Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Arthur A. Levine Books. Inuyasha is the property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakuken, and Viz Media. I am not them, and as such make no money from this venture.

Vernon Dursley was enjoying a hearty breakfast, prepared by his lovely wife for the first time in the few months since she'd begun teaching the brat to cook. The freak was getting better, but he still had a tendency to burn the bacon a bit and leave the toast in too long. Petunia had nervously asked him about the boy with an eye to what the neighbors would say when it got out he was missing, and Vernon had heaved a sigh and said he'd take care of it. If nothing else, he could claim they'd sent him away to a boarding school for troubled young lads and be done with it.

It was as he was tucking away the last of his third helping that the telephone rang. Wondering who would be calling so early on a Monday morning, Petunia rushed to answer it before their precocious son. Vernon was contemplating fourths when his wife returned, saying that the call was for him. Curious, he made his way into the hall and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was vaguely familiar. "Mr. Dursley?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Helen, from the antiques shop on Oxford Street. We met yesterday."

Oh. Right. "Well, did you find my nephew?"

"I did not, Mr. Dursley. However, my employer has asked to meet with you."

"What for?"

"He informed me that he has a business proposal for you, if you're interested. I believe you left quite an impression on him yesterday."

A business proposal? Well, it wouldn't hurt to hear the man out, at least. "Very well. What's his name?"

"Mr. White. Are you free today around three, Mr. Dursley?"

Vernon hemmed and hawed for a moment; he didn't want to look too anxious. "I suppose I could clear my schedule."

"Excellent. I'll send a car around at three."

They said their goodbyes, and Vernon called in to work before sauntering back to the kitchen with a smug look on his face.

ooo

Harry woke up much later than usual. Scrambling from the soft bed he didn't recall falling asleep in, he darted frantically to the kitchen. Ever since Aunt Petunia had begun to teach him to cook, he was expected to be up before the rest of the household and begin breakfast. Now he'd overslept, and the pale man was sure to be angry at him for it. He darted around the corner and was pulled up short at the sight of an unfamiliar person humming cheerfully while something bubbled away on the stove.

The auburn-haired man turned and spotted him. Wiping his hands on a towel and smiling, he checked the stove, and waved Harry closer. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't realise you were awake!"

Harry stayed in the doorway, watching the man with solemn eyes. He'd looked through every room the night before and determined that the tall man lived alone. Though he'd been a bit terse, the stranger who ran the shop had kept his word and had not harmed him. This newcomer was an as-yet unknown, and Harry found himself bracing for the dressing down he half-expected to receive over not having a meal ready for early company.

Sighing softly, the man eased closer, kneeling when he was just within arm's reach. He held out a hand. "Let's start with introductions, then. I'm Shippō. What's your name?"

"Harry Potter, sir," he muttered, folding his hands in his hem.

"None of that now, Harry Potter," Shippō grinned. "Would you like some breakfast? I was just making a bit of rice, but I'm sure Shō has some cereal or fruit around if you'd rather."

He stared up at the strange man, green eyes meeting green, before he looked down again. "Cereal, please."

Harry half-expected Shippō to either laugh and tell him to get it himself or that it was too bad and he wasn't getting anything at all. Instead, the chipper man stood and waved towards the small table he'd eaten at the night before. "Have a seat and I'll find where Shō keeps his cereal, then!"

Harry watched, almost amused, as Shippō darted around the kitchen, grumbling under his breath about dogs and organising and 'just who did the shopping last time, anyway?' Finally, there was a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of fruit juice in front of him but he was hesitant to touch them yet. Shippō sank into the seat opposite, a bowl of white rice and a cup of tea as well as a plate of what smelled like pickles before him. Seeing the young boy fidget, the older gestured lightly with a pair of chopsticks. "Eat up, eat up!"

When they were finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, Shippō turned towards him once more.

"So," he began in an overly-casual tone, one emerald eye winking slyly. "What would you like to do today, Harry Potter?"

ooo

Vernon Dursley was impressed, even if he hated to admit it. The man was obviously very wealthy, if the servants and tastefully expensive decor were anything to go by. He'd been driven to a wealthy neighborhood and shown up to a penthouse suite by a tight-lipped chauffeur. The door to the suite had been manned by a stiff butler who took his hat with a deferential bow. A maid, standing nearby, stepped forward and gave a faint curtsey. Turning, she gestured silently for him to follow before setting off down the hallway.

