Read and review (please). Beta'd by Cherryteapot

-o-

Chapter 2: Facts of Family

"Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten" Leo and Stitch, 2002

May 2001

Harry and Blaine age 4

Lily sighed as she looked down at her new driver's license pursing her lips slightly at the sight of the photo. She knew she was being beyond ridiculous in her displeasure…it was after all, just a picture—but she couldn't help it, the woman staring back at her; the newly brunette with cropped locks and brown contacts, was so foreign…. so un-her.

Different perhaps, but necessary, she knew. It was for her own safety these changes, no, that wasn't quite right…. it was for more than her own safety; it was for her entire families safety—especially Harry's. She and James may not be his birth parents but that didn't mean she loved him any less then if they had been.

She glanced over to the corner of the small living room where Harry sat atop one of the still unpacked moving boxes—a book in hand, his brow scrunched in concentration and a wrinkle in his small nose as he carefully sounded out each word of the story to himself. His lips were moving, silently forming the consonant and vowel's sounds as Lily had taught him to. She didn't even try to stop the small proud smile from forming on her lips at the sight. As hard as James's tried, Harry was much more her temperament then his; far more concerned with learning and solitary play, than in rough housing and jokes.

Glancing down once more at the license in her hand she gave her head a quick shake and tucked it away inside the new purse that she had bought—just one of many new things she had recently acquired to go along with her, their new identities. 'Millicent Lux'—she really didn't think anyone could blame her for not exactly loving the new name she had been saddled with, though she was not so vain as to not to understand the rationality behind it. Millicent—because she could shorten it to Milly, which in turn was close enough to Lily that should James— no, Jarold now, make a mistake and call her by her old one, people would just assume they had heard him wrong. Their last name had been James's contribution to the whole thing; he thought it would be amusing to choose a last name after one of Harry's favorite bedtime stories; the Mouse and the light*. Whatever, Lily was just glad that he did not decide to go with a mouse themed name.

Thankfully they had only changed Harry's formal name—it was now Harrison J Potter, instead of Harold. Since the four year old was rarely (only when Lily was beyond angry) called by his full formal name, it was likely that Harry wouldn't even realize that his name had been changed. It was the same bout of luck that Harry had always called Lily and James; mum and dad…. again, they wouldn't have to worry about him slipping up and using their old names.

Lily knew that everything was still relatively new—it had only been a week since they had formally been placed in the witness protection program after all—and that as time went on, all the changes—big and small, would become easier to bare. They would eventually be familiar enough that their old life and persona's would become the unfamiliar ones…. but still, even knowing this it was hard.

Why them? Why Harry? Why that picture? Why, why why?

These questions had been churning in her brain since the very first letter—if you could call it that—had arrived on their doorstep. So, innocent and unassuming looking for what it contained. The pure white envelope just a thin disguise for the threats and horrible ultimatum written within. Had it been about anything other than their beautiful, brilliant son—Lily and James would likely have written it off as a sick prank and ignored the whole thing…but they hadn't. They would never risk Harry on the off chance that it was not.

And as it turned out, it was not.

No, it was no sick prank—it was instead a sick and very dangerous promise, from an equally sick and dangerous madman. A sick, dangerous and powerful mad man, named Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, as he liked to be called these days.

Voldemort, the head of Britain's criminal underground, Voldemort, the mass murderer, torturer and thief, Tom Riddle, the tainted politician who everyone suspected but no one could convict for lack of proof and breathing witnesses….

Why did one of the most notorious and corrupt men in all of Britain have to choose Harry to fixate his delusions on? Why did this monster have to see the photo of Harry and his nursery classes' Christmas concert in a local newspaper and decide that Harry was really his long dead son? Why did the man have to have a snap in his mental health now?

Lily can still recall the acidic dread she felt in her stomach at reading the letter from the man. A letter that told them that they had but a week to give Harry back or their lives would be forfeit. They had not even once considered following the letters instructions and giving that man their young son.

Thankfully the police had believed the letter and had taken the threat seriously, immediately moving the family into protective custody and then going further to place them under witness protection and give them new identities and lives. As Detective Dumbledore had said, Tom—or as he was better known as, Voldemort may be unhinged but he was persistent, and once he fixated on something he was hard to shake. When Lily had heard this, she wondered if they should not have left Britain entirely—gone to some other country perhaps? but Dumbledore had assured her that a simple change of cities should be enough, what with their new lives and everything.

