Hi, I can't believe it has been about six months since I last posted a chapter... I can only say that I'm sorry and that I will try to do better in the future. The only explanation I can give is that I recently made quite a massive life change. Some of you might already know from my profile that I just moved to China. That has been quite an exhausting undertaking, so I'm afraid I had to put this story on temporary hold, as I got used to the different culture and such. Anyway, please enjoy.

.:*:.

The sound of heels hitting marble floors was the only sound that could be heard in the halls of Diogenes club. In most places, this noise would barely even raise an eyebrow. But this was Diogenes club, and every single person Anthea passed on her way down the corridor, stopped what they were doing, to stare reproachfully at her.

Anthea, however, paid no mind to any of the stern looking ladies and gentlemen she passed. She was a woman on a mission, and she would not let anyone get in her way. In her hand, Anthea carried a thin black folder, that she regularly tapped her fingers against.

And, even though she tried to walk as quietly as she could, her top priority was to get to her destination as quickly as possible.

In the usually quiet hall, the sound of Anthea walking seemed so much louder than it really was. It was almost like it grew louder and louder with each step she took.

Slipping through the hallway, Anthea swiftly entered the corridor that housed all the different conference rooms and offices.

While Diogenes was first and foremost a club, a place for powerful and influential people to relax in peace and quiet. It also served as a place where a selected few chose to work or, in some cases, conduct meetings.

Spotting the room that was her destination, Anthea started to move quicker. Not even bothering trying to be quiet, in the now empty hallway. Stopping in front of an inconspicuous door, Anthea quickly slid a hand down the front of her skirt, smoothing it out. She tucked the folder over her forearm so that it was resting on her waist. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her head, she took a quick, quiet breath, before opening the door and confidently stepping inside.

Inside the room sat a small gathering of people around a square table. None of them bothered to even look her way when she entered. They just kept up their discussion as if no one had entered the room at all. Sliding to the side of the chamber, Anthea sat down in one of the chairs, along the wall, slightly apart from the main group.

Fishing up her phone from her purse, Anthea quietly started tapping away. Rearranging meetings, and sending a few messages to different people.

While she had indeed been in a hurry to get here, it would not do to draw unnecessary attention to her self. A lesson she had learned early on, after starting to work for her boss.

Anthea knew that the best way for her not to attract any attention to herself was to pretend nothing was wrong, and quietly sit there as if this was a typical occurrence. But by God!, this was much more important, than discussing the itinerary of some Ukranian computer engineer.

Just as she looked up towards Mr Holmes, his head turned slightly to the side so that she was better in his sights. Their eyes met for only a second, but it was obvious, to her at least, that he was silently questioning why she was there.

In response, Anthea slightly raised the folder she still had in her hand. The universal gesture of "you need to see this"

Mr Holmes turned even more towards her, silently scrutinising her. After a couple of seconds, he gave her a minuscule nod, before turning back to the group.

.:*:.

Mycroft Holmes loathed conference meetings. He detested sitting for hours listening to his colleagues addressing matters which were either so plebian, it was hardly worth his time or the solution to whatever problem they were discussing was so painstakingly obvious, a child could have figured it out.

Mycroft honestly had no idea why he was forced to sit there and listen to these people drivel on and on. Did he not have more important matters to attend to? Surely there must be a war about to break out somewhere? Or perhaps a nice international crisis that required his immediate attention? Anything would do, as long as he could get out of this room, and away from these people.

He absolutely loathed being forced to sit there for an unacceptable amount of time, pretending to pay attention to what was being said. Most of the time he would just sit there, leaning back in the chair, with a look of calm disinterest on his face. His hands folded gently in front of him, and his feet stretched out, as he studied the people around him.

It was on occasions like these that Mycroft was particularly grateful he rarely had to work with people. And his colleagues, in turn, were probably equally thankful that they rarely had to work with him.

It was common knowledge amongst the patrons of Diogenes club that Mycroft neither worked well with other, or in fact enjoyed doing so. Mostly because it took over three times as long when he had to slow down his thinking process enough for people to be able to keep up. Never mind how many times he had to stop and explain things.

Abhorred, hated, detested, loathed. It really was no end the adjectives he could use to describe what he felt about these meetings. If Mycroft were anything like his little brother, he would have lied down on the floor, shouting that he was bored to anyone that would listen.

Banishing that particular disturbing image from his mind. Mycroft could only thank, whichever gods that existed that he was nothing like Sherlock Holmes.

Whereas Sherlock loved to shout out everything he deduced about a person to them directly, Mycroft preferred keeping things he deduced to himself. It was, after all, the best way he could ensure that his colleague's secrets, were only made known at the precise time he deemed fit.