They stopped before a door that looked no different from the others. As soon as the maid had opened it however, Vernon was faced with a richly appointed study. The central feature was a gleaming desk of dark wood, behind which was seated the person he was here to meet. The man didn't deign to rise from his chair when his guest entered so Vernon took a moment to get a good look at his host. The man's suit was charcoal grey and impeccably tailored on his slender frame. Neatly trimmed black hair crowned a pale face with aristocratic cheekbones, almost feminine lips, and pale brown eyes.

The maid who had led him here gestured for Vernon to sit. When he had, she slipped away and the butler stepped in to set a cup of steaming tea on the small table beside him. When he had similarly served his master he too withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Each man watched the other appraisingly as they sipped their tea. After a moment longer, the man behind the desk spoke.

"I understand you are a business man, Mr. Dursley," he murmured in a smooth, deep voice. "I have a proposal for you."

Vernon was definitely interested in getting into whatever business would reap these sorts of rewards. He held his eagerness in check as best he could. "What kind of proposal, Mr. White?"

Those eyes seemed to flash gold in the afternoon light as the man leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the desk as his lips curled upwards in a not-entirely-friendly smile. "It is in regards to your nephew."

Vernon set his tea cup down with a rattle of china. "That woman said she hadn't found him!"

"She didn't," the pale man cut in smoothly. "Helen only informed me that you were looking for him."

Vernon could feel his face begin to flush, but he tamped it down. It wouldn't do to make a bad impression now. Forcing himself to pick up his tea again, he tried for calm. "Have you seen him, then? My wife and I are quite worried about the boy."

His host hummed noncommittally and Vernon forged ahead. "He's quite a troublemaker, so if he's done anything..."

Once again, Mr. White cut him off. "I am well equipped to deal with any kind of disturbances, Mr. Dursley. What I am offering is to take him off your hands. You would be given generous compensation, of course," he added when Vernon opened his mouth to object.

ooo

Dursley busied himself with his teacup for a moment, and Sesshōmaru waited patiently for the fat man to crack. He'd seen the appreciative looks at his surroundings, could practically smell the man's greed, and was prepared for the demands of money and power and things.

Sure enough, he waited no more than a minute before Dursley, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible, spoke. "What kind of compensation are you offering, Mr. White? He is, after all, a very dear nephew to my wife."

"I don't doubt it," Sesshōmaru returned dryly.

Before his guest could take offense, he continued. "I am aware of the boy's... eccentricities and your desire to have nothing to do with them. In light of that, I am willing to completely remove him from your family. I will provide you with a letter for you to show to whomever decides to ask on his whereabouts. It will explain the situation and that they may contact me if they have any further questions on the matter."

Sesshōmaru paused to take a sip of his cooling tea. "As for your monetary concerns, I am willing to offer your son the same amount for his schooling that I estimate will be necessary to educate your nephew. You would also be reimbursed for your care of him to this point, with the addition of interest."

He gave the man a flat stare over his folded hands, looking every inch the ruthless businessman. "This is, of course, the only offer I will make you. If you do not take it, the boy will simply disappear and you will be forced to explain his absence to several sets of authorities, none of whom will be lenient on the issue of murder."

"M-m-murder!" Vernon stuttered, jumping up and towering over the desk. "How dare you accuse me of such!"

Sesshōmaru regarded him coolly. "I have done no such thing, but if there is no body and still ample evidence, what else are the courts to assume, Mr. Dursley? There was more than one witness to yesterday's... incident with the London busses."

When his guest appeared to be capable of nothing more than slowly turning purple, Sesshōmaru slid a piece of paper across his desk to the man and set a pen beside it. "This contract contains everything we discussed. I suggest you sign it."

"This... this is blackmail!"

"Yes," the disguised yōkai lord agreed, "but it is likely to be the most profitable blackmail you ever encounter. I am prepared to be generous only this once."

ooo

Harry was extremely confused. Despite the tall man's - he was allowed to call him Sesshōmaru, according to Shippō, but didn't dare until the man told him himself - directive to not leave the apartment, Shippō had insisted on taking him shopping. Harry tugged him to a stop before they could reach the door and quietly insisted he didn't have the money to pay for anything and that he didn't want to inconvenience the tall man who'd taken him in. It took a moment of stuttering and stumbling to get it out, but Shippō smiled gently and knelt before him.

"Harry, if I know Shō - and I do, better than almost anyone alive - he will not allow you to return to your relatives. It's one of the reasons he called me here."

