Sorry it's been a while, I've been busy. I actually appear to have a life this semester. This is a brand new concept for me, and I'm only just getting the hang of it…
I haven't done a disclaimer here yet so…
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. (Or Men in Black, but that's not really relevant in this story)
Chapter 3
Morning dawned over New York, and a pair of metal bins rattled as Harry awoke. He scrambled out onto the pavement, stretching and yawning. Two years had passed since he had been left to survive on his own, and he had grown very little in that time. He had managed to procure new clothes regardless, but they were beginning to come out in holes again, and were already grey with dirt.
He rubbed his face, trying to work the sleep out of his eyes. He patted his shorts to check his knife was still securely strapped against his leg, and set off down the street. Most of the city was still asleep, and Harry revelled in the rare quiet. He was used to around-the-clock noise.
As he headed towards his usual 'work-spot' between the twin towers, he passed a yellow parchment envelope lying on the pavement.
XXX
Mitch handed over the steel blade carefully, watching Harry like a hawk to make sure he didn't cut his hands.
"Now," he told the small boy carefully. "This is only for emergencies. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded eagerly. It was autumn, and he was probably about nine years old.
"I'll be teaching you how to use this," said Mitch seriously. "But you have to be very careful. You can't just go sticking this into every random wanker you come across. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Alright. Now, for the meantime, you are not to take this beyond our base."
"What? But…"
"No. You don't need it yet anyway, you're not old enough to go wandering around on your own. When you're older you may need to protect yourself…"
Harry jerked awake as something fell on his face. He sat up suddenly. He was still concealed behind the bins, but covering him…
He looked down at his lap. Several letters sat there, and he picked one of them up. There was no stamp on it, and the address was written in green writing. He opened it roughly, tearing open the strange paper to find two more sheets inside, also covered with green writing. He opened all the other envelopes and grinned with excitement.
As he fumbled in his pockets for his stolen lighter, he relished the idea of having a few moment's warmth before he set off to join his Russian friend in picking the pockets of the businessmen.
XXX
Harry gabbled away in German to the unsuspecting tourists, shuffling Igor's pack of cards quickly. He moved his nimble hands quickly in the familiar routine he used to cheat people out of their money. He grinned triumphantly as he revealed the cards, and the couple clapped appreciatively.
Ignorant fools…
The man reached into his pocket to pay for another go, only to realise that someone (Igor) had already run off with it. He turned back to see Harry running off into the crowd and let out a roar of anger. Before Harry could get far enough away he was being chased. The German man was a fast runner, and caught him quickly, holding him in place. With a roar from Harry the tourist was thrown off him, and rendered unconscious. An onlooker tried to stop Harry escaping, but a quick knee to the groin and blow to the back of the head left him on the floor next to the tourist.
He darted away into a back alley, headed to the usual meeting point where he and Igor would share their spoils.
XXX
It was the 31st of August, and Minerva McGonagall was checking over the final preparations for the beginning of term tomorrow. Her lesson plans were done, she had finished creating the timetables, and now she was just looking over the list of first years that were expected to arrive.
She scanned down the parchment. This was her first time properly looking over the list, apart from a brief glimpse when she charmed the quill to send out the letters. Now as she read the parchment in detail, one name and address stood out like a sore thumb:
Mr H Potter
Behind the Metal Bins
W 43rd Street
New York
NY
USA
McGonagall rose to her feet in a panic, running in the direction of Dumbledore's office.
"Albus! ALBUS!"
She screamed the password at the gargoyle, and ran up the moving staircase. She burst into Dumbledore's study to find him in discussion with Sirius Black, the new defence teacher.
"Albus!" she gasped again, as the two men looked up at her in astonishment. "There's something you need to see!"
She shoved the list in front of him, and prodded the parchment with her finger. Dumbledore read, and his face paled dramatically. He joined McGonagall on his feet.
"It must be a misprint!" he said. "Harry Potter died ten years ago!"
"But it's right there!" cried McGonagall. "And there's an address too! It might not be the same Harry Potter, but there is a wizard boy living on the streets of New York, who for some reason falls under our jurisdiction! Surely that warrants an investigation!"
"It does indeed, Minerva. My apologies, Mr Black, this conversation will have to wait until a later time. I must get in touch with the American Ministry."
Sirius was frozen in place.
"H-Harry?" he whispered. "As in James' son?"
"I doubt it," said Dumbledore gravely. "It's a very common name. It is curious though. If he was born in Britain, why would he be living in America?"
Sirius stared at him.
"Oh yeah, sure, never mind 'why the hell is he living on the streets', no that's not the important question."
Dumbledore sighed, and then set off to floo the American minister for magic.