"God help me."

"Like that'll fucking help."

"Please," Denny said, gesturing skyward. "Please."

"If you're hoping for a smiting, Den, it's not going to work."

"Come on, God," he said.

"God likes me better."

Denny turned to his adopted son and scowled. "You're a wanker," he said.

Henry couldn't help but laugh at his put-upon expression. "It's not as bad as all that, Den," he comforted, giving the disgruntled man a one-armed hug. "I don't mean to be a bother."

"Oh, really?" Denny retorted. "What about the time you let Bo eat Tyler's Porsche?"

"Bo only gnawed on the boot a bit," he defended.

"Or before that, when you took it out for a joy ride and crashed it into a bridge?"

"That bridge moved in front of me."

"Or when Constance came to visit and you turned her into a weasel?"

"You were quite happy about that, if I remember right," Henry pointed out tentatively. "And so was everyone else."

"Or…."

"Okay," Henry interrupted, flapping a hand to get him to stop. "I get it. Is this 'revisit past grievances day'?"

Denny shrugged. "I've got a lot of grievances, I like pointing them out,"

"This was an accident, you know," Henry told him, pointing toward the ground. Denny immediately scowled, and he back-pedaled quickly. "Not that those other times were on purpose either, um, well…."

"Yeah, yeah," Denny waved a hand in his face. "What do we tell Tyler about this, then?"

Henry thought for a moment. "A nuke?" he suggested, scratching his nose.

"A nuke?" he repeated dryly. Denny shook his head. "You're a bloody moron."

They went about cleaning up the bodies and all of the destruction the spell had caused. Henry had been tampering with the latest models of his modified weapons. Tyler had been very impressed with the new prototypes, especially the official 'no-mess' feature. Tyler wouldn't, however, be impressed with half of his security being burnt to a crisp. Henry was tinkering with the charge, gauging it for complete disintegration as opposed to partial, where the ash remains were scattered every which way - when he'd failed. Rather spectacularly.

"Goddamn wizard kids," Denny cursed as he dragged one of the bodies towards the house. Then the leg popped off. "Oh God! What the fuck!" he shouted, jumping away from it and wiping his hands furiously on his pants.

Henry burst out laughing as Denny kicked the limb away from him. Once Denny had learned (the hard way) that the bodies were in a delicate sort of state, they began moving them again, this time with more care.

Tyler came out before long to inspect the noise, and they both dropped the corpses and held up their now empty hands. "Sorry!" Henry yelled at Tyler, looking sincere.

The man's pleasant smile dropped. He looked towards Denny for answers, and caught sight of the bodies.

"Are those my security guards?" he asked.

"They were," Denny said, shrugging one shoulder.

Henry shushed him and explained what had happened. They didn't know whether to be relieved or troubled that Tyler thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

.o00o.

The summer of '93 was one of many changes for Henry. He had just turned thirteen at the end of July, with another grand party thrown by Tyler. Henry had enjoyed himself despite the posturing, while Denny had sulked in a corner drinking, deliberately not supporting Tyler's showing off.

It was a hot season, stifling really, and though the heat wasn't enough to ruin the summer holiday, it sure made the days uncomfortable. If Henry could describe those particular months, he would say they were dead awful. This was when the steady happiness he had experienced for four years at the manor started to come to a close. Tyler and Denny were constantly at each others throats, over Henry of all things. And even though Tyler tried his best to convince Denny that his son would be less troublesome if he was put to work, Denny wouldn't budge on the matter. In retaliation, Henry had taken to getting into trouble just so he wouldn't be so bored.

Bo was spending more and more of the summer with Tenebres, if only to escape the tension at Tyler's place. When he wasn't fighting with Denny, Tyler was working and planning. They intended to finance factories to create more modified weapons, but this would take quite a bit of money, time, and silence to get the job underway. Which meant Henry was left alone most days, and when he wasn't he was coddled by Denny and pressured by Tyler. No one was really around to watch Henry should he get into any mischief.

