"Who on Earth are you?"

Harry blinked at the question. Having just got back from a world where he couldn't seem to escape people who pointed and stared it was almost strange to have someone ask who he was, in a refreshing way. He looked at the woman cautiously, she was around his aunt's age- maybe slightly older, with a stern face that reminded him of Professor McGonagall, only her expression was slightly different- while stern she also had a mix of shock and disappointment. Like she had expected to win a treasure chest but instead found an artefact with an unknown value. Apparently he stayed silent too long as she suddenly repeated the question in a lounder voice. So he answered.

"My name is Harry Potter, I'm the nephew of Petunia Dursley. My mum was her sister, she died in a car crash." Harry wasn't sure why he stated the last part. His whole answer came out almost robotically, like a script he had practiced until it was an automatic response, though in a way it was- he used to say it when he was a child and now he knew the truth he made a point to remind himself what the muggle cover story was meant to be when in Privet Drive (especially after the Aunt Marge fiasco; he felt there may be some questions if any of the neighbours had seen something strange).

"I see" the woman replied, looking suspicious- Harry had a feeling she didn't believe him for some reason

"I don't see the family resemblance…" the woman continued

"I look like my dad" he cut in, almost defensively; something about being compared to the Dursley's made his skin crawl.

"Right" she nodded, looking at him like a gift offered by a stranger- part of you wants to take it, but another part doesn't trust it not to be hiding something dangerous. She stepped into the room looking around, scanning the bare walls, shoddy bed with thin sheets and mattress, the damaged desk and wardrobe, the empty bird cage, and the boy stood tensely in the middle of it. Harry was aware that the room was mostly bare now- it had once been full of his cousin's old junk like broken toys and unread books (which Harry had promptly read in the days spent locked up), but while he was at school his aunt had seen fit to clear it out for a jumble sale meaning practically all of it was binned or sold. He wasn't complaining, but it did make the room appear almost cell like.

The woman walked over to the window and saw the markings that had been left from where bars once stood, in their place was a sturdy bolt which could be padlocked, though his uncle had not done so recently as Hedwig used the window to come in and out- Harry had pointed out locking the window just meant she'd fly through the house which his aunt had refused to allow, so the window remained open.

Harry was feeling increasingly nervous with the womens inspection and police blocking the door, so he spoke again

"Why are you here? Am I in trouble?" He questioned, he didn't know why he would be, but also knew he was prone to being blamed for things he hadnt done.

The woman was once again studying Harry, taking in his skinny frame, too large clothes, and skin littered with small scars he had received over the years of chores and Harry hunting as well as from his adventures at school. Seeing the nervous look on his face sent an unexpected wave of protectiveness flowing through her. As she examined his face further she couldn't help noticing his eyes: they were amazing, almost unnatural in colour, like he was some kind of mystical creature. His eyes were extenuated by dark locks of hair that seemed to defy gravity to stick out the way it did. But upon looking at his hair she saw something else, something that made her sure this was bigger than she could imagine. Another scar. But unlike the others this was almost perfect, like it had been carved. It was thin, in the shape of a lightning bolt and sat just above his right eye. It didn't look natural. And then, it struck her, exactly what it reminded her of, something she had seen used when dealing with gangs.

A brand.

Suddenly, she came to a shocking conclusion: the locks, the room, the clothing, the lack of resemblance, the scars and brand, it all lead to an unpleasant conclusion. A conclusion that would explain why there were no record of a second boy living in the house. He wasn't meant to be there. He was a prisoner, a slave.

…

Detective Stevenson made up her mind on the spot, drugs or no drugs there was a crime scene here, she quickly turned to one of her supporting officers in the door and said in a quiet voice the boy couldn't hear to go radio for a social worker, and to get any information there was on one 'Harry Potter', before turning back to the boy to address his question.

"No son, you're not in trouble, at least- not with us" she said "My name is Detective Anna Stevenson, I work in the specialised drug unit for Surry Police. I'm here in relation to certain crimes linked to Vernon Dursley"

"My uncle? What has he got to do with drugs?" Harry asked, confused; surely Dumbledore wouldn't put a child in the care of a drug dealer?

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to say any more for the time being" she said gently, almost like she was trying to comfort a scared animal. She was slightly confused by Harry's calm deminer, he wasn't asking for help, or making allegations of abuse, but- she also knew cases like these were often complex; littered with unknown backstories and unusual upbringings leaving bizarre priorities and values. To this boy whatever was going on was probably normal, he might even have Stockholm syndrome! She decided to question the boy further, try and get a statement without scaring him into silence- she hit the record button on a Dictaphone she carried for cases like these, keeping it hidden in her pocket

"So Harry, would you mind if I asked a few standard questions?" she began- trying to ease him in

"I guess not, would you like to sit down?" he responded carefully, gesturing between the bed and the chair by his desk. She took the chair so he sat on the bed.

This was good, Anna thought, he seems calm and cooperative, and by taking the chair (which looked rather uncomfortable, and when she sat down found it was) she allowed him to stay relatively comfortable himself by sticking to the softer bed. She started to question him further while taking out a notepad to write down what was said, while gesturing for the other officers to leave so as not to overcrowd the teen. She started with the basics, to try and establish who exactly he was:

"How old are you? Can you tell me your birthday?"