His surprise was overrun by a staggering relief and Harry looked up at the older man with undisguised hope. "What do you mean?"

"Sesshōmaru has decided to make you his ward. If you agree, of course."

When Harry looked vaguely confused, Shippō elaborated further. "It's a little like being adopted, except you'll still be a Potter instead of becoming Sesshōmaru's son. He'll take care of you though, until you can do so yourself. He'll no doubt explain it tonight along with a few other things, alright? If you don't want to become his ward, I'm sure we can work out a backup plan or two for you."

Harry thought about it seriously for some time before nodding resolutely. Shippō's smile widened at the determined expression on his face and held out his hand. Harry took it with the barest hesitation and they slipped out the door and onto the busy streets.

ooo

When Sesshōmaru returned that evening, he was pleased to see that Shippō had purchased more appropriate clothing for the boy. Instead of the oversized rags he had been wearing, Harry looked comfortable in trousers that didn't have to be rolled up and belted and a shirt whose sleeves didn't pass his wrists. Leaving Shippō and the boy reading together on cushions in the small library, Sesshōmaru retreated to his study to prepare paperwork and mull over just how much Harry should be told.

It wasn't long before Harry appeared in the doorway, fingers twisting in the hem of his new shirt. It was a habit to break him of, the lord noted idly. Leaning back from his work, he waved Harry to the seat opposite. Shippō was rattling around in the kitchen making dinner, so they had a short while to answer any questions Harry was too shy to ask in front of the kitsune. Sesshōmaru waited patiently. Harry inspected the wood of the desk.

"Shippō says I should call you, um, S-sesshōmaru? Sir?"

Not the first question he was expecting, but a necessary clarification all the same given how the other adults in the boy's life seemed to have treated him. He waited for emerald eyes to peer up through the black fringe before agreeing. "Your culture does not recognise many of my titles, and I will not have a ward of mine scared to call me by name. Yes," he elaborated when Harry still looked confused, "You should call me Sesshōmaru."

A line of tension dropped from small shoulders and the boy turned his face up to meet the lord's fully. Sesshōmaru let him look; he was never disguised in his own home. He knew the moment when Harry finally saw what he had missed before.

"You're... Are you an elf?"

"No," the lord sighed, pulling a scroll from the small pile at his side.

Unfurling it between them, he directed the boy's gaze to an elegant ink painting nestled amoungst the script. There, rendered in deft strokes of black, was an image of how he had looked centuries ago. Fully armoured, with Bakusaiga ready in one hand, his dokkasu in the other, and mokomoko draped over his shoulder, feudal Sesshōmaru was a sight to behold. Unrolling it yet further, he gestured to the next illustration. Snarling, towering over the forest below him, the two dimensional rendering of his battle form seemed to fill the space it was given and press against the words surrounding it.

"Both of these are me," Sesshōmaru spoke softly, dragging a claw reverently over the back of the large dog. "As I was nearly five hundred years ago. I am not an elf, Harry Potter, I am inuyōkai."

ooo

"What's that?" Shippō heard Harry ask as he approached the study to collect them for dinner.

There was silence for a moment, aside from the sound of parchment rolling. Then, Sesshōmaru's deep voice. "'Dog spirit' is probably the closest your language allows. Some would say 'demon,' but Western connotations would then imply that all yōkai are evil. That is false."

"Oh."

The boy seemed to be confused still, but unsure how to voice it. Shippō took that moment to step into the doorway. Green eyes glanced between them for a moment before Harry asked the logical follow-up. "Is Shippō a dog spirit too?"

Gold eyes slanted his way in amusement as the kitsune knelt beside the boy. A small burst of yōki brought forth his tails and he smiled at Harry's wide eyes. "Sorry. I'm no dog. I'm a fox!"

Shyness was forgotten in the face of the display and Harry babbled questions while he fisted his hands in his pant legs to keep them out of the soft fur. "Can you turn into a real fox? How big? Sesshōmaru showed me a picture of a really big dog that he says is him. Can I learn to turn into an animal? Please? "

Shippō laughed concealed his tails again in another burst of magic. "How about dinner first, hm? You still have to decide whether or not you're going to stay with Shō."

Harry looked about to agree with anything that would allow him to stay and be taught transformations, but the lord held up his pale hand. "Do not give your word lightly, and do not enter agreements when you have yet to hear all of the conditions. We will talk more after you eat."

The boy almost protested, but Shippō took his hand and drew him from the study. Harry looked back once, but Sesshōmaru had already resumed his work.