Come August, Henry had finally messed up one too many times. His luck had to run out sometime, at least, that was what Denny had told him when he'd been bailed out of jail. Tyler, by then, was so fed up with Henry's antics that he was content to leave the law to handle the issue. Breaking and entering was a one to two year bird, and Henry had certainly earned the sentence. He hadn't meant to get caught (did anyone ever?) and he hadn't even had a good excuse for it. He didn't need the money. He didn't know the people he'd burgled. There wasn't any point to it all.

Boredom, Henry had explained when Denny had asked 'why?'. The man who had owned the house had been burgled before, so he wasn't keen on letting it all slide, and during that interminable summer, Henry found himself before Britain's judiciary system.

The hearing hadn't gone well, the magistrates took major offense to Henry's lack of respect, and his admission of guilt seemingly without remorse. After the trial, Henry had confronted Tyler about his blasé attitude in regards to Henry's conviction.

"You're telling me," he said coldly. "That with all your money and your power, oh, that's right…money and power I got you, that you're not going to help me out of this?"

Tyler was indifferent. "It's my intention," he said slowly, and then nodded to Denny to include him. "And your father's, that you serve your sentence. You can always be let out early for good behavior."

"But why?" Henry yelled, and beside him, Denny winced. "I was only having a bit of fun."

"Your fun, as you like to call it, has brought an inquiry into this household," Tyler snapped, and jabbed a finger at his desk. "A thirteen-year-old kid, living with two strange men, caught on a b&e? Really, Henry?"

Henry said nothing.

"You don't have a record before this," Tyler continued, a bit quieter. "You aren't even in the system. They might put you into foster care once you get out - assign you some useless parole officer. Do you have any idea what you've done with this stunt of yours? You're watched now. We're watched now."

"It's not my fault my parents never filed my birth certificate," Henry defended, and then scowled. "And I think this no where near as bad as the shit you like to pull-" before he could finish, Denny walked over to him and covered his mouth with his hand.

"You need to listen," he said, shaking Henry a bit. "Stop talking."

Denny waited until Henry nodded, and took his hand away. He went back to his seat and relaxed once more. "What Tyler is trying to say," he explained. "Is you might not get to come back to us once you're out."

Shaking his head at that, Henry turned back to Tyler. "Then I'll run away," he said. "I'm not going to a home."

"We'll have to try and get guardianship in the meantime, " Tyler sighed. "I can't make any promises."

"But I'm still going to be banged up? For one stupid mistake?" he yelled.

"I'm hoping," Tyler went on as if Henry wasn't shouting. "That the stupidity you've exhibited recently won't last in an institution. I spent five years in the same facility as a teen."

Henry cast Tyler a look of disgust and turned to his last chance of escape. "You're supposed to be my dad!" he was close to bellowing, and Denny flinched and licked his lips. "How can you do this to me?" he demanded.

Denny had learned to recover from the onslaught of this teenage Henry with practice. So he got properly angry, and said, "You're an asset to Tyler's business, and an asset to me. But make no bloody mistake, your actions have consequences and if you think it's alright to shout at me, you're more stupid than I thought."

Henry was speechless for a while, looking at his guardians with undisguised loathing, and from somewhere he managed to gather the courage to say, "I can't believe," he breathed out a laugh and looked away. "I can't believe I'm hearing this hypocritical shite."

As calm as he had started, he got louder until he was yelling again, and Denny shook his head and rose to grab a bottle off of the shelf. Tyler raised an eyebrow, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"The best advice," Tyler said finally, to a panting and distraught Henry. "Comes from those who've been there. You'll serve your sentence, Henry. If you escape from prison, or, if after your term is done and I see no improvement, I will wash my hands of you."

Henry gaped at him, and then turned to see if Denny agreed. His father merely raised his glass and gave a shallow nod of his head. Disgusted, Henry made a sound of fury and rejection deep in his throat and stormed out of the room.

They were out-of-line, he thought, wrong about everything and just two old frauds who thought they were better than everyone else. He had to admit, once he was well away from them and closeted in his room, that he was scared. Scared of prison. Scared Denny would drop him. However preposterous being excommunicated seemed, (considering Henry's involvement in the business) the threat still shook him.