"I'm 14, July 31 1980" He responded. Harry didn't know much about police enquires but he was pretty sure that was a standard question, and started to relax

"What school do you go to?"

"St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys"

Detective Stevenson frowned slightly- she'd never heard of that place before. Odd- she'd have to look into it

"How long have you lived with the Dursley's?"

"About 14 years, I was sent to live here after my parents died"

"Do you mind if I ask how they died Harry?"

At this Harry paused, the official story for muggles had been a car crash (he was pretty sure he even said it before, but then again that wasn't an official interview so maybe she just wanted a chance to write it- she was noting down everything else he said), yet, if she tried to follow it up he wasn't sure if she'd find any records. Still, he'd said it before so may as well stick to it now.

"It was a car crash"

"And who told you that?" she pressed

"My Aunt and Uncle" Harry was slightly perplexed that she would feel a need to ask that

"Did they say who left you here?"

OK: now Harry was getting worried, he had no way to line up a story with his relatives to make sure he said the right thing, nor did he know what, if any records were being kept- he could hardly say it was wizards! Instead he stuck to the truth using watered down facts:

"They don't like to talk about it, just that I was left with them with a letter explaining what happened" Harry had decided to leave the 'dumped on the doorstep' part out as he was pretty sure that wasn't 100% legal.

"Do they still have the letter? Have you seen it?"

Harry felt they were getting a tad off track; what did any of this have to do with drugs? Still, he knew it was better to cooperate with them so he continued (besides, he wouldn't put it past Dumbledore or the ministry to set any mistakes he made by accident straight)

"I don't know, and no, do you mind if I ask what this has to do with drugs?"

"Nothing" he was assured "it's just important I know each residents basic background and relation to any suspects to build a proper profile, for some reason I wasn't informed of your residence here so I need to cover my basis. You understand right?" she said with a smile

"I guess that makes sense" Harry said to himself more than to her, but she looked pleased all the same.

"Good. In that case I just have a few more questions if you'll bear with me. Is this the only room you've had?"

"Yes" again- technically true as Harry doubted the cupboard under the stairs counted

"And are you receiving or have you received any support regarding your parent's deaths?"

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure I understand, support how?" Harry was playing for time while he thought of what to say other than- 'my dad's two best friends who are a convicted criminal and werewolf I met last year'

"That's OK dear, I just mean did you ever have a social worker, or arranged visits with a counsellor to talk about it and check on how you're doing?"

"No- nothing official like a social worker, my aunt and uncle don't like talking about them"
"I see, and is it your aunt or uncle you share blood with?"

"My mother was my aunt's sister"

Just as Harry was starting to think he was doing ok he was asked something that made him freeze

"Are you often locked up in here?"

"Umm, no?" his reply unintentionally sounded more like a question

"Are you sure, I won't tell your relatives what you say" she pressed, knowing she was hitting a sensitive spot and wanting to make sure he felt safe enough to talk

"Yes" he said strongly, trying to compensate "it's a very rarely used punishment"

"What are you being punished for?" Damn- now he wished he'd asked, than again he'd then be punished for asking questions

"I just broke a few rules, you know, getting dirty, boke a few good plates by accident, stayed out too late, the usual stuff that gets kids my age in trouble" Harry stated trying to sound nonchalant, he guessed those things would count for a punishment, right? The problem was Dudley was never punished and he was punished for stuff even he knew was crazy- Harry had never been sure where the inbetween was.

"I see, do you get punished a lot?"

"When I break rules or don't finish my chores"

"And what's a normal punishment?"

'What's with this lady and punishment? Harry wondered

"Just the usual, no dinner, extra chores, that kind of thing"

"Is it ever physical?"

"What?" Harry was worrying again

"Have you ever been struck as a punishment?"

"I think that would depend on the point of view" in the past Harry had complained to teachers about the beatings, and one or two had claimed to have reported it to higher ups, but it had never gone anywhere. Thanks to that Harry didn't think he'd get away with saying no, the honest part of him didn't even want to- 'let them be the ones punished for once- they deserve it' it yelled, but then again, another part of him couldn't bring itself to say yes for some reason.

It was at that moment another police officer (a man this time) came in and whispered in Detective Stevenson's ear that the social worker was here. She decided to let the specialists handle the rest, in the mean time she had to give to go ahead to arrest both Vernon and Petunia Dursley for child abuse, while also getting forensics to look at the room- she wanted to know if there were any signs of violence.

"Harry, as I need to finish up with the search, and I can't legally leave you here until we have proof of guardianship, would you mind coming downstairs with me to speak to someone while I try and get things sorted out here?" she asked, standing up. Harry suspected despite the question he wasn't getting a say in this- he just hoped his aunt still had that letter!

Authors note: Please note that just like I am no expert on police, I am also no expert on modern slavery, though I do know it exists and is a real problem that must stop. Just understand that this is a work of fiction and therefore any inaccuracies (while I will try to keep them to a minimum) are for the sake of the story or unintentional, and I mean no offence regarding this topic, or any other which I know can be sensitive subjects for some. Thank you.

Sorry that theirs lots of dialogue- I felt an interview would be the most realistic way the detective would approach the situation as they usually start with collecting statements (I know that much)