So... Let's see how this goes, shall we? Oh and, by the way, you don't need to have read CHERUB to read this story; I'm not using any of the characters (partially because I haven't read the books in a while and I don't think I could portray them accurately), and I'll give a brief description of the organization at the end of this chapter. Basically, this is a Harry-goes-to-Hogwarts-trained-as-a-spy story.

Without further ado-

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, it wouldn't exist... technically. In its present state. Which would mean that it doesn't exist, because it wouldn't be it. I think that's how the non-identity problem works...

Prologue: Snapshots

19 October 1985
New Haven Orphan Home

For the hundredth time, Eliza Morgan - presently Eliza Fleming - wondered why she'd thought pranking Reynold Cooper in the dining hall in front of the entire campus had been a good idea.

She supposed it was because she hadn't thought she would get caught.

In hindsight, perhaps she should have expected it. After all, she was, apparently, the only one on campus who even remotely disliked Reynold - something she couldn't comprehend; how could anyone stand him? - not to mention, she'd only managed to disable the primary cameras, and not the secondary cameras (that no one knew existed… but maybe that was the point). But she hadn't expected it, and she'd done it. The prank had worked, of course, but she'd gotten caught.

Her handler, and the mission controllers, had been particularly sadistic for her punishment (or, perhaps, had realized that they were in particular need of new agents), and had decided that, given her record - something that wasn't her fault! - she needed to taught that being a CHERUB agent wasn't all fun and games.

Which meant that, now, she was stuck at the children's home, New Haven Orphan Home - a name that was definitely a misnomer - scouting for kids who might make good CHERUB agents.

Everyone hated recruitment missions, and Eliza was no exception. The missions weren't even particularly dangerous. They were just so boring.

And Eliza could already tell that this wouldn't be a quick, easy mission. Literally none of the orphans were particularly intelligent, much less fit the other CHERUB criteria. No one caught her attention. The eight- and nine-year-olds were horribly immature, the ten-, eleven-, and twelve-year-olds were bullies or sheep, and the older teens were criminals. Fine, Eliza was overgeneralizing slightly, but it was only slightly. No one, at New Haven Orphan Home, was CHERUB-material.

But she couldn't go home until she found someone who was, or until three months were over, and she had no intention of staying that long.

Grumbling quietly to herself, Eliza pulled out her textbooks to start on her homework, spreading her things across a desk in the library she'd commandeered for her own - her roommate tended to throw parties with her friends, in their shared dorm. The work was almost pathetically easy, compared to regular CHERUB coursework, but she was careful not to do too well on the assignment, thus attracting too much attention.

Eliza scanned the room periodically, automatically, keeping tabs on each orphan in the library of the children's home. Libraries tended to reveal the more intelligent children, with CHERUB-potential, and it was a sign of New Haven's poor orphan quality, that the library was nearly empty, outside of a group of older teens who were obviously there as a cover to plan something (criminal), a pudgy nine-year-old who Eliza had already dismissed as having no practical intelligence (though she was considerably book-smart), a collection of seven-year-olds who were more interested in whispering and giggling in some sort of game of their own devising, and a five-year-old who was reading a book nearly the size of his body.

She sighed again, turning her attention back to her schoolwork, before freezing. What had that last part been, again? A five-year-old who was reading a book nearly the size of his body… Eliza covertly glanced at the tiny orphan again. He looked more like a three-year-old than a five-year-old, with his petite stature, messy black hair, oversized glasses that covered bright green eyes, and strange childish beauty, but Eliza was certain that he was five - she'd managed to memorize the list of children the orphanage matron had inadvertently showed her, the day Eliza had arrived at New Haven. She hadn't paid attention to any of the children younger than eight, the standard minimum recruiting age… but perhaps she should have. It wasn't only the fact that this raven-haired child was reading Great Expectations, if Eliza had gotten the title right, at age five; there was something oddly compelling about the boy.

His name was Harry Potter, Eliza remembered. She would keep an eye on him, if only because it would make her stay at New Haven a little less boring.

-oOo-

October 1985
New Haven Orphan Home

Harry Potter, Eliza soon realized, was nothing like the other children. She was surprised she hadn't noticed before. After discreetly asking around, she'd found a substantial source of information in Margaret Greyson, one of the matron's assistants, who had a sweet spot for the child. Apparently, the boy had appeared at the doorstep of New Haven four years ago, wrapped in a blanket with the words Harry Potter embroidered into it, a strangely-shaped scar on his forehead. Further inquiry had turned up empty; it seemed that, somehow, there was no record of a Harry Potter ever existing.