He was comfortable here. What had Denny said once about familiarity? Henry leaned his head back on the closed door and shut his eyes. "Familiarity breeds contempt," he remembered. Perhaps he had done something worth Tyler washing his hands of him. Perhaps he was at fault. Henry inhaled deeply and knocked his skull on the wood behind him. He was too angry to feel remorse. He was too furious to be reasonable. His door was opening -

Henry scrambled away and stared at his father expectantly. Denny looked at him, all awkward, holding a small box in his hands and shuffling from foot to foot.

"I know you're angry," he began, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Henry scowled at him, but remained silent. Denny sighed. "I brought you a gift," he said, and handed the box to him.

Henry took it. "This about a million pounds to pay off the judge and get me out of nick?" he asked belligerently.

"No," Denny said, looking disappointed. He turned around and opened the door again.

"They're contacts. I know the constables don't allow them, but I'm sure you can do some of your magic stuff to keep them hidden," he gave Henry one last look. "You get in a barney in there and you'll lose your eyes with glasses."

Henry made to say something, but Denny had already left with a slam of the door. He turned around and let out a frustrated groan. "Fuck!" he cursed, and flung the box on the bed before collapsing next to it. "You've made a right mess of things," he told himself.

Denny and Tyler didn't speak to him at all after their fight, even when he was dragged off in cuffs after his sentencing for a nine month stay at a young offenders institution in London. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to go home. But the prospect of his guardians being disappointed and casting him out, made him willing to stay and serve his time no matter what. He was still furious with them though, and kept his promises to himself. He gazed up at the large building from the rear of the constable car and grimaced.

This would be his home for the next nine months. Joy.

.o00o.

Arthur Weasley kissed his wife on the cheek as he sat down for tea, the warmth of the kitchen and the appetizing aroma of his meal such a comfort after the bustle of his workplace. The children were eating and squabbling, as they usually did at meal times, having only stopped their noise to greet their father as he folded into a chair. They were having a roast, mashed potatoes, sprouts, and treacle tart for pudding. Ah, Arthur thought to himself, poor Molly.

She made this dinner every Christmas. It was Chris's favorite, and ever since that fateful holiday four years ago, Molly had taken to making the dinner when she had Chris on her mind. The children knew what it meant as well, but had enough tact not to mention it, even though while eating they were forcefully reminded of the boy that had lived with them for such a short time.

Arthur had wondered about Chris quite a bit, though they'd received a few letters from him two years ago, telling them that he was fine, that he had been adopted and that he missed them greatly. It seemed for a while that they would not have to worry about him, but the letters had eventually stopped and Molly had started to worry again.

They all remembered when Chris had appeared in their den due to accidental magic, and the blood and the blue tinge to Chris's lips that had been the cause for nightmares for Molly and Ginny. With the children home for the summer holidays, that anxiety had diminished some, but something had obviously upset her today. She asked him about work.

"We've had a bit of trouble with muggles and some strange guns," he said tiredly. "The Aurors are saying that magic doesn't work on them, but a lot of us don't believe it."

"You can't tamper with them if they've got elekiltricity, can you dad?" Ron asked with his mouth full. "Magic and technology and all that."

"Where'd you learn that, Ronnie?" Fred piped up, hitting the back of his chair.

"Your girlfriend tell you? We know you can't read!" George said.

"Ooh, Hermione, tell me about Hogwarts, A History again."

"Shut up!" Ron hollered, his face bright red.

"That's enough, boys," Arthur put a stop to it. "In answer to your question, Ron, no, it shouldn't be possible I don't think, but then Kingsley says guns aren't like comptutors and they might be enchanted for all we know."

"Computers, dad," Ginny corrected absently.

"That doesn't sound at all good. Don't you dare throw that sprout at your brother!" Molly warned, and then turned back to Arthur. "Have they any idea who's doing it?"

"We tried for magical residue, to see if a signature came up, but the magic got so confused it broke all the spells on it. We'll have to get another, I suppose," he said hopelessly.

