a way to get him back if it's so important."
Months passed, but Dumbledore had little success in locating Harry. Harry Potter it seemed, no longer existed. His documents were sealed by muggle courts, and when Dumbledore attempted to use Legilimency on those involved, he soon discovered that the agents who had taken Harry were nowhere to be found, apparently false names no one had ever seen or heard of. The files lead to a dead end, with Harry's apparently being mis-filed, switched with those of another boy of the same age. That boy's records would almost certainly lead to Harry, but they were destroyed when an office water main broke and the building flooded. Despite the headmaster's best efforts over the next nine years, he was completely unable to pierce the veil of secrecy surrounding Harry's current location.
The one ray of hope was that Dumbledore's wards told him that Harry was quite alive and safe, and somewhere still in England, though where he could not be sure. In some ways that was comforting. He'd almost certainly been taken by the muggle authorities, and there had simply been a paperwork mix up. At the same time, it was utterly disturbing. Where had Harry Potter gone, and what would happen when he was found? Without the blood magic to keep him safe, the Boy-Who-Lived might quickly become the Boy-Who-Died.