James seemed to trust the detective…and he was a good judge in character, so Lily would do the same. Still, she would take some precautions…just in case. Just in case something happened to either of them. Really, it was something they should have done even before this mess…. that way should Harry ever be left without her or James, he would still have a piece of them, money to look after him when he got a bit older and the entire truth.

Yes; a letter about the adoption, what they knew of his other half, their own family and even the mess they were in right now couldn't hurt. Perhaps, even his own bank account? - One that he could access when he was a little older—fifteen or so. It was likely that all this was all for naught but even if that were the case, it would still be good for him to have some money to call his own when he got a bit older… to teach him how to be responsible for finances and such at the very least.

She had always been a bit of a planner…and having something to plan and organize was just the thing that she needed to distract her from that nagging unease that had been persistently eating away at her since the first letter. She wouldn't mention it to James, he would either just laugh at her superstitions or become even more worried and paranoid—neither of which she wanted.

No, she would write Harry a letter—one he would likely never need—open him an bank account and place the key somewhere that he—or should something happen to them (as unlikely as that was), his new guardian would find it and give it to him when he was old enough to understand.

"Harry, love" She called out softly, knowing that the four year old would hear her.

She was correct and the untidy mop of dark hair shot up, inquisitive green eyes—now marred with a fake pair of ugly round glasses (something that they were using to change Harry's appearance with—the four year old was delighted, thinking it a grand to have glasses like his dad) peered over at her. "Mum?"

"Why don't you go get your dad? Mummy has got to go and run some errands…maybe your dad will help you finish your paper airplane?" Lily suggested, knowing that if Harry asked, James would be more than happy to bond with his son. The man could refuse their small son nothing, honestly Lily feared if she were not around to reign in her husband that he would have spoiled Harry rotten by now. Thankfully, her son had seemingly not only been blessed with a sharp mind but a natural restraint. Well, as much restraint as one could hope for in a child his age anyhow.

"K" Harry agreed easily, wiggling his way to the edge of the box and getting down, before running up the stairs towards the recently set up office where James was currently reading.

"Don't run" Lily admonished half-heartedly knowing that her words would go unheard. Turning to quickly write a note to James—an explanation that she had stepped out and would be back soon, Lily grabbed her coat and made her way down the creaky front steps.

She had a bank to visit. And her own worries, to ease. Once again she knew she was being silly, but if this would help her feel better then so be it.

Her family was safe. She just hoped they would remain so.

-o—

November 2008

Harry took a deep breath while craning his neck back to take in the sight of the imposing, steel and glass structure in front of him. Once again he wished that Hermione had not had a family trip this weekend and had been able to come with him—if not for her brains, then at least for moral support.

Harry shoved his hands deeper inside the pockets of his worn, baggy jeans, reassured to once again feel the small silver key he had placed in there before school this morning. He should probably be a bit more worried about what the Dursley's will have to say about his late return but he was pretty sure he could pass it off as another detention or the likes—it wasn't like they actually cared where he was; really they only asked because they hated the idea of him doing anything that might bring him some enjoyment. Yes, the detention excuse would likely work…it always had in the past.

In all truth he thought it was rather clever of him, purposefully giving them what they so desired—proof of his delinquency and bad 'blood.' Really, it was win-win; he got to sneak off and do what he wanted—whether it was to be hiding out in a local park wiling away the hours, a trip to the library or even just skulking around downtown…while they got to believe that he was once again in detention for being a little shit. Something that they took great delight in, especially when they could offer it as proof to their neighbors on what saints they were for putting up with the likes of him.

Pushing the glass revolving door, Harry moved with the motion until he was spit out into a gleaming marble and wood laden lobby. Long counters with heavily made-up tellers standing behind them covered the far side of the room, while equally long queues of annoyed looking customers snaked in multiple lines back towards where Harry was currently standing.

Ignoring the frowns and looks of disapproval he was getting- not only from the security guards near the door, but from several of the more prissy looking customers- Harry walked confidently (or at least he tried) to the back of the closest line, readying himself for a long wait.

He passed the time by scuffing his black-soled sneakers against the pristine marble floor, taking great joy in the annoyed looks he was getting. Sure, maybe he should have been trying to make a good impression—what with wanting their help and everything, but he just couldn't force himself to do it. He hated when people judged him before even really getting to know him, and he had seen those looks when he walked in. They had taken one glance at his baggy, worn out clothing, and likely his youthful age and had automatically already dismissed him of being a worthy potential client. It was people like these that made him thirst to prove himself—well, people like these and the Dursley's. One day he would show them—one day he would prove to them just how wrong they had been to dismiss him.