The boy had, apparently, always been a quiet child, rarely crying or doing anything to attract attention to himself. He tended to keep to himself, teaching himself to read while the other children played together. The other children left him alone, too, as if they'd forgotten he existed. He was incredibly polite and well-mannered, despite his isolation, too, and Margaret confided that she'd always liked him, even before a certain incident, scarcely a month prior to Eliza's arrival.

From what Eliza could tell, the incident had been the event from which Harry Potter had had his five minutes of glory.

A new boy, seven years old, by the name of Logan Walsh, had arrived at New Haven, two months ago, and promptly established his empire among the younger orphans, drawing towards him those attracted to power, and terrorizing the others into obedience. He left the older children alone, who echoed the sentiment, unwilling and uninterested in the qualms of the younger. There had been no evidence, of course, but it was clear that Logan was bullying the younger children; scraped knees, bruises, and lost toys became common in the population. And then, Logan had noticed Harry Potter.

Those present at the confrontation had refused to speak of it, to any adult, but somehow, Harry Potter, Logan, and all Logan's friends had emerged unscathed, the former triumphantly innocent, and the latter terrified, for days complaining quietly of invisible pains. Logan had immediately ceased all bullying, and the children regarded Harry Potter as their hero, swarming the boy… for about a week. Afterwards, the boy had seemed to grow sick of the attention (or, the disruption to his reading), and the younger orphans had seemed to forget about his existence once again.

But that, Eliza knew, only showed that Harry Potter was perfect CHERUB-material. He was intelligent, and remarkably so; he could defend himself against a group of boys two years his senior, without getting caught; he was charismatic and charming to adults; he simply looked innocent, too innocent to be involved in anything nefarious; and he cared enough to help those who couldn't fend for themselves.

The only problem was, of course, that he was five years old.

CHERUB would just have to make an exception for him, Eliza decided. Because they, honestly, couldn't afford not to have Harry Potter.

-oOo-

30 December 1990
CHERUB Compound of Carpathian Mountains

Jasper Hill, who'd been Jasper Stevens scarcely three months, and yet a lifetime, ago, knew he'd been incredibly lucky when he'd been partnered with Harry Greyson for basic training.

The twelve-year-old may not have been the brightest on campus, but he was smart enough to have been recruited, after all, and smart enough to know that he would have failed, had his partner not been Harry.

And sometimes, he wondered if the younger boy was even human.

They were on the final stretch of basic training, now, the last of the final three days that would make or break them - as though the past ninety-seven days hadn't done so already. Jasper panted as they hiked up the mountain, exhausted, though his endurance was much improved compared to his pre-CHERUB days. He glanced sidelong at his partner, then immediately regretted it. Harry didn't even look winded, despite his smaller size while carrying just as much supplies as Jasper.

"How… much… longer?" Jasper managed between breaths.

"About two kilometers," Harry replied, his voice calm and smooth as always. "Provided nothing else comes up." Jasper closed his eyes and groaned at the thought. Of course, something would come up. The training instructors were just sadistic like that.

Think of the grey shirt, Jasper told himself. Two more kilometers, and whatever else the instructors threw at him, and then, he'd have his shirt. He'd be an active agent. Two more kilometers.

One more kilometer.

Half a kilometer.

Jasper sped up, as he saw a cave at the peak - their destination. So close-

"Jasper." Harry's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and that his partner's tone contained the slightest edge of worry was enough for Jasper to tense. Something was wrong, and he'd learned to trust Harry's instincts. He turned to face the other boy- "Duck."

Jasper dropped to the ground immediately, just as something exploded up ahead. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, bracing himself for the impact… but nothing happened. Cautiously, Jasper opened his eyes, then immediately wondered if he'd been knocked unconscious by the explosion. Because there was no way the scene around him was real.

Harry, too, lay on the ground, facedown and curled into a ball, though his arms were spread out as though pushing something away. Debris filled their surroundings… but the ground was completely clear for several meters around the two boys.

"H-Harry?" Jasper asked shakily. His partner didn't respond, and he panicked. "Harry!" He ran towards the other boy, turning him onto his back and checking for a pulse. "Ha-"

"Jasper. I'm fine." Harry's voice was quiet, but steady, as the younger boy pushed himself wearily to his knees, then standing.

"You sure-"

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, then gestured towards the cave, just ahead. "Let's get our grey shirts." He began to walk, again, dodging gracefully around the pieces of rock around them.

Jasper grinned, and jogged slightly to catch up, his exhaustion forgotten. "Let's."

