For disclaimer, see prologue. Warning: minor drug references.

Chapter One: The MI5

(A/N: There is a really, really big jump in time from the prologue to this chapter. Just so you know. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The first bit of this chapter sounds weird. I don't really like it that much. Then again, I don't know how to fix it, so if anyone could give me any polite suggestions, I would be very grateful. Thank you.)

This chapter is dedicated to elemental-girl, Elfish Etyma, Viskii, and ERMonkey Burner of Cookies for giving me a nice surprise waiting for me in my inbox the very first day after I posted the prologue. I honestly wasn't really expecting to find any reviews. After all, I do suck at writing summaries. And prologues too, according to japanese-jew.

W00T

'Spare some change?'

'No,' the man in the neatly pressed blue suit said shortly, walking past.

The beggar sighed.

'Spare some change?' he repeated hopefully to another.

The woman in the grey skirt and white blouse just walked away without even glancing at him.

The beggar sighed. He held up his collecting tin to someone else, pleading silently. The woman glanced at him briefly then looked away. The little girl holding her hand, though, stared at him sadly and dug some change out of her pocket, depositing it in the can.

The beggar smiled at her in true gratitude. 'Thank you,' he whispered.

Her mother, who had heard the soft clink of coins on tin, looked back, and with an expression of horror on her face, pulled her daughter back as far away as they could get. As they quickly walked away, the beggar heard her scolding the girl – 'Don't you remember me telling you, Ella, the people on the street are dirty! Don't even go near them.'

The beggar watched them hurry away, and sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of sighing these days.

He couldn't forget the reason why he was sighing so much. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall behind him, remembering.

W00T

'But where will I go?' he asked desperately.

His aunt pursed her lips, and he remembered the 'no-questions' rule.

'Find a job,' his uncle snapped. 'Get an apartment. Just stay away from us.'

'Why are you kicking me out?' he protested. He'd known his relatives hated him, but he didn't know how much. After all, they never abused him or anything, not really, so surely they couldn't loathe him that much…right?

'We're giving you a chance to be independent,' his aunt snapped.

'It's an opportunity, boy, you can't rely on us for the rest of your life. You've already burdened us for the past seventeen years, day by miserable day.'

'But you're keeping Dudley!'

Harry's aunt and uncle scowled fiercely. 'Dudley's different! He's our son, and he is better than you will ever be! He needs a good university education!'

Harry bit back the urge to say something nasty.

'And besides which,' Uncle Vernon continued with malice, 'the other day I discovered cigarettes and drugs in your room. Don't think for one second we'll offer our generous hospitality any longer to people like you, boy!'

Harry had been moved back into Dudley's second bedroom when it was discovered, at age thirteen, that he just wouldn't fit into the cupboard anymore. Normally the Dursleys wouldn't have cared, but Aunt Petunia, in a rare moment of 'Harry-kindness', had persuaded Vernon to give Harry the bedroom. Naturally, Dudley had put up quite a fuss, but a few new games for his PlayStation quickly solved that.

'I don't smoke, and I don't do drugs!' Harry cried. 'I don't have substance-abuse issues!' He knew Dudley had hidden his stash of cigarettes and drugs in Harry's bedroom so that he could access them freely and yet not be blamed should his parents ever find out. He didn't say this, though, because he knew his aunt and uncle would never believe him.

'The proof of them in your room is proof enough for us, boy,' Uncle Vernon spat.

'I don't even have the money to buy any!'

His uncle's face was rapidly turning red. 'Don't lie to us, boy! We know you're guilty! You must have stolen them! Now get your things, you good-for-nothing drug addict, and get out of our home!'

W00T

Wouldn't it be embarrassing if one of them walked down the street right now? Harry mused.

He opened his eyes and looked into his tin. Or at least, where his tin was supposed to be. Someone had stolen it. He resisted the urge to scream and instead tried to calm his anger.

He tried, but it wasn't going so well. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. As his anger increased at a rather alarming rate, a garbage can on the street corner suddenly exploded. People screamed and scurried away from it. Harry stared at the can, his anger dissipating in favour of his curiosity at the sudden explosion, and wondered what could have caused it to explode. There was no reason for someone to blow up a garbage can, right? That was rather odd. Besides, who would waste perfectly good explosives on a mere garbage can?