Harry was pulled from his internal grumblings by the loud, nasally sounding "NEXT!"

Startling from his thought, Harry was surprised to find that he was indeed the next person in line…somehow the long line in front of him had dwindled down to him and a few people behind him while he was mentally berating everyone around him. Well, no complaints here.

He approached the long counter, where the young woman who had called out stood; her stiffly starched blouse and pencil squirt impeccable in there wear. "And what can I help you with today Mr.…" she asked, her disdain evident as she arched one of her thinly penciled eyebrows at him.

"Potter" Harry supplied, once again steeling his nerves and voice so that he appeared far more confident in his endeavor than he actually was.

She barely withheld an impatient sniff, "Yes, well Mr. Potter…. your business?"

"I have recently come across a key left to me by my departed parents and I believe that it is for a deposit box at your bank" Harry gave her the shortened version of the explanation that he and Hermione had agreed was best. Shortened, because this was not the first bank he had visited today and he was getting rather weary and despondent at having to constantly repeat the spiel.

While her posture remained stiff and formal, he saw a minute softening in her expression at the news that he was an orphan—Harry sighed internally, people were so predictable. She held out a manicured hand, in which he dropped the key, all while trying to fight back the urge to snatch it back from her-it was after all one of the few things he had from his parents…he hated having to let other's touch and manhandle it but if he hoped to get answers it was a necessary evil.

She brought it up closer to her face for a long minute and just when Harry was sure that she was going to shake her head and tell him –like the last few tellers had told him-that she was sorry but she didn't recognize the key, she closed her fist around it. "Wait here, Mr. Potter. I believe you are correct and that this is one of our deposit key boxes…however it looks like the older version—a key to the boxes that are no longer available to rent. If you will just give me a moment I will grab my supervisor for you, as he would have better knowledge on such matters"

Harry nodded back numbly, trying to ignore the swoop of hope he felt at her words. He could hardly believe it…. Hermione was right! His parents had left him something! In all honesty, he hardly cared what that something might be, just the very fact that they had cared enough to leave anything was enough for the attention starved twelve year old. The joy in discovering this was enough to weigh lay any of the fear that had been building since his conversation with his Aunt—if they cared enough to rent a box and leave it for him, then surely it didn't matter if he was adopted or not…right?

Harry forced himself to stand still while he waited for the return of the teller and her manager, trying to stop himself from imagining just what might be in the newly discovered box…. what did one even leave in such boxes? Surely, it wouldn't be much…most likely important papers or documents; he couldn't imagine that the box would be large enough for anything else.

"Mr. Potter?" a middle aged, rather pudgy and stressed out looking man asked him, moving his hand from fiddling with an expensive gold watch on his wrist to extend it in Harry's direction.

"Yes, that's me" Harry quipped back trying to bring some levity to the almost oppressive air that surrounded not only their small group, but also the entire bank lobby. If Harry had learned one thing during the last few hours that he had been travelling from bank to bank— it was that he had no desire to pursue a career path in finance. He mentally shuddered at the thought of coming to work in such a depressing and serious atmosphere everyday—yup, definitely not for him. The strained smile he received in return for his efforts told him just how unsuccessful they had been in the first place.

"Ah…right, well, I have to say this is a little unexpected…. you wouldn't have identification on you would you?" the man asked shifting his weight slightly, while peering down at the scruffy looking child in front of him. This was not what Alex wanted to deal with so close to closing. He had been so looking forward to getting out on time for once, something that was getting less and less likely, what with having a questionable ruffian waltz in here at the near end, holding a key for a long thought abandoned safety box. This was not what he wanted, not at all. He was still holding a small amount of hope that the whole thing was a hoax and that he could simply show the child the door—preferably within the next half hour, but knowing his luck…

"Err...I have my life* card and my school ID?... those are acceptable right?" Harry asked uncertainly. He prayed that they would be enough, for it was a small miracle that he was able to get his hands on either of the aforementioned, especially the first.