That might be the only good thing that came out of these meetings. It was, after all, one of the few times, so many of his high-profile colleagues gathered in one place, and it gave him ample opportunity to study their behaviour and figure out all their little secrets.

How else was he supposed to find out that Mr Owens was planning to divorce his wife of 25 years? Or that Miss Lewis had started a somewhat promiscuous relationship with a few of the maids she employed at her house. Or perhaps that Mr Carlson was currently looking for a way to, discreetly, "get rid of" a pregnant ex-mistress.

Of course, Mycroft knew that there were other ways for him to unearth all these little tidbits of information, but those methods would make a paper trail. And if Mycroft was honest with himself, he enjoyed being the only one with this kind of information. It meant he could make sure the knowledge was released in precisely the manner and time that would be most advantageous.

While doing his best to tune out Mr Owens, Mycroft could, out of the corner of his eye, see his assistant quietly entering the conference room. His brows furrowed slightly in confusion. It was, after all, not usual for Anthea to sit in on a meeting without being explicitly told to.

The second Anthea had entered the room, Mycroft could tell that something was wrong. He could see it as clearly as he could see that the sky was blue. He saw how the way she moved was slightly faster than normal. The way she restlessly tapped her finger against a folder in her hand. Even after she had sat down, and started working on her phone, he could see how she touched the screen harder than usual.

It had not been because of any discernable skill on Anthea's part that had gotten her the job of Mycroft's PA. She had neither been one of the most intelligent people that had been interviewed nor had she been the person with the most experience. No, it had been her ability to appear utterly apathetic and uninterested to the world around her, that got her the job.

She had a rare gift of being able to deal with almost any situation without showing any emotion at all. She knew how to act indifferent to anything that happened, and anything people said.

Once Mycroft had watched her talk down an African war-lord from declaring war on a neighbourhood rival, who was trying to move onto his territory. All while tapping away on her phone, rescheduling meetings and whatnot, still with a blank expression on her face. Needless to say, Mycroft, who had stood in the background merely observing, had found the situation quite amusing.

This was the skill that had made her truly valuable as his assistant. He never had to worry that she might give anything away when meeting with other government officials.

Any additional qualification she now had, had been learned after she got the job. So seeing her now, clearly agitated, was very disconcerting.

Feeling Antheas gaze on him, Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat. As soon as their eyes met, Anthea raises the folder she is holding. Clearly indicating there is something of importance that he must see.

Truth be told, he doesn't care what is in that folder, as long as it gets him out of this room and away from these imbeciles. Anything is better than sitting here, letting his brain rot from listening to Mr Owen talk. It was almost painful watching his mouth try to form a coherent sentence.

Giving Anthea a slight nod, Mycroft turned back to the meeting.

None of his colleagues has paid any attention to his silent communication with Anthea. So when he suddenly gets up from his seat, interrupting Mr Owen mid-speech, they all turn abruptly towards him, surprise on their faces.

"Well, as it appears we are no closer to reaching a decision, might I suggest we resume our discussion until tomorrow?" Mycroft said with a bland smile on his face.

Without waiting for any of them to reply, Mycroft bent down, picked up his umbrella and briefcase before strolling out.

As he made his way out the door, Anthea caught up with him, and together they walk towards Mycroft's office. Neither of them speaking a word, as per the rules of Diogenes club.

A single cough could get you a lifetime ban if done to loudly. A rule not even Mycroft was exempted from.

As soon as they arrived at Mycroft's office, Mycroft sat down behind his desk before turning expectantly towards Anthea. "Well, what is it that requires my attention," He said while stretching his arm across the table, reaching for the folder.

Anthea promptly handed it to him while saying: "We just got a tip from the surveillance department. Someone has been trying to find you."

"That is hardly unusual," Mycroft said as he started to study the documents.

There were sometimes up and coming politicians that heard about him, and tried to find out more. Almost all of were entirely unsuccessful.

"No," Anthea agreed. "The origin and method however are. Of the four people that we have narrowed this down too, none of them has anything explainable that link them to you. Nor do they have any connections that would explain how they heard about you in the first place."

That was unusual, Mycroft mused as he kept reading the document. There were not many people that knew what Mycroft did for the government and even fewer that would use such archaic methods of finding out more about him.

"Really", Mycroft thought to himself. Anyone that had even the slightest idea of what he did would know that a simple internet search would yield no results. Anything about him had of course been redacted.

The only useful information in the folder was an address, Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, that the IP-address had been registered to. Along with some basic information about everyone that lived at that address.

Studying the information of the father, Mycroft couldn't help but scoff. There was little to no possibility of Mycroft ever crossing path with such a man. Middle management worker in a drilling company. Morbidly obese. Due to have his first heart attack in seven, no six years. Had quite the anger management problem too.