The fact that the gun wasn't marked with a known magical signature simply meant that the perpetrator was under another name, a name recognized by magic but not the ministry. The spell wouldn't hold because of the intermingled signatures, and Arthur could only hope the next bit of evidence they came across (which could be years from now) was more telling.

Molly suddenly cleared her throat over the din of the renewed laughter and munching from their children, and she looked at them all anxiously. "I got a letter today," she said.

The children and Arthur stared, and Molly gave them a rather happy smile. "From Chris," she finished.

"Oh, really, mum?"

"Is it him? Is it?"

"It's been ages!"

"Shush, now," Arthur told them, excited to hear his wife explain. He waved her on after he had cast a warning glare at the twins. "Go on, Molly, dear!"

"I'll read it, shall I?" she said primly, and unfolded a plain piece of paper, not parchment, and cleared her throat again.

Dear Weasley family,

I know its been a while since I wrote, and I apologize, and you've every reason to chuck my letter out because of it. I know I would. I've had a good time of it, these past years, with my adoptive father and all. He's real nice, taking care of me and teaching me his trade. Your last post said that Charlie did decide to become a Dragon Keeper, and I'm glad for him. I know he liked when Bo would visit, even if you didn't so much Mrs. Weasley. Sorry about your chickens. Anyway, I've recently got into a spot of trouble, like I always do, and they've sent me to a correctional facility for a year. Bad luck, that.

"What's a correctional facility?" Ginny asked, interrupting. Molly obviously suspected, but she looked to Arthur for confirmation just in case.

He sighed. "It's a prison for underage Muggles," Arthur explained.

"Prison!"

"Blimey!"

Arthur waved a hand at his wife. "Continue, dear," he motioned, and she nodded sadly and went on.

I didn't mean to do it really, I'm usually good at stealing, you know. And even though I'm not wanting with my new dad, I got a bit bored, I guess. Anyway, I've been here a couple months and it's not so bad. They feed you three times a day and let you exercise. The boys here are annoying though. I had a go with one a week ago, but the other guy got the worst of it.

"Ho, ho, that's our Chrissie!" Fred cheered.

"Gave him a shirt full of ribs, I bet!" George laughed.

They put me in isolation for a few days for that. That's when the guards lock you up in a solitary cell and all you've got are your thoughts and jingles that get stuck in your head. Some of the boys are a bit touched, honestly, but they don't bother with me now, 'cause of that one crazy bloke that didn't turn out well. I'm not in a bad way, I guess.

"Oh, it sounds terrible!" Ginny disagreed.

Molly seemed too upset to go on, so he took the letter from her and started to read where she left off.

They've got councilors here, who put us in groups to talk about what we did and why. One bloke went and hit another kid over the head with a cricket bat, another drove his mum's car into a police station (idiot) and quite a few of them are in here for murder. They aren't that tough though, despite what they think.

The councilor told us to write a letter to our family, and even though Denny went and adopted me, you lot are my first family and always will be. I miss you all, and I know I've got to serve my sentence like an adult, and not just Apparate out because Denny would be awful cross and he wants me to get some discipline.

He's my dad, in everything but blood, and I'm starting to think it was a good idea sending me here. Got a little too confident, you know? And this place really lets you think. After I get out, I'd like to see you lot again, if you'll have me. I'm only allowed two pieces of paper, and an hour with a pen (they think we'll off ourselves or something) and the guards giving me the eye, so I'd best end it here. I hope to see you when my bird is up, and I miss you all. Fred, George, lay off of Ron, will you?

"Betrayal!"

"Traitor, absolute turncoat!"

Ron only grinned happily. Chortling, Arthur continued before the twins could get started again.

To you Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, I hope your summer is going well, and I'll see you soon.

All of my love,

Christopher Brooks

"So that's his last name?" George asked, frowning.

"His dad sent him to Muggle prison?" Ron wanted to know.

"He must be really strict," Fred nodded self-importantly.

Molly placed a hand on Arthur's arm. "Do you think you could visit him there?" she asked hopefully.

He observed his wife. "At the Muggle prison, you mean?" he clarified. "I don't see why not." Arthur turned the letter over, to see the return address. "It's in south London, we could go by when we go to Diagon for the school things."