Well, in all truth it was rather amazing that he even had a health card, considering what the Dursley's thought of him and how likely they were to take him to see a health care professional should anything ever happen. His only guess was that after Dudley broke his arm when he was six, his Aunt applied for one, likely more as a precautionary measure than because she had any real concern for him. No doubt she and Vernon would be happy to let him bleed to death the next time something similar happened, but even they didn't want to have to deal with the trouble that would most likely follow the death of a minor 'under their care'. It was once again thanks to Hermione that Harry had even thought to covertly look through his Aunt's purse to see if he had one—something that he was rather relieved to find was the case.

The man's lips pulled down and a flash of what looked like annoyed displeasure crossed his rubbery old face before it was gone, being replaced once again with the strained smile. "Yes, yes…. of course that should be fine…. and your guardian's? Where are they?" he asked.

Harry forced himself not to squirm knowing that if there was going to be any trouble over getting access to what was legally his, this would be it. "They were unable to accompany me today…but I do have their signed permission slip**" Harry stated handing over a paper that legally gave him the right, as a minor to handle his accounts without the presence of an adult. Again, Hermione had found the document online and printed it out for him (along with giving him a lecture on how he would have to be responsible and not waste whatever was left to him on frivolous things…the typical Hermione speech really)—which he had then forged Vernon's signature…really, not that difficult of a task considering how illegible his uncle's signature was. Harry could only hope that the man would take the form as proof and not follow up with the Dursley's…a hope that seemed to pull through for once.

"Very well…. if you would follow me Mr. Potter, I will take you to the box. Ah…how remiss of me, my name is Alex Corthen, I have been the manager here at HSBC for the past eight years. I have to admit that there has always been some interest surrounding it…the box." Alex hastily expounded on his comment, "especially with it not having been accessed in so long, yet still receiving the monthly deposits for its keep…." Mr. Corthen trailed off his attempt to dig up additional information on the circumstances surrounding Harry's sudden visit, obvious.

Harry hummed in agreement, not falling for the man's unsubtle probing—he might be young, but he was not an idiot. He knew the less he said, the less likely he would trip himself up later on. He hid a small smirk as he saw Corthen's mouth twitch again with annoyance over Harry's silence.

"Here we are…. I will give you a few moments of privacy. Sara will wait just outside, if there is anything that you need please don't hesitate to ask her," the man stated as they arrived in a long narrow, room. A room whose walls were lined with metal boxes…looking quite similar to a more claustrophobic version of the back room at the post office that Petunia often used for Christmastime parcel delivery.

Harry ignored the slight tremble in his hands as he took the silver key that had been returned to him right before Corthen left and inserted it into the metal fronted box. Harry absently noted that the box was likely one the bank's medium sized boxes, and most definitely an older one—he could only assume the newer ones relied on electronic passwords and the likes, not old fashioned keys.*** Carefully sliding the box out of its slot and moving it to the table that was found to the center of the room (no doubt just for the very reason Harry was now using it for) he clicked the key once more and popped open the top panel, letting out the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding as he caught sight of several legal looking papers, a thin leather bound album and a small velvet bag lying within.

Harry removed each item with meticulous care, afraid to so much as breath on any of the items. Drawing the hard backed chair up behind him, he sat down and slowly began to examine the items closer; before deciding to go give into his curiosity and start with the velvet bag.

Opening it he emptied the bag onto the table, staring in awe down at the delicate gold chain necklace that came out of said pouch—while there was no doubt that the chain and small locket on the it were old and had not been touched in some time, it was easy to see that the necklace was of good quality and likely worth a small fortune…or at the very least, far more than anything Harry had ever handled before. With all the curiosity that he had been cursed with, Harry could not resist but to pop open the locket feeling his eyes water slightly as he took in the two photographs within. One was expected—a small picture of his mother, father and himself posed in what he would call a Christmas card pose—his parent's smiling happily back at the camera while his younger self half buried his face into Lily's side in a moment of shy, hesitance.

He felt his own emotions rearing their heads once again as he looked at the picture—was it the last one that they had taken as a family before his parents had died? How different would his life… he have been had they not been killed? Would he have known what being loved was like? Shaking his head to dislodge such morbid thoughts he turned his attention to the second picture in the locket, the one exactly opposite of the one he had just been studying and found himself wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

The photo showed two infants that appeared quite close in age and physical appearance lying side by side. Why the heck would this picture be in his mothers (?) locket of all places? Harry stooped lower in order to study the picture better and came to the realization that the baby on the right could be no other person then himself—the dark hair and green eyes were unmistakable. Feeling slightly apprehensive Harry studied the child beside his infant self, once again becoming stuck on the fact that the boy shared an eerie likeness to his self—dark hair, similar facial features; really the only noticeably different feature the other child had was the fact that he had brown—almost honey colored eyes.