As Mycroft read on about Mr Dursley, Anthea turned her attention back to her phone.

"We have just got confirmation of their locations at the time the search was made." Anthea's voice interrupted his reading. "It seems like Mr and Mrs Dursley, along with their son, were all at a meeting with a nurse where Mr Dudley Dursley goes to school. We caught all three of them on a security camera, minutes before the search was made." A soft beep follows Anthea's statement. Looking down at his phone Mycroft opens the message she had just sent him. Containing a video file with security footage of the Dursley family driving past.

"No confirmation on the location of Mr and Mrs Dursly's nephew, a Mr Harry Potter, yet. But he is the only other resident living in that house."

Frowning, Mycroft skipped a few pages ahead, quickly finding the pages with the nephew's information. Out of the four, he had thought the children the most unlikely candidates for attempting to locate him.

"And we are absolutely sure this information is accurate?" Mycroft couldn't help but ask, as he quickly skimmed through the papers in front of him. Looking for anything that stood out.

A somewhat distracted "Yes" is the only reply he gets, as Anthea is once again busy working on her phone.

Frowning, Mycroft turned his attention back to the papers in his hand. Studying them more closely.

Name: Harry James Potter.

DOB: 31.07.1980.

Hair: Black.

Eyes: Green.

Father: Unknown.

Mother: Lily Potter nee Eva-

Here Mycroft froze completely. He stopped breathing mid-breath, just staring down at the information in his hand. This was not real. This could not be happening.

Slowly, Mycroft let his gaze slide towards a picture on top of the page, which he had previously ignored.

Staring up at him from the folder, was the picture of a young boy, perhaps eight or nine. He had dark, messy hair, which pointed in all directions. His face, though still somewhat rounded by youth, carried the features that would eventually, no doubt, sharpen up, and give him high cheekbones and an aristocratic look.

A look, very much like the one his own paternal side favoured.

Mycroft let his gaze flicker back and forth between the picture, the boy's mother, and the date of birth. For once in his life, Mycroft hoped that he was wrong in his assumption.

Quickly, doing any necessary mental calculations, Mycroft finally lets out a slow breath. Oh, how Mycroft wished he was back in that conference room right now.

"The security department is currently putting together a more thorough profile of everyone living at that address," Anthea says while looking down at her phone. "They should be finished within two hours."

"No," Mycroft's voice was a little unsteady as he interrupted Anthea. He cleared his throat before trying again. "No, that won't be necessary."

Quickly, Anthea's head snapped up from her phone, to stare incredulously at her boss.

"Sir... surely this is most important? We have no idea how this information was leaked. We could have a major security breach." Anthea said carefully.

Mycroft hardly paid any attention to the rest Anthea said, as she tried to explain why they must continue to look into this incident. The only thing his mind registered is the shock of the situation he was currently in. This could not be happening. He had always been careful when it came to that part of his life, precisely to avoid circumstances such as these.

Finally, Mycroft looked up from staring at the picture of his newly discovered son. He doesn't need any test to know. Everything fits, the timeline, who the boy's mother is, and it explains perfectly why the boy had tried to research him. Somehow the boy must have found out what Mycroft himself had just found out, or he had been told and had subsequently decided to find out more.

"Head to the security department, and shut down all inquiries about the Dursley family," Mycroft ordered, effectively cutting off the rest of Anthea's sentence. Mycroft's voice broke no argument as he firmly shuts the folder and placed it down on his desk.

"Make up any necessary excuses and wipe any trace of ever having looked into this family." Mycroft paused slightly and glanced down at the document on his desk before refocusing his attention back on Anthea, adding decisively "Discretely."

Anthea's brows were scrunched together, and she looked like she wanted to argue, but she only gave him a sharp nod, and a "Yes, sir" before leaving the office to do as told.

Finally alone, Mycroft slowly sinks back into his chair, rubbing two fingers at the bridge of his nose, as he felt a tension headache coming on. He let out a slow, shaky breath. No one could know about this. If anyone where to find out, they would try to use it against him.

Even after close to 20 years of working for the British government, people still tried to use his drug addict brother against him. If anyone of them were to find out he had a child, they would use it against him in an instant.

No, this had to be buried. The boy, Harry, had naturally not found anything of value. And Anthea was currently wiping any trace of this ever happened. It would be like it never happened.

After all, Mycroft thought determinedly, staring stone-faced down at the file, caring was not an advantage.

.:*:.

This chapter hasn't been betaed yet, but I didn't want to wait before posting it.

Before you go, I just want to say Merry Christmas to anyone that celebrates that, Happy Hanukkah to anyone that celebrate that, and to those that celebrate neither I hope you have a lovely day. And to everyone, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Ps. Sorry I have been so terrible at answering reviews, I have just been so busy.