"You'll have to leave the children with me," Molly said decisively. "You go and see our Chris, make sure he's being treated alright."

"Aw, mum," Ron said, disappointed.

"Ronnie fancies Chrissie, doesn't he?" Fred teased.

"Someone will have to tell poor Hermione," George grinned.

The ensuing tussle got Molly out of her Chris-induced stupor rather fast, and she admonished Fred and George while Ron's face flamed a tomato red. Arthur ignored the ruckus and looked over the letter closely. He had his suspicions, that the money placed in his vault the winter they had last seen Chris had been the lad's doing, and that Chris was in a lot more trouble than the letter said. He also had an idea that this Denny Brooks was an altogether bad sort of influence for the boy. He started, a bit, having had a thought:

"Chris didn't get a Hogwarts letter," he said at large. "Unless he refused the invitation, or his father did."

Ron scowled. "I mentioned that ages ago, dad," he angrily reminded. "He must have not wanted to go, not that I know why."

"No," Molly pondered, frowning. "He would have come, because you were there, Ron," she concluded, and her son blushed.

"Maybe his dad really didn't let him," Ginny said, seeming sure that this Brooks character was a horrid kind of person. She looked angry enough to spit.

Arthur agreed, it was probably that the father had refused Chris's admittance to the school, but he would reserve any assumptions for after he had spoken with the boy. He placed the letter on the table, folding it back up neatly, and committed himself to enjoying his dinner with his family. He tried not to worry.

.o00o.

"Don't tell me I've come all the way over here to listen to silence," Denny was saying. "You've no reason to be cross with me, Henry."

He sat back and gave his father a level glare. "No," he denied. "How's Bo?"

"I wouldn't know, would I? That infernal lizard has gone off to torture someone else," Denny retorted, and seemed relieved that the boy was talking to him. The cage around them made his father uncomfortable though, and Henry watched him fidget with an amused smirk.

"He's not so bad," Henry corrected. "And Bo is more than an infernal lizard. He could eat you, Den, if I wanted him to. Or roast you, whichever."

"I didn't come here to get a lecture on your pet dragon," Denny growled, and Henry shushed him. He glanced

around at the other prisoners getting a visit, but no one was paying them any attention. "I can't even go on about dragons in here? I hate prisons."

"They'll section you if you do," he warned, before sitting up with a sly grin on his face. "Did you miss me, dad?" he poked fun.

Denny hated it when Henry called him dad, and the look on his face said that his feelings hadn't changed in the four months Henry had been there. "If you must know, yes, I did, Henry. Tyler as well. We were almost concerned. They told us you'd been hurt," he gestured to the split lip and the black eye.

"Was nothing," Henry said, shrugging. "The other bloke woke up with a crowd around him."

"Gave him hell, did you?" Denny grinned.

"You know it," Henry said, returning the smile. "I miss the house too, you know, and you and Tyler fighting all the time." He plucked at his regulation sweats. "And I miss real clothes and real food."

"It's not intolerable, is it?" Denny asked, quietly.

Henry sighed, and glanced up at him through his eyelashes. "If it were I'd be out by now. I've taken a hit to my pride, I hope you know," he said, and then smiled. "But it's not as bad as all that."

"Good," Denny said, nodding. "Good," he looked away at the guard, who was motioning that their time was up. "Looks like we're done."

"Looks like," Henry confirmed, and got up.

"Oi," Denny suddenly said, grabbing him around the shoulders for a hug. "You stay out of trouble and they'll let you out early. Tyler's got a friend in social services, might put in a good word for taking you on," he said. "So don't fuck it up."

"I'll try," Henry said. "But don't count on it."

.o00o.

Albus was very rarely caught off guard. He admitted that in his younger years, he'd made a great many mistakes with Gellert and that his approach concerning Tom Riddle could have probably been handled better. The past, however, was the past, and Dumbledore was old enough now that he knew how to let things go.

