Dumbledore walked alongside Harry down the wide avenue of Privet Drive. It was a quiet and normal upper-middle class suburbia, with picket fences lightly guarding proud garden porches in front of each house.

"Ah, here we are, number four Privet Drive," Dumbledore mused happily, opening the white gate and strolling up the cobble path until he reached the doorstep, pressing the doorbell and sighing happily at the chime. "Muggle inventions, wonderful, aren't they? Much better than knockers, wouldn't you agree?"

"It has a certain...elegance to it," Harry conceded wryly, causing the older man to chuckle. "How long will this be for?"

"Hard to say, hard to say, my boy," Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "James is...terribly damaged right now. It could be months...years...perhaps he might never heal. But I prefer to be, if you'll forgive me, optimistic. James is a resilient and capable young man, I'm sure he'll pull through sooner than all of us think."

"And mom?"

"I...I am no healer, it would be remiss of me to make a judgement."

"But you have experience most healers could not dream of. Give me your best guess...speculation, if you must," Harry probed. Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. Before he was forced to answer, the door opened, revealing a horse like woman who gave a beaming smile which wilted at the sight of the two of them.

"Hello again, Petunia," Dumbledore nodded politely, gesturing to young Harry. "May we come in?"

"Very well," she sighed, as though defeated, moving aside and allowing Dumbledore to hum a merry tune, wandering in and taking a seat on the couch. Harry followed, making sure to stick next to the old man. Petunia followed in and took a seat across them a moment later. "What do you want?"

"Well, first I'd like to introduce you to your nephew Harry," at this Harry offered a cheerful wave, wilting slightly at her lack of response. "Alas, your sister Lily has lapsed into a coma, and James is...unwell. We were hoping you could care for young Harry for a short while."

"And just how long will this be?" Petunia questioned shrewdly. Dumbledore rubbed his beard thoughtfully, sighing in defeat when Harry turned and eyed him inquisitively.

"I can only postulate, but perhaps...three to five years?" Harry deflated slightly at this, while Petunia adopted a calculating look. "It is...a wide range, I understand, but we're dealing with unknowns in healing. I would be remiss to offer certainty where there is none."

"Of course, of course," Petunia smiled sweetly. "Unfortunately, Dudders is...well he's a demanding boy, and well...I shouldn't say, but...well, Vernon's career is stalling."

"Ah, of course we would be willing to financially compensate you. I must admit my knowledge on the muggle economy is...outdated, to say the least. I don't suppose you have an appropriate sum in mind for, say, five years?"

"Well...I would hate to grow attached only to have young Harry taken away," Petunia frowned. "And...well...I wouldn't want to pressure Lily and James...I believe it would be best for us to care for Harry until he is eleven. That is still the age young magical children go to school at, right?"

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore smiled happily, his eyes twinkling. "Seeing as how well you treat Dudley, I'm sure that an appropriate amount will be given to you to keep Harry well cared for."

"I have several conditions though," Petunia postured, causing Harry to frown in thought while Dumbledore merely waved for her to elaborate. "Vernon...well he really doesn't like magicals. I'm sure he's be accepting of family like Harry, but...well, it wouldn't be right for me to ask him to deal with magicals."

"I give you my word no magical will enter this house until Harry receives his Hogwarts letter," Dumbledore smiled serenely. "You will be left well alone."

"Good, good, I do believe with that assurance, that Vernon won't mind taking in young Harry. Well, I wouldn't want to take up any more of your time, headmaster Dumbledore, you must be a busy man after all. Why don't I get young Harry settled in?"

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed, missing Harry's slight frown as he stood up. "Well, I must be off. Goodbye Harry, I look forward to seeing you again."

With that, the man disapparated with a pop, causing Petunia to jump up in startlement before quickly composing herself. The smile on her face wilted into a sneer as she snarled at Harry, "Follow me, boy!"

Obediently, and reminding himself this was temporary and for dad's benefit, he followed Petunia through the corridor, until she opened a trapezoidal door underneath the stairs. "You'll be sleeping in here, boy. When you're not doing chores, you'll be in here understand?"

"I'm three, how am I-" Her hand slapped across his face, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Don't you talk back to me! You'll do as you're told, I won't have you burdening us normal folk." Harry bit down a retort that they were being paid for this, and instead nodded, looking into the cupboard to see there was an old mattress stuffed uncomfortably inside. Climbing in, he looked to see there were several spiders in one corner dangling from a web. Before he could turn back, the door slammed shut, trapping him in the darkness of the room. Harry let out a sigh.

-Break-

"Ha, how do you like that, freak?" Dudley taunted, his shoes soaked in mud and the footprints all across the room Harry had spent an hour cleaning. Taking his shoes off, Dudley tossed them at Harry, both of them impacting his head and sending him sprawling to the floor. With a patient sigh, he picked up the shoes, ignoring the snickers of the older boy, and placed them outside, hosing them down and leaving them to dry before stepping inside once again, mud still on his face and clothes.