Clicking the locket closed in a decisive movement, Harry decided to ponder said mystery later…he had a funny feeling that the other boy in the picture was more than just the child of one of Lily or James's friends'—after all they appeared to be quite young in the photo and if Petunia's words had any truth to them, wouldn't the picture have dated to a time before he had gone to live with Lily and James's? No—this was something he could think (worry) about later.

That decided Harry quickly moved on to the leather bound album, flipping it open to find—to his delight—that it was a photo album; one filled with pictures of his mother, father and himself doing various things, in various places. Once again he decided that he would take the time to look through the album later; perhaps when he had gotten a better hold on his emotions and was in a place not quite as cold and impersonal as the viewing room he was currently seated in. Not to mention it was starting to get on in the afternoon and while he had an excuse for being late on returning home to the Dursley's, he had to be careful not to return too late—in case they should question the validity of his statement.

Bring the last few items that he had removed from the box closer to him, he quickly flicked through them; separating the letter from the rest of the papers.

The papers themselves seemed to be financial in nature—he saw the title to one of said papers read: Last Will and Testament of Lily May Potter and James Kelvin Potter. He couldn't help but swallow convulsively when he noted that the date they were signed was only months before their deaths and his arrival at the Dursley's—had they suspected their oncoming deaths or was it a mere coincidence? Harry really didn't like where that thought led him, and decided once again to push it aside for the here and now.

Giving the will a quick read over, he had to admit that he would have to speak to one of the bank's employees—someone more versed in this sort of thing- as much of the language and content went over his head. What he was able to decipher was that his aunt was never suppose to have retained custody of him; rather a man named Sirius Black or Remus Lupin had been named as the next in line to assume guardianship of him. He wondered why this had not happened…maybe the men mentioned hadn't wanted to be saddled with the likes of him? -After all the Dursley's often commented to having shared similar sentiments. Ah well, for the moment it was not important…. maybe there were extenuating circumstances that came into play? Maybe they had wanted him and for some reason—not that he could really think of one at the moment—they just couldn't take him?

The other thing that he was able to understand (at least a little) was that his parents had left him a shit load of money. Money, which he would not be able to access or touch until he reached the age of majority or some such thing. Harry did not know what age the papers stated him able to access his trust but he was pretty sure that the age was not twelve. Yes, he would have to take the time to come back here—maybe tomorrow or the next day, when he would have more time to examine the contents of said box and perhaps talk about them with someone.

He finally turned his attention to the last item he had found; the letter. Opening it up he took a deep breath and read,

Dear Harry,

My dear sweet son, if you are reading this then the worst has occurred…

Harry read the first sentence and blinked rapidly as the words became blurry, and he felt the telltale sign of wetness on his cheeks. Hastily wiping his eyes he forced another few calming breaths into his constricted lungs, trying desperately to reconcile the fact that he was reading words written by his mother. Words that were written by her, for him specifically….

Words that within the first line answered one of his previous questions-she had, at least on a subconscious level been expecting her death and had gone out of her way to write to him and prepare things for him should he survive and they not. She had loved him. She had cared.

Steeling himself, Harry looked back down at the letter and once more started from the top. No matter what he learned from the next few paragraphs—he had found the answer that he had so desperately wanted.

He had been loved.

-0—

April 2010

Harry and Blaine age 13

The scrape of metal on cement was heard and promptly ignored by the man occupying the small 6 by 8 foot cell; a cell located directly in the heart of the isolation unit, in Wakefield prison.

And why wouldn't it be? It was after all a rather expected and repetitive happening for the man within. Three times a day: 0700, 1300 and 1700, the delivery of whatever horridly bland, starch laden concoction was slid through the postal box sized opening, only to be removed an hour later—generally emptied of its contents. Yes, Tom…or rather Voldemort as he preferred to be acknowledged, knew the schedule of his days inside and out—really not that much of an accomplishment considering they had not varied in any significant way for the past eight years that he had been here. And that wasn't even taking into account that by most current measurements, he was considered a genius—perhaps a slightly delusional and unhinged genius, but a genius all the same.