He didn't count on Harry Potter disappearing. Hadn't foreseen that his relatives would go a bit overboard punishing the lad and that they'd even hate him so much as to abandon him. He hadn't predicted that little Harry would fall off the radar so completely.

He had hoped, that a normal if perhaps taciturn boy would rejoin the wizarding world at age eleven. He'd hoped to twinkle his way into the boy's heart, teach him how to win a war. But Harry Potter hadn't shown up, and upon further investigation, the Durlseys had gone and got rid of the boy as if he were yesterdays trash.

Not good, not good at all.

The irreparable damage cause by abandonment wasn't what worried Dumbledore. No, whomever had the boy now may or may not know what he was. It didn't help that tension with the Ministry had only increased when Harry Potter had been a no-show. Albus knew it was only a matter of time now, before things got out of hand.

Considering the political climate and the boy-who-lived seemingly vanished into thin air, the last two years had been rather difficult. Rumors spread as fast as the panic did, and Dumbledore sat with empty hands; unprepared to face it.

The American Hit Wizards, as well as the Russian Union of Magic had already approached Fudge about the possibility of the rise of another dark lord. The minister had then gone to Dumbledore complaining that everyone was simply paranoid. That it was all the fault of that Potter boy for disappearing. Dumbledore tried to insist that Voldemort was no where near as dead as everyone thought. That they needed to be prepared. That they needed a weapon. One that he would have had by now, had Harry Potter gone to Hogwarts.

After two years of nothing, no news, Dumbledore realized that the problem lay in magic.

The natural law of magic relied on connections to produce power. Wizards could wield magic depending on the strength of their connections and how well they could channel the small bit of them accessible to the earth. It held together with an individual signature, a signature of a wizard. Magic relied on a name, an indicator, and somewhere, somehow - Harry Potter had changed his name and his magic into something completely different to what it was. Which made finding the boy and absolute mess.

Standard tracking spells on wands, that told the ministry when underage magic was being done, didn't help either. The boy had never purchased a wand. Harry had been registered at the Dursleys as well, whereas most magical children were only put in the books once they attended school. It didn't help that he no longer lived there, allowing the enchantments to keep track of him to become obsolete.

Dumbledore didn't know whether the boy's magic had manifested too little or too much for the spinning artifact he had made to track the child to work. The golden trinket on his bookshelf was tied to Harry, the magical connection linked to the signature Lily had used to sign Harry up for Hogwarts. But if that signature had changed -

With Harry's magic tied to another name, the trinket was damn useless. If the boy had never used his powers, they would become dormant. But If the lad were to come into his magic, choosing the name his heritage had given him, the name of his blood - the trinket would come alive and allow him to be found. If, however, the name was lost, so would be the boy.

Another problem presented itself then. Should Harry truly recognize his new signature, whatever it may be, and have the knowledge to use his magic to imprint his identity, there was a chance his power could change irrevocably, and possibly not for the better. If the new signature in itself was strong enough, and Harry remained ambivalent with his two names, the boy's magic could be unstable.

Dumbledore had held the son of Lily and James Potter at his birth, and had felt the potential but didn't think Harry would be as powerful as him. Nor as powerful as the Dark Lord. Magic grew over time, just as a wizard's connection could, and Dumbledore feared that if the signature were allowed to manifest, the child would either lose his magic, unbalance what he already had. Albus did not like coin tosses, and this was what the Harry Potter issue had become.

Of the worst case scenarios, Dumbledore thought the boy might be captured by an outside party or found by a less than savory opportunist. Who was he kidding? The boy could be dead, for all he knew.

It came to this: whatever could and would happen was no longer in his control - and It frightened him. However much he hated it, Dumbledore had no choice but to sit back and wait.

.o00o.

Mr. Weasley turned his tie over nervously in his hands. Feltham Young Offenders Institution was a massive building that looked very much like a prison indeed, for all of its barbed wire gates and barred windows. Arthur was uncomfortable, but he wanted to see Chris, had promised Molly he would.

He went into the cramped booking room where the guard simply raised his eyebrows and waited.

"I'm here to see Christopher Brooks," Arthur told him timidly.