-oOo-

4 May 1991
Scarlet Wolves' Warehouse of London

Reynold Cooper - currently Reynold Lane - pressed a kiss to his girlfriend's lips, an action that quickly progressed into a full-on snog. When Eliza finally pulled away, Reynold realized that the third member of their mission, Eliza's 'younger brother' Harry 'Miller', had been watching them, emerald-green eyes glinting strangely in the darkness.

"That's really creepy, kid," Reynold complained, as Eliza gave a laugh.

"Well, that's Harry." Eliza knew Harry better than most - she'd been the one to recruit him, five years ago, after all, and had suggested him as the third agent for their mission, despite his being fresh out of basic training, and their mission's high-risk classification. He was a good kid, Eliza had argued, and he had, given his early recruitment, effectively five years of training. And Harry had more than proved himself, managing to get into their primary target's home to plant bugs and copy files, something Reynold and Eliza, even, hadn't been able to do.

"True," Reynold agreed. "I'll see you later, then, Harry and El-"

He cut off abruptly, at Harry's sudden gesture. He'd learned to trust their youngest member's instincts, in the five months their mission had progressed, even if he, himself, hadn't detected anything amiss.

"Someone's here," Harry told them, his voice barely audible. "Surrounding the warehouse."

"The Reapers?" Eliza asked. Harry nodded, and Reynold cursed internally. It was just their luck, wasn't it, that the rival gang to the one they'd been tasked with taking down, the Scarlet Wolves, would come to raid the warehouse the day before the police raid was to occur? They would still have evidence against the Scarlet Wolves they'd infiltrated, even if the warehouse was empty, though…

"Don't engage. Let's get out-"

Harry interrupted him, though. "Rey-"

"Ah, ah, ah," another voice said mockingly. This time, Reynold did curse aloud. "Such naughty language," continued one of the Scarlet Wolves' top enforcers, Emmanuel 'Princess' Suttle. "But you, and your girl and your baby-doll brother, are in this, win or lose, live or die. You made a pledge, after all. We all did." How many Wolves were out there? From the looks of it, hidden in the shadows around the warehouse, the whole gang was there.

"How nice of you to join us, Hellings," Emmanuel continued, raising his voice. The shadows that were the Reapers shifted nervously at the identification. "Come down from your high throne to do the dirty work with the rest of us, eh?"

"Your pretty words won't be enough this time, Princess," the gruff voice of a Reaper taunted. "You have something that doesn't belong to you, and we're here to take it back."

"I'm glad you find me attractive, Helpings, but I'm afraid you're not quite my type," Emmanuel teased. "And you'll find that you're mistaken; this warehouse, and all its contents, to belong to us. After all, finders keepers."

"Then I'm sure you won't mind if - when - we take it back from you. We seem to have found the stash, after all."

"By all means, take the stash - if you can, that is," Emmanuel told him, the smile still prominent on his lips. He seemed unworried about the possibility of losing... Was there something else at play? Reynold glanced to Harry worriedly. If anyone would know, it would be him. Catching the boy's bright emerald eyes, Reynold tilted his head significantly to the contents of the warehouse. Could they... Had they been moved?

Gone, Harry mouthed, after a moments consideration. His expression remained neutral, angelic in its innocence and beauty, but Reynold could see the scolding Harry was giving himself, in the younger boy's eyes. Harry never let himself make any mistake, and Reynold knew that the boy considered his belated realization that the warehouse was empty, as a failure.

Not your fault, Eliza, who no doubt had been thinking along the same lines as Reynold, mouthed in turn. Harry turned to stare disbelievingly at her. She gestured first at herself, and then at Reynold - they hadn't realized, after all. But he knew Harry wouldn't see it that way.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe the boy was only ten; that was, until Reynold actually looked at Harry.

"Is that a challenge, Princess?" Hellings was asking, his voice dangerous, the Reapers around him shifting restlessly.

Emmanuel smiled, the taunt apparent. "A challenge? I'd say… yes." And suddenly, the night was filled with gunfire.

"Stay down Harry, Eliza," Reynold ordered urgently, falling swiftly to the ground, himself, struggling to make himself heard over the shooting. "Eliza, you've contacted-?"

"Yes," his girlfriend responded, her body angled protectively towards Harry. "They're on their way. Fifteen minutes."

"Interesting method of fighting, Lane," another voice drawled. Reynold glared furiously at Jarrod Sand, a Scarlet Wolf who'd taken his quick rise through the gang personally. "I would have thought you'd be in the thick of things. You don't even have your gun out, do you? What would Emmanuel say?"