"Boy, there's mud everywhere!" Vernon yelled, pulling out his belt. Harry sighed, resisting the urge to complain that it was Dudley who tracked mud all over the carpet he had just cleaned. Instead, he held with bated breath as Vernon swung the belt, hitting him on the rear while Dudley cheered his father on and Petunia watched with malevolent glee.

"Good-for-nothing-freak!" he punctuated each word with a smack, before roughly grabbing Harry by the neck and throwing him in the cupboard before slamming the door shut. Two locks clicked into place, as Harry was left in the dark once again. "And stay inside and be quiet! We have an important guest coming over, and I won't have you ruining it!"

Sighing, he focused internally, slowly dulling the sensation of pain from his nerves as he retreated deeper into his mind. The fifth tier of occlumency was difficult to achieve, as it required one to unlearn the tenants of the fourth tier, yet he had little better to do, trapped in the cupboard.

Retreating deeper into his mind, he began guiding the fluid around, trying to mold it into a container around his memories. It was difficult, given the fluid did not want to be contained, yet Harry smiled as he finally managed to create part of a shell through strength of will, bending the reality of his mind to suit his defenses. While still completely useless to an attack, it was a foundation to create what he wanted.

He dimly heard the doorbell ring, and waited with curiosity as he heard Vernon's lumbering footsteps, before a large booming laugh. "Ah, mister White, how good to see you, come in, come in!"

He heard two steps of footsteps enter, past his cupboard and going into the dining room, followed by Petunia echoing greetings and Dudley being surprisingly polite. There was the scraping of chairs, followed by the sound of a meal being served.

"So mister-"

"General," the man corrected harshly.

"General White," Vernon hastily amended, and Harry amused himself by imagining what the man looked like right now. "What brings you here to our humble home?"

"You've not been communicating with our agents, Dursley. The Revolution is not a charity, we pay you for information, not so you can indulge in your capitalist lifestyle at the expense of the proletariat."

"Of course, of course, there's been some difficulty in getting access to documents, tightened security, you see," Vernon appeased, and Harry snorted, doubting this would have the effect his uncle hoped for.

"That, Dursley, is not my concern. My concern is you missing appointments with our agents is not acceptable. I cannot risk my agents if you cannot be bothered to show up," White sounded genuinely angry, and Harry wondered idly if he was about to witness a homicide. "One of my agents has been captured waiting for you to show up. Such an act requires a blood sacrifice…"

"No, please, leave Dudders alone, he's just a child!" Petunia screamed. Curious, Harry reached out with his legilimency, hoping to see who this General White really was. He flinched as he entered the seemingly unprotected mind, only to be violently shoved out, causing him to impact the edge of the cupboard walls. Now truly frightened for his safety, he shrunk into himself, hoping that he wouldn't face the wrath of this mysterious stranger.

"Where are they?" White demanded loudly.

"W-w-w-"

"The legilimencer! Bring me to him!"

"T-t-the freak? Of course, right away, take him if you want," Petunia offered hastily. He heard a sneer, followed by footsteps. The clicks of the two locks on his cupboard led to the door being opened, and a burly Slavic man stared down at him curiously.

"This is he?" White demanded, at which point Vernon nodded, hastily, the blubber on his neck flapping about. The general gave a predatory smile, hosting Harry up to his feet. "He will be coming with me."

"Wait-but the-" White pulled out a pistol, causing all in the room to pale. "Take him."

"Good," White smiled, stowing his pistol. "Come, young one, you will learn the glory and serve the revolution."

Harry obediently followed the man to a nondescript black car, entering the back seat alongside General White, who barked an order to the driver in Russian. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Harry," he replied obediently, conscious of the danger he was likely in. The car began to move, as though a final bell signalling the end of his time at Privet Drive. "It is a pleasure to meet you, General."

"Save the pleasantries," the man snorted, "you won't think this a pleasure soon enough. Do you know how to fight?"

"I'm five," Harry deadpanned, before flinching at the general's sneer. "No, sir."

"Then we will have to rectify that. I remain in England for another week. You have that long to learn to survive."

"Survive, sir?"

"Finally, an intelligent question," the General chuckled to himself. "Yes, the Revolution does not take the weak. You must prove you are strong, above the rest, to be accepted. No, you will either perish, or you will become great. I wonder which one it will be, Harry?"

-Break-

"Again!" White barked. While he felt his ribs bruised and knew that there was a fracture in his left arm, Harry nevertheless charged, launching several successive punches and kicks at the general, who ducked and dodged them with ease, swatting away another punch before slamming him to the ground. Harry let out a groan, but forced himself to stand up shakily.

"That is enough for today," he replied, tossing a potion to Harry who caught it deftly with his right hand. "Your technique is improving at an acceptable rate, but your body remains weak. Drink."

