August 2, 1989, 4 Privet Drive. Cupboard under the stairs.

Surrey, London. United Kingdom.

5:30 Am

Assassin code name Jamie/Harry Potter woke up in a puddle of blood and piss and a strange feeling of dizziness. His body hurt, and when he touched his head, something, like pus in its consistency but tar black in colour and disgusting in smell, attached to the palm of his hand. He thought to himself. 'What the actual fuck happened to me? Where am I? Did that bastard torture me to near death?

Slowly, he got up and felt the string that turned the light on the small cupboard hit his face. He pulled and realised something was very wrong. He was not in a hospital bed. He was in the worst shape he had ever been, and now, he was also a little kid. He nodded and, in silence, his mind worded, 'I need to get out of here,'

Then, something odd took place. His will and his thoughts materialised some sort of static energy, and it flowed to the tip of his hands. When he touched the surface of the door. He heard the lock at the exit unlatch, and he left the room where he had lain so inhumanely just before waking.

Jamie/Harry walked out and went to the bathroom. He noticed he was wearing glasses. But those were of no use to him; he had perfect vision. He took the glasses off and stared at the bathroom mirror. This kid, something in his face was familiar. Yeah, he looked something like a cousin. But no, he'd seen the face somewhere else. He washed his face and ran his finger to the lightning bolt scar that kept weeping that black gunk. Jamie opened his eyes in horror as it dawned on him. 'Harry Potter, I'm in the body of Harry Fucking Potter!'

He stared at his hands, his body, the shape of the bruises, and felt angry. Who gave a shit about his previous life as an assassin. Yeah, losing Jane was shattering, but in the shape of this miserable creature, he felt a righteous anger build. He had served in the war and had seen orphans in sad conditions, but this? His shape was close to someone who was a slave.

Jamie wanted to get the bastards who crafted this life for him and return the favour, yesterday!

According to Jane. Harry had no bath privileges. Accepting, he kept himself from being noticed by the occupants in the house and got the soap, iodine, and bandages.

His trained mind took notice of his immediate needs. A change of clothes, a hot shower, a warm meal, not to mention medical attention. He had no one to turn to. Then, a girl flashed and surprised the assassin's memory.

'Look Harry, I don't have time, I just came here to say, nice to meet you, I wanted to give you something amazing for your birthday,'

'Hi, I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger and you are?'

'She called Dudley a prick,'

Jamie/Harry Potter blinked at the memory. He nodded as he washed with the hose outside the house. He had a friend, but otherwise, he was alone. He needed to find a second-hand store, so he could at least change into clothes that fit him. If he recalled correctly, donations were left in a box and he could jump into that container and get something better than these oversized thread clothes and hopefully better trainers.

He walked with a limp. Oh, he would return and beat the crap out of those who took on a role as pseudo torturers in his past. This he swore. A mass of clouds and lightning began rumbling at his promise. Fog covered the streets. Nothing unseen before in a British setting. The odd thing was that no rain followed, just an unusual darkness that resisted leaving Surrey that summer of 1989.

Jamie/Harry found the thrift store, and just as Harry remembered, there was no one. He climbed and dipped into the donation box and picked the clothes a little bit bigger, but not as bad as his tub of a lard cousin, the prick. When done he was hungry. Jamie/Harry knew nobody would give good food away for nothing. However, Jamie/Harry figured that big stores had big bin boxes in which they left good bread and fruit to finish rotting. Well, he would investigate further. To Jamie, a reminiscence of Harry's spirit coalesced and was so grateful to the stranger he was sharing essence with. This was the best day since witnessing his cousin running as if he was on fire, trying not to shit his pants. Jamie nodded, and the now alter ego Jamie told Harry they had still some more things to hunt for before the day was over.

Jamie found the bin at the big food store. It was gold for Harry to eat a banana sandwich. Jamie/Harry took what he could carry in his pockets. He needed to get some supplies to start earning some money. According to the school calendar, he was still on vacation. That meant he could do yard work somewhere else and get paid. Plus he was a magical prodigy of some sort. But the magic would have to remain hidden until an emergency. The mind of the trained assassin shared with Harry that invisibility was sometimes the trait that would keep you alive.

To Harry, magic was a strange word. He would consider it later. Now, he needed to make money to buy food. Maybe a backpack and a tent too. He knew 4 Privet Drive was no longer his home, it never was, to begin with.

Somewhere in Scotland, Hogwarts to be more precise, a bunch of knick-knacks began smoking, as the currently feeble signal on the last of the Potters was lost and a fire began spreading.

Sadly, the headmaster was not in place, otherwise, he would have stopped the fire and then released his wolfhounds and began the search and retrieval of the boy, for the greater good of course. This time however, he was away in Tahiti sunning himself, and only until his return would he learn that his office had been swept by the fire, while Fawkes bathed in flames as a welcome rest after a long period of pain. The Potter boy had vanished into thin air and no one knew where.