Perhaps his well known intelligence, coupled with the fact that he was largely suspected to be one of Britain's top underground players was the reason why, despite having been relatively well behaved for the majority of his stay at 'monster mansion, 1 ' he had been moved to the isolation unit on a near permanent status. Apparently, they were not going to take any chances with him being able to use his connections to continue his influence in the outside world—he had to allow that perhaps they were not as entirely stupid as he had once thought. Never mind that though, it wasn't as though such a small thing would be able to stop him should he really want to achieve something. As it was, he was simply biding his time-making plans and waiting for the perfect time to execute said plans. If there was one thing that he had learned from his time as the Death Eater's head, it was that patience and forethought always paid off in the end.

And yes, he knew that it was a little ironic for him to say so, considering the fact that he had executed neither that fateful night, all those years ago, was the very reason why he was now locked away like a mere animal. Literally caged and figuratively chained- being kept away from his organization, and more importantly, away from his son.

Oh, he had heard all of the lies and stories that the juror's were told. He had been forced to sit and listen to the testimonies of the pompous, meddling detective and the true perpetrator's friend's tales of woe…but he could not be fooled, he knew his son when he saw him. And there was no doubt in his mind that what he knew was true:

That the little black haired, green eyed preschooler that those disgusting inbreeds said was their adopted son was no other child then his lost son, Ciaran.

He had known the truth from the moment he had come across the photo of him in the paper. The very knowledge that his son—the one that had been taken from him only three years previous, and that he had been told was dead; A revenge kidnapping and murder by a rival gang boss, Grindewald—had been alive all this time had sent him into a rage. A rage that had result in a few dead death eaters (the gang that he did in fact lead), his ill thought out attempt to take his son back and the deaths of the people who had hidden Ciaran from him all that time.

Of course, thanks to his anger he had failed to execute a proper plan that would not implicate him when all was said and done…. it didn't help things that Dumbledore had seemed to anticipate his move and had arrived (a tad late to prevent the murders of his son's kidnappers) before he could disappear with Ciaran.

Yes, looking back on things (something he had, had ample time to do over the past almost decade) he would have gone about things slightly different. He would not have gone off half calked after torturing the information of the Potter's whereabouts out of the disgusting little rat (and really, what were they thinking making someone as spineless as Pettigrew the contact point between them and their old friends? —honestly, they deserved what they got if they had that poor of judgment), but rather waited until the extra protection had been dropped.

Unfortunately for him, the thought of getting to his son back had been too large of temptation for him to resist.

Ah well, 'what was done was done' as they like to say. The past was in the past…. the future however…. Well, let's just say the future was wide open. And this time, Voldemort would not make the same mistakes;

No, this time he would bide his time and strike when they least expected him to. This time Ciaran, or Harry as he was now known, was as good as his.

NOTES:

*The mouse and the light is a children's story that centers on the morality lesson of not being afraid of one's dark nature—where shadow's play, but instead embracing both your light and dark nature…light and shadow. Lux was chosen as a representative of light, as in the canon Lily and James were considered paragons of 'light', but the reference to the story was included because Harry while considered 'light', also had darker aspects to his character.

**Forgive my ignorance on Britain's health care system and banking system. I attempted to Google what I could but I have a feeling that the attempts will fall short. From what I understand the card Harry is talking about was (and is) like a sort of membership card to help people have healthier and better lifestyles. Here in Canada such cards enable one to access health care for free as well as serving as a proof of ID in some cases. I am operating on the fact that Britain's card is similar? And again I am not familiar with how an un-chaperoned minor would actually access a security box etc. So I just sort of made it up. In this story even though Harry is twelve he is able to with two pieces of ID and a signed formed from his guardian—unrealistic most likely but ehhh….it's fanfiction ;)

***Medium—as in 280mmx50mmx229mm. I am got these dimensions off of a youtube video advertising deposit boxes in London. If you care to see for yourself (however boring it may be) the video can be found on youtube under: SafeDeposit boxes London-Metropolitan Safe Deposite.

1 HM Prison Wakefield is the largest high security men's prison in England at this time. The prison has been nicknamed 'Monster Mansion' due to the large number of high profile, high risk sex offenders and murderer's held there. Interesting fact: the poem "Here we go round the mulberry bush" is thought to be about this prison as in the past the prison exercise yard has a single mulberry bush where inmates used to run around for their allotted physical activity. (Information retrieved from Google)