Obediently, Harry uncorked the liquid, downing it in three gulps and trying to mask his displeasure at the foul taste. If the General noticed, he didn't comment, merely uncorking a bottle of alcohol and downing half in three quick gulps.

"How is your Russian progressing?"

"Improving, General," Harry answered, causing the general to snort.

"Your accent is atrocious, but at least you speak the basics."

"Thank you, sir."

The general ignored his acknowledgement, instead walking out of the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Harry alone once again. He sighed, picking out one of the Russian texts the General left for him and began reading.

To win demands sacrifice. Russians know this the best. The motherland remains surrounded on all sides by Western powers that seek to undermine the Revolution. They seek to infiltrate our society and promulgate weakness within our own citizens. Thus it is the imperative of the guardians of the revolution to remain vigilant, both to treason in others and themselves. Too often, have good men and women been corrupted and twisted into a bastardisation of their former selves, lost forever to the revolution.

Harry skipped several pages of the book, knowing it likely repeated similar sentiments with equally grandiose proclamations. Continuing, he stopped when he spotted the beginning of a new chapter.

During the Revolution of 1918, most of the Russian magicals remained with the treasonous Whites, fleeing to Poland, Ukraine, Romania, the Balkans and countless other countries sympathetic to the cause. Left to the dregs in mother Russia were those who were truly loyal, left to rebuild from the ashes of the Revolution.

The wealthy had plundered much of the country's wealth, just as they have for centuries, leaving the magicals of Russia, much like her muggles, destitute. With the clothes on our backs and the wands in our hand, we reconstructed from the ashes, carving a place for ourselves in the glorious revolution. Many were suspicious, but none could deny our results.

With the support of magicals, agricultural output quickly recovered in the 1920s, facilitating the export of grain to rebuild industry and infrastructure. Many of Russia's following accomplishments were owed to magical support. Without us, how could the Moscow Metro, the Volga canal and countless others have been completed?

The guardians of the Revolution also trained tirelessly, building up our fighting strength. Children were taught from near birth how to fight, and more importantly how to survive. For everything can be taken away: one's wealth, one's knowledge, one's wand even. The only thing one cannot lose voluntarily is their will.

It is a misconception that being weak means being the victim, or that being strong makes one the aggressor. It is the prerogative of the strong to exercise their will and impress on the lessers their abilities for the collective good of society. This fundamental principle, combined with the inability of the populace to self-govern, forms the justification for the party's rule.

When we were attacked in 1941 by the Germans, who were aided in their Blitzkrieg by many former Russian nobles, we were forced to the brink. Yet we bled for each inch of ground, and through sheer will not only survived, but pushed the invaders back and conquered them in turn. The Americans would have us leave Europe after that, after all our suffering. Our leaders were wise, and refused, occupying Eastern Europe to prevent such a strike on Russia's heartlands ever again. For exercising our right to security, we were punished, denied the aid we so needed to rebuild.

But we survived. And more than that, we thrived. Were we not the first to space, afterall? By 1945, many of the Russian magicals who followed Grindelwald surrendered themselves to the west rather than face justice. But the Russia of 1945 was a far stronger one than that of 1918, and we continued our advancements.

Those who fled justice believe that they are safe in the West. Luxuriating in France, Britain and America, they believe themselves out of our reach. But that is a lie perpetuated by the West in a show of their arrogance. The Soviet Union's reach has never been greater, and through agents such as yourself, we will light the flames of revolution across the world. China had already succumbed to the inevitable in 1949. North Korea as well. Vietnam is likely next, and there is already agitation in Italy and France. But there can be no certainty in this, for the enemies of destiny conspire against us, trying to maintain the status quo.

Only through sacrifice will we-

"Reading again, I see," Harry looked up to see General White had returned with a small stack of books.

"Yes, general. Knowledge is power, afterall. I would be remiss not to use such an opportunity."

"An admirable trait. I must admit, I am quite fond of you, you're far more mature than most twice your age." Harry merely ducked his head in acknowledgement. "We leave for Russia in three days. I suggest you rest and eat well while you still can."

"Yes General, I understand."

"That's what they all think," the General shook his head, dropping the books on the table and patting him on the shoulder before leaving the room once again.

Author Note:

So you joined us afterall, I'm glad. The tale of Harry Potter deserves to be remembered afterall. This chapter was boring, but alas necessary, think of it like the slow ascending of the rollercoaster as it reaches the peak. For those who join from my other stories, welcome back! While I do plan on returning to them eventually, I find that I write best with a fresh mind and fresh perspective. I've plotted dozens of stories, yet often when writing, ideas wilt before bearing fruit. As always, follows and reviews are much appreciated. They're what keep me motivated to continue on a story when I'm going through a slog. I'm afraid the next chapter will take a while, I've just finished up the last chapter and this, and it's getting late. Hopefully the next batch will be up in two to three days. Until next time, toodles