The Early Years

Disclaimer: Not mine. As if you didn't know.

Summary: A young Harry is taken to Hogwarts for his protection after a certain Azkaban escapee makes it out slightly ahead of JKR's schedule. WIP

Notes: Yeah, yeah, it has been done before. But there are currently 149293 stories in the HP section, so lets face it, what hasn't?

I'm not sure about pear drops, they may be a British thing, or different overseas, but in case anyone isn't familiar with them they're a rather evil little sweet. The taste bears no resemblance to any pears I've ever had, and I am extremely fond of them.

The timeline's a little iffy in my head, as is the general plotline of this work, but Harry's around seven or eight. If he seems older it's best to chalk it up to maturity through suffering rather than my lack of experience with children.

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Albus Dumbledore, widely recognised as the most powerful wizard currently alive, was at a slight loss. The school year was over, the students had gone home and he had yet to receive a single angry letter from any of their parents. It was all rather dull really.

Absent mindedly, Dumbledore placed a pear drop in his mouth. A mix up at the shop had led to him being sent these instead of his usual lemon flavour. Another batch were being sent by the extremely apologetic and confused man at the desk, who had assured him that these were just as good, but so far he felt as though he were ingesting varnish of some kind. Despite the quiet, sunny day he had a sense of unease and an odd sensation in his stomach that he feared had more to it than any solvents he might have ingested.

Were Albus Dumbledore the kind of man to be in a bad mood one might have surfaced, but thankfully he was not. Instead he tipped back his chair and contemplated transfiguring the supposedly pear flavoured sweets into his favourite lemon. Transfigured or conjured food was all very impressive when unexpected guests came round, but it never had quite the same flavour as the real thing.

The sudden whooshing noise that came from the fireplace, a signal of an incoming floo call, would have caused a lesser man to unbalance from this position, but Albus simply rocked his chair back forward and looked towards the fireplace, where the mangled face of one of his oldest friends Alastor Moody was sitting, looking characteristically grumpy.

"Alastor!" called Dumbledore cheerfully, "I don't often have this pleasure. Bad News I take it?"

"Very," grunted the head, "There's been a break out from Azkaban."

Almost all thoughts of sweets vanishing from his mind Dumbledore replied, "Who? How? When?"

"As far as we know, several days ago," was the curt reply.

Dumbledore managed somehow not to look too shocked, but even for him it was a strain, "Several days ago Alastor? Why is this the first I'm hearing if it?"

"First we're all hearing of it. It was actually more of a swap than a break out, and a definite inside job. Barty Crouch's mother was found unconscious in his cell with a large amount of Polyjuice Potion. Forgot to take it on the hour. Crouch Senior is being hauled in for questioning as we speak. He and his wife had been allowed a visit, seeing as how they're such important upstanding Ministry figures," finished Moody with a heavy amount of sarcasm.

"What is being done to find Barty Crouch?"

"Not enough!" barked Moody's head, "You know Fudge. He's got so many people assigned to covering this up and spinning it so it's not the ministry's fault that we've got about half the men we need. As it is we've got a few people underground, checking out the latest rumoured whereabouts of You-Know-Who, we're covering the international floo and apparition ports. As if he couldn't have been all the way to Timbuctoo and back again already. We know he's probably got Polyjuice, so there's a mandatory one hour 'detox' period for anyone leaving the country, lot of complaints about that one. We're also checking out Crouch Senior's Department and house." The head grew even more serious, "Albus, this scum is possibly one of the few truly loyal Death Eaters out there, no matter the show he put on at his trial, and one loyal Death Eater is all it will take to destabilise this country."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Alastor?" replied Albus Dumbledore, just as gravely.

"Plenty. One priority is talking to that dunderhead we've got as minister. He might listen to you Albus. We need more men. But the real reason I'm here isn't that. If this bastard is going to attempt any kind of resurrection, or even a spot of revenge, there's one very likely target. The one he couldn't quite get to on his last fact-finding mission, and now old enough to torture information out of."

"Harry Potter," surmised Dumbledore, correctly, as it happened.

"Right. And you're the one who's in charge of his protection. Best to check up on him. I'll even see if I can spare a few guards, if you can get me some men from Fudge."

"Blackmail, Alastor?" said Dumbledore, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the dire situation, "I'll see what I can do about that."

Alastor Moody disappeared with a curt farewell and after briefly informing a few people that he would be at the Ministry that day and popping another Pear Drop, which were definitely growing on him, into his mouth, Dumbledore too vanished into the flames.

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It was an ordinary day in the life of seven year old Harry Potter. He hadn't been to school in a few months since a teacher, suspicious of his skeletal frame and baggy, concealing clothes, had made a "friendly" call to the Dursley's house to talk about him. Given that the school part of the the day, despite Dudley's bullying and his lack of friends, had been the most restful, and Harry's favourite, he wasn't very happy about this. The teacher in question had been young and idealistic, hadn't been around long enough to hear about the last teacher Uncle Vernon had somehow managed to get fired.

All things considered, even if she hadn't known about the one who got fired, actually calling the house had been an exceptionally stupid thing to do. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to be angry with her though, she'd had good intentions towards him, which very few other people ever did. Indeed, as Uncle Vernon had said, or bellowed to be completely accurate, it was mostly his fault for being so thin and pale and demanding. A part of Harry's mind had wondered idly how he was supposed to get any flesh or colour sitting in a dark cupboard without food. He was pretty sure Dudley got his from eating, for example. He hadn't voiced this thought to Uncle Vernon however. Experience told him that that would only make things a lot worse.

Instead Harry focused on being as obedient as possible, hoping not to attract any more punishment or reprimand, something that took a great deal of skill when you lived with the Dursleys. At the moment he was weeding the garden, usually one of the more enjoyable chores he had to perform. Currently however his limbs were aching at the sudden use, active after having been dormant for so long, and the sun was beating down on the back of his head, used to the heavy blackness of being locked in. There was always a period of adjustment after a very long imprisonment, a period were all noises and movement made Harry jump and the world seemed unbearably bright and loud and fast to Harry's sluggish brain and body.

At least Dudley wasn't here, there was always an upside.

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Unbeknownst to all these people a cloaked and mysterious figure had already arrived on Privet Drive earlier that week. A cloaked, mysterious, and really completely insane figure with nothing but evil intentions in what was left of his heart. A cloaked figure by the name of Barty Crouch.

As stated before he was quite completely insane, but unfortunately not at all stupid. Through a mixture of luck and cunning Barty Crouch had managed over the past days to somehow bypass most of the initial magical security, along with the secondary, and pretty much all of the tertiary measures as well. It was even a bit easier than he expected. He was well on his way through the last sets of wards as well, almost up to the door and hardly bothering to repress the high-pitched, but nevertheless unnerving sinister chuckle of laughter rising within him when things started to go a bit pear-shaped. Barty Crouch did not yet realise it, but lightning fast connections were already being made, and people across the area being called into action as he blithely alohomora-ed the front door open.