Frowning, the officer turned back to a square grey box with a very intent gaze, seemingly ignoring him. He waited as the sound of clicking emitted from the long bar of what looked to be plastic keys. Baffling, Muggles were.

"Henry Christopher Brooks?" the guard queried, glancing up at him.

Arthur started, but thought that it must be. "That's him," he said.

"Please step to the side of the line, here," he directed. "Then you can go through."

"I'm his family," he explained nervously, and cleared his throat as the guard patted him down. "Is this...necessary?"

"Standard procedure, you see. Every visitor has to be checked."

When he was done, the guard turned a piece of paper toward him and said, "sign here."

Arthur didn't know what this was all for, but did as instructed. "Right. Follow Gerard there, he'll take you to the visiting room," he said.

Another officer lead him to a barred off room with tables and chairs strewn about, some occupied by young kids in drab grey shirts with matching sweat pants, others looked to be older than that, visiting with friends and family. A mother was crying and holding her son's hand, talking to him quietly.

He sat patiently, and after hours it seemed, he heard a door open in the corridor, and he looked up and saw Chris being led in by one of the guards. He too had the bland clothes on - his hands were cuffed in front of him.

Chris said something to the guard, and the man snapped, "Yeah, yeah, Brooks. I know."

The boy looked over the room and stopped in shock, his jaw growing slack and his mouth open. And then happiness, albeit restrained, lit up Chris's face, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back. He stood up when the gate was opened to let Chris through. They un-cuffed him and dragged him by the arm towards the table.

Arthur hugged him when he got close enough. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he said gruffly.

Chris laughed as he hugged Arthur back, "sorry you've got to see me here."

They sat and looked each other over.

"You've grown so much!" Arthur

couldn't help but say, but his smile

wavered at the fading bruise. "How'd you get hurt?"

Chris shook his head sheepishly. "A fight is all, I'm fine. How is everybody?" he asked.

"Well, we're all great," Arthur said, his eyes bright. "But you! In here! Is it awful?"

"Not at all, really. They treat me fine," Chris reassured him. "I can't believe you're here...I mean, you're on my list of visitors but...I didn't think you'd come."

"Why not?" Arthur asked softly. "All of us wanted to see you. I'm here in an official capacity. Molly wants a full report."

Chris chuckled. "That sounds like her."

"So," said Arthur. "Henry Christopher Brooks, eh?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded. "Denny gave me the name Henry. I'm still Chris to you lot, though."

"Your Denny sounds like a strict man," he said, trying not to look too judgmental.

"Not really," Chris waved the comment away and grinned. "He's just as hard on me as I am on him. I give him hell, really."

"That's a shame," Arthur joked. "Are you in school?"

"I was homeschooled. Denny thought it'd suit better."

"No Hogwarts?"

Chris shrugged. "Never got a letter? Was I supposed to apply or something?"

Arthur looked at him, stone-faced. "Why are you lying?"

Chris swallowed. Around them, the low murmurs of the other visitors seemed very loud. They quietly observed each other - Arthur sitting, patient, and Chris avoiding his eyes.

"Sorry," the boy said.

Arthur nodded. "Is there a reason you didn't want to go to Hogwarts? Did you ignore the letter? Or did someone teach you how to hide?"

"I hid," he confessed. "I like my life how it is."

"We wouldn't send you back to whoever you ran away from, Chris," Arthur pointed out.

Chris shrugged. "I couldn't take that risk."

They were silent again until Chris took a breath. "It's not my real name," he suddenly blurted out.

"Sorry?"

"Chris," he said. "It's not my real name. It's not Henry either."

Arthur looked down at the table. When he looked up again he was sad to see Chris looking crushed. "It's alright," he reassured the boy. Chris nodded. "It's alright. Really."

Still looking anxious, the boy asked, "you don't want to know my real name?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

Chris smiled at him. "I still want to be Chris, if that's okay."

Nodding, Arthur smiled gently and said, "It's fine, Chrissie, it's fine."

Chris took a breath. "You do know that I like to think you and Mrs. Weasley are family," he told Arthur. "I didn't want you to think otherwise even though I left without saying goodbye."