"You're not fighting, either, Sand," Eliza retorted fiercely. Jarrod grinned sadistically, raising the handgun already in his hand and pointing it at Reynold's chest. Immediately, there were three other guns directed at him - Reynold's, Eliza's, and Harry's.

"Go ahead," Reynold dared quietly. "Shoot me, and see what happens to you."

Jarrod glared at them, but all the same, took a menacing step towards them. "I wonder," he said, nearly whispering, "if you would say the same - now." The gun abruptly turned, pointing at Harry.

"Sand…" Reynold began dangerously.

Jarrod took another step towards them, towards Harry.

"Don't you dare-" Eliza warned.

Another step- but then something had him stumbling back, as though he'd been pushed, eyes wide. And then, suddenly, he was falling, his screams adding to the cacophony around.

There was blood flowing out of a wound at his chest.

"L-L-Lane… M-Miller… p-p-please…" Jarrod wheezed, genuine terror in his expression. He screamed again, desperate.

"Eliza-" Reynold began, but it was too late. It was something he both loved and hated about his girlfriend: her inability to not help. She was already at Jarrod's side, her first-aid kit out and on the floor. Spitting out another curse word, Reynold dashed to her side, out and exposed in the open, shielding her from the conflict with his body.

"Stay there, Harry," he ordered, seeing the younger boy about to come out, as well. Harry glared, but obeyed, stay crouched in the shadows. "Eliza, we need to move him. It's too exposed, here."

She nodded, her eyes still on the wound and her hands flying. "You take his legs, I'll take his- AH!" She crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, to the ground besides Jarrod.

"ELIZA!" Reynold shouted, crouching beside her, turning to lay her body out, searching for the wound. "Eliza, where-"

"S-shoulder," she gasped, her teeth clenched so as not to cry out. "R-Reynold!" Her eyes were fixed at a point to Reynold's right. "Reynold, b-behind-" He turned, but-

He screamed as a sudden, flaring pain erupted in his thigh. A figure that seemed impossibly tall pushed him to the ground, looming over him, a gun pointed directly at his forehead. "Goodbye, little Wolf," a deep voice murmured. Reynold closed his eyes.

"Get away from him," another voice added, its pitch slightly higher than normal, but its tone steady. Harry.

"And what are you going to do about it, little boy?" the Reaper asked, amused. "Are you even out of your nappies?" he taunted.

"Get away, or I'll shoot," Harry warned.

The man snorted. "Sure you will, kid."

"You have three seconds. Three."

"I'm surprised you can even hold the gun up," the man mocked.

"Two."

"You haven't the guts to shoot."

"One."

The man didn't move. Harry pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the man's chest, a perfect kill shot, and the Reaper collapsed onto Reynold. The weight, coupled with the insistent pain in his thigh, was too much.

Reynold blacked out. The last thing he saw was Harry's emerald-green eyes, staring, horrified and unseeing, at the body that lay atop him. The man Harry had killed.

Poor kid.

-oOo-

24 July 1991
CHERUB Headquarters

Early in the morning, a brown-flecked barn owl dropped an envelope into the rarely-used post receptacle by the main gates of the CHERUB campus, resting for several minutes before beginning on its long journey back to the highlands of Scotland. Several hours later, the letter was fished out by a nine-year-old who was two months away from beginning basic training. She read the address, frowning slightly. She didn't know any Mr. H. Potter, throughout the organization, and she was fairly certain she knew everyone in CHERUB. Shrugging to herself, the girl tossed the letter into the nearest trash can. It had probably been sent to the wrong address, and she doubted anyone would miss it.

CHERUB is an organization of the British government that uses children ages 10-17 as spies; the idea is that no one expects children to be spies, so they can do things and go places adults can't. All CHERUB agents must be orphans, without anyone to look for them if they go missing. CHERUB agents go through basic training, a grueling 100-day course to prepare them for missions, once they reach age 10. The organization also has a shirts-system, with orange shirts for visitors, red shirts for kids who haven't passed basic training, blue shirts for trainees in basic training, grey shirts for qualified agents, navy shirts for outstanding performance on a mission, and black shirts for outstanding performance on multiple missions. And, regarding last names - CHERUB agents chose a new name, usually only a new last name, for themselves during their CHERUB careers, but also use alternate last names during missions. For example, Harry's chosen name is Hadrian Greyson, his real name is Harry Potter, and for the May 1991 mission, he was Harry Miller.

I think that's everything important to know about CHERUB... Next step: Harry's Hogwarts letter! And, please review!