A.N.: I am aware that Jack's dialect is a bit…mysterious to say the least. I'm picturing a cockney sort of thing, and even though some of his language might seem old-fashioned, it's how I want it so deal. LOL. Some words he'll say right and others he won't. He's not stupid, he just doesn't really care to bother with proper grammar. Please forgive him (and me), and I hope you like him anyway. And I promise that the extensive use of British slang will not continue throughout the entire story. There. Now enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE- You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two

St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys was located directly outside of Surrey, far past the manicured lawns and orderly two-stories of the stiff, suburban city. But still, the campus seemed more like a penitentiary than a schoolyard, dirt grounds surrounded by high, spiked wire fences and guards at the front gate. Fittingly, the sky never seemed to be completely clear, and even on rather nice evenings like this particular one in question, the moonlight seemed muted and gray through the clouds. Inside the imposing building was a selection of small classrooms, as well as a bunk area where the boys slept in long rows of fifteen. However, the room was nearly empty in the summer season, housing only a few unfortunate boys that either had no where else to go, or simply weren't wanted back home.

Exactly four empty beds down from the door on the far left, a boy with messy dark hair and green eyes swung his feet over to kick impatiently at the cot next to his.

"Patience, little Potter. I'm still countin'." The harassed boy teased from under his thin covers.

"You haven't got that much, so hurry it up."

"Right. I got about… twenty pound, just a couple pence short. Not bad for a few hours out."

In the dark, Harry waived his coin pouch smugly. "Twenty-five." His friend let out a dramatic groan. Back when Harry had first shown up at the school, just a kid and absolutely terrified of the place, Jack Hammond had been there like an answer to a prayer, ready to show him the ropes. Just a year older than himself, Jack had dirty blonde hair that had a tendency to fall in his eyes and the kind of friendly disposition that charmed most everyone… leaving Jack the clear opportunity to nick their wallets.

"So not only are ye gettin' to be near tall as I am, but now ye beatin' me at my own game. Well, no bother. Bad day is all." Jack loaded the coins into the small fabric pouch he kept inside his jacket pocket and folded the coat up underneath his pillow. "Tomorrow we'll get out again. I'll find some nice-looking girls who'd like to donate to the 'Poor, Unfortunate, Motherless Jack Fund'."

"Keep quiet!" A deep voice shouted from outside the door, accompanied by a loud banging noise. "Shut the bloody 'ell up or I'll come in there and shut ye up meself!"

"Could you please keep it down, sir?" Harry asked, stifling a laugh to remain obtusely courteous. "We're trying to sleep."

Another sharp rap sounded against the door before the guard obviously gave up and scuffled away down the hall.

"'Could ye please keep it down, sir?'" The boy in the cot alongside Harry's mocked, adding on a pathetic sounding lisp. "Damn if ye aren't the sorriest bloke in 'ere. And the luckiest. Glad I picked ye up when I did. I swear, if I ever saw another person slip off trouble quicker 'en you, I'd drop dead."

"If he didn't kill you first." Harry quirked a smile at his friend before brushing his hair off his forehead, revealing a faint, lightening-shaped scar. "You're slow as all."

"Bugger off an' go to sleep." He grumbled good-naturedly. "Big day tomorrow."

"Don't I know it." He rolled over on the thin, foam mattress and burrowed his face into the starched fabric of his pillow. "Another day out and about. Rest up, mate."

"An' Harry? Happy birthday."

"Oh, shut it and sleep already." But Harry smiled, nonetheless. He was now, officially, sixteen years old.

"Morning, Harry." Jack said cheerfully, perched on the edge of his cot and dressed formally in a button-down shirt and nice trousers.

"Didja get dressed up just for me?" Harry laughed as he rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"For your sorry arse? Not a chance. Got to impress the girls, ye know. Wouldn't hurt ye to try it yourself, comb ye hair and whatnot."

"Doesn't stick." He said lightly, pulling himself out of bed and reaching for his clothes, some more of his cousin Dudley's jeans that fell dangerously low on his waist and had a habit of tripping him when he walked. "Besides, girls don't like guys with weird scars on their faces."

"So much you know!" Jack retorted as he tossed Harry a gray t-shirt. "Girls dig scars. Makes 'em think we're dangerous. If you're not getting fixed up, can we get outta here already? Thought you 'er dead or somethin'. Couldn't get ye awake."

Harry brushed a hand over his head and frowned as a few troublesome strands of hair popped right back up. "I had some trouble sleeping."

Jack's eyes narrowed with concern. "You goin' all nutters again? Shoutin' and seein' things and all?"

"No," Harry lied smoothly. "Just couldn't get to sleep." The truth was that he had been that creature again. Weak. Barely alive, and so full of hatred it made his forehead sting as if his mind were ready to burst from the force of it. He would wake up in the middle of the night shaking and slick with a cold sweat. But the last time Jack caught him, he had been a snake, or maybe he had seen a snake, it was all such a blur, but he had flung himself off the bed and retched on the floor. Jack pulled him to his feet, cleaned him up a bit, and got him back into bed without saying a word. He hadn't even mentioned it until just then. That's how Jack was.

"Well, hurry up. Can't get out of 'ere half as easy without my lucky mate, eh?"

A few minutes later the two boys were creeping quietly down the hall, bypassing the empty classrooms and heading out toward the door. They made their way along the side of the building, toward a weak piece of wire Jack had discovered years ago. "Why jump when the fence'll open right up for ye?" He had asked, genuinely puzzled, when Harry suggested that they climb over to escape after his first couple of days there. Sure enough, a slight push on the metal gate and the weak links would give way, creating a narrow gap just large enough to squeeze through. Well, at least Harry and Jack could squeeze through. Harry couldn't quite imagine bulky, pig-faced Dudley making it through without a couple scratches.

Jack had made it through and was gesturing for Harry to hurry it up when they heard a gruff voice shout "I thought I saw them over here…." Jack looked panicked as he grabbed the fence and pulled to widen the gap, but Harry was frozen, motionless. He looked down and saw his ridiculously long pant leg caught on the raw edge of the ripped wire. He jerked his leg up and felt the waistband of his jeans fall an inch or two lower. Harry closed his eyes. A distraction. He needed a distraction or he was going to be caught, trouser-free and outside the school boundaries.

"What the-!" The guard shouted as a tree branch fell directly in front of him, resulting in a flurry of leaves and twigs. Taking advantage of the moment, Harry carefully reached down to his ankle and ripped off the bottom of his pant leg before clearing out with Jack fast behind.

"You," Jack gasped as he sped along the dirt path alongside him. "Are the jammiest bastard I've ever met. Keep runnin'."