"But why did you leave? You weren't a burden, Chris, we loved having you," he felt compelled to say it, even though the boy had heard it many times.

Chris laughed humorlessly, looking very sad. "I'm here, you know? I'm what I am and you're what you are. And I mess things up. I really do. I would have never wanted to cause your family trouble. But I can't help it. I'm really awful: I even hate that you saw me here, but I hoped you would come visit me anyway," Chris paused and looked away. "I messed up, but it would have been worse if I'd stayed with your family and caused trouble there."

Arthur put a hand on Chris's clenched fist. "Maybe you wouldn't have done those things if you had stayed," he said.

Chris laughed shortly and shook his head. "Maybe," he allowed. "Maybe not."

Arthur squeezed his hand. The guard behind them suddenly yelled, "Brooks! Times up!"

Chris stood, and Arthur rose with him. "That's it then," the lad said, giving him a one-armed hug. "Don't visit me again, okay? Tell Mrs. Weasley I'm getting the five star treatment," he tossed his head in the direction of the bars.

Arthur swallowed thickly. "I will. Should we expect to see you when you get out of here?" he asked.

The boy met his eyes and Arthur saw the sadness in them as the cuffs were put back on Chris's thin wrists. He looked small against the larger form of the guard, and the backdrop of the cage he was in.

Chris let himself be pulled toward the gate. He smiled at Mr. Weasley briefly, and said, "See you then."

And that was that.

.o00o.

"I'm never getting caught again," Henry said to Denny, who grinned. A good parent should probably say, "then don't do it again," but Denny Brooks wasn't that good of a parent. He was a criminal who just so happened to have a son.

"You'd better not, Tyler won't stand for it," he said instead, scowling at him. "Next time you get caught the punishment will be worse, and knowing you you'll go off and kill the Prime Minister or something."

"Oi!"

Denny looked at the guard with false earnestness. "Just joking, mate! Sorry," he waved at him before turning back to Henry. "Fucking uptight, aren't they?"

Henry ignored him. "Why are you in such a good mood, anyway?" he asked suspiciously.

Denny gave him the 'Who? Me?' look that never seemed to work. Especially on Henry. Giving it up, Denny sighed and said, "Tyler's got his knickers in a twist over a new kid I recruited."

Which Henry knew was reason enough for Denny to be awfully smug. "A new kid?" he repeated, looking hurt. "Replacing me so soon, Den?"

"As if I could get rid you, berk," Denny retorted, leaning back and crossing his legs casually. He gave Henry a sly glare out of the corner of his eye. "He's public school, eighteen, bent as a shepherd's crook. Good hitter for his age, but then you've broken every record for

child crime that ever existed."

Henry grinned. "So he's not that impressive, I take it?"

Denny grinned back. "His name is Francis Gabriel, he's the son of an old friend of Tyler's. His father was Phil, snuffy out of Ireland. I normally wouldn't give a rat's ass about him," his expression turned wolfish, and he leaned forward, "But he annoys the fuck out of Tyler."

"Hmm," Henry was thoughtful. "Has he been trained yet?"

"A bit," he said.

Henry smiled. "Did he piss all over himself?"

Denny chuckled. "Nearly! Well, the first time. He's actually pretty good with them, a real Hussar with the rifle. He is a pain though," he admitted. "Too hot-headed, got a big mouth. Like all goddamn Irishmen."

"Oh, I've an idea," he said sarcastically. "Send him to nick for a year, make him a man. That'll it shut him up."

"Funny, kid," Denny said, and then got up. "You've only got a month to go, so don't screw up," he reminded, pointing a finger in his face.

Henry got up to say goodbye. "Like I would risk not getting out of here just for a bit of fun."

Denny scowled at him. "You would because you're stupid."

"Wanker," the lad said, smiling. "You've only got yourself to blame if you're sick of me. I told you that you would regret taking me in, didn't I?" He laughed as he was cuffed again by the guard.

Denny watched him go. "No regrets, kid," he said quietly, when Henry was well out if earshot. "I don't regret it at all."