The MI5, as Harry called them, who were really the local street cleaners, quickly arrived at the scene, and in a matter of minutes, cleared away the mess, and left. Harry called them the MI5 because, although they were just street cleaners, they worked with the rapidity and efficiency of a specially trained military force.

It was odd, but Harry wanted to be like them someday. Of course, he would take whatever job he could get, but he wanted to be as quick and efficient at anything as the MI5 was…both the real MI5 and 'his' MI5.

Harry sighed again, and swore to himself not to get caught up in his fantasies again. Imagining situations that might have been, or even reflecting on the past, were not going to help him now. If only he could get a job, but…

Before he started flashbacking again, Harry made a mental note to himself to get a new collecting tin. It would take him a while, though; good collecting tins were surprisingly hard to find.

W00T

'The company's downsizing,' his boss said abruptly. 'You're fired.'

Harry gaped at him in disbelief. 'What? But I'm the best worker in the department!'

His ex-boss sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'I know, Harry, and I thank you for all the hard work you've put into your job. However, we've decided that we don't need your department anymore. The company can't afford to keep a department no one needs. We're letting go of all the people from your department, and that includes you.'

Harry sighed.

'I'm sorry, Harry, if that gives any consolation. I would give you another job in the company if I could, but we don't have any job openings right now.'

'It's okay,' Harry muttered. 'I understand.' And he did, really, but that didn't mean it was fair.

W00T

A year and a half later…

W00T

'You're fired,' said his boss bluntly.

This is the third time someone's said that to me without giving me a reason first, Harry thought to himself. 'Why?'

'Ever since you've been on board, we've been receiving reports of office supplies, desks, refrigerators even, suddenly exploding for no particular reason. We've had people coming in and saying you've been getting into arguments and fights with other employees.'

Tattletales, Harry thought bitterly. 'What makes you think the things exploding have anything to do with me?'

'Well, we know it can't be magic, right?' said his boss, making a feeble attempt at a joke and grinning weakly. 'We do know, however, that you were there every time something blew up. I'm not saying it's directly your fault, but this never happened before you came in.'

'What about the fights? I never got into any fights!'

'That's not what my security cameras say.'

'I got into arguments with other people, not physical fights!'

'Like I said, that's not what my cameras tell me. The people who've been complaining don't tell me that, either.'

'I'm telling you, it wasn't me!'

'It looked like you, acted like you, and smelled like you, though don't ask me how they knew that. It had to be you.'

Harry knew there was no use arguing. He knew it hadn't been him all those times, but he could come up with no plausible explanation for it not having been him, other than, perhaps, there was some unknown magical world out there and someone was using some kind of magic to impersonate him and get him into trouble. The idea was, however, completely ridiculous.

Harry sighed and conceded defeat. 'I'll go get my things.'

His ex-boss turned around in his chair to face the window.

Harry couldn't resist slamming the door behind him. He was, after all, fired anyway.

W00T

Finished with his flashbacks, which were making him kind of depressed anyway, Harry looked down at the place where his tin used to be again. Or rather, where it was. Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was still there, with all the money inside too.

That was rather odd. Either the thief had returned it, or someone had randomly placed a tin – that looked exactly like the one he'd had – with money in it in front of him.

Both possibilities were just that; possibilities. Both were extremely unlikely.

Maybe he'd stolen it back using magic. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes at that.

In any case, he figured he'd better not lose it again. He picked up his tin and, hugging it securely to his chest, hurried away into a back alley where he slept in a box he'd found on a lucky day.

One street over, a perfectly respectable-looking citizen looked down at his hand in confusion. One minute it had been there, and the next minute it had been gone. How very…odd.

W00T

(A/N: So you've read it, please review;
I wish I could come up with a good rhyme,
But with this poem's debut
At this point in time
I really can't.

In case you've noticed
That this little rant
(Dude, nothing that makes sense rhymes with 'noticed')
Does actually rhyme,
I said 'good rhyme'.

You wouldn't call this a 'good rhyme', would you?
Now please read and review.

P.S. QuickEdit sucks.

Update Feb. 25, 2006: I just realised that it says up there, 'Harry had been moved into Dudley's second bedroom when it was discovered…'

So I corrected it, because in the prologue, Harry was already moved to Dudley's second bedroom. It now says 'moved back into…' To make that clearer, Harry was moved back to his cupboard a few weeks after he didn't get his letter.)