A/N: So not the greatest start to this story, but the plot bunny insisted.

"WAKE UP, BOY!"

With a start, Harry Potter jolted up and whacked his head on the top of his cupboard. He was eight years old, with his birthday only the day before. It had been just like his previous birthdays, nothing. No presents, no food, no breaks. Just another shirt from Dudley, which, as always, was nearly four sizes too large.

Stifling a groan, he brushed a spider off his legs, slid an overly large shirt over his skinny frame, and swung open the door of his cupboard. He winced as he felt his leg twinge from the game of 'Harry Hunting' the day before and padded his way into the front room.

Mechanically, he passed the table set up in the dining room and walked into the kitchen. Switching the stove on, he quickly began cooking breakfast, using eight eggs, three rashers of bacon, three packs of hash browns, and four more tablespoons of oil than he could probably stomach. Pausing only to brush his untamable hair out of his eyes, he started carrying plates out to the dining room where the Dursleys were sitting impatiently.

He was about to hand Dudley his breakfast when the fat boy grinned menacingly and slammed his foot into Harry's. With a cry, the small boy tripped and hit the ground hard, the plates smashing into the floor and depositing food everywhere, along with shards of porcelain.

Uncle Vernon's face slowly purpled as Petunia gasped, horrified at the loss of her plate, which, unfortunately, had been one of the few things that she received from her mother that Lily hadn't gotten. Dudley almost laughed before plastering an obviously fake look of surprise on his large face.

With a heave, Vernon stood up and bellowed, "BOY!" Angrily tugging at his mustache, he cuffed Harry hard in the head, sending the skinny, malnourished boy flying into the wall. As he made contact, stars exploded behind his eyes, and something snapped in his arm. Whimpering in pain, he made the mistake of trying to fight back.

In his spacious office, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat quite happily, two lemon drops safely in the cavern of his mouth. He was content. Not only had Professor McGonagall given him a nice pair of woolly socks, but Professor Flitwick had charmed his lemon drop dish to be Never-Ending, always refilling the dish as long as the item itself was not larger than the dish. All was well.

As always, his mind wandered, and he closed his eyes, reflecting on his life. He had hit the triple digits just five short years ago, and he was beginning to feel each and every one of those years. In the course of the century he'd seen, he'd lived a full life, managed to defeat Grindelwald, and teach the most amazing students he'd had the honor to instruct.

Albus's only regrets were Arianna and the Potters. It had been his fault that the Potters had died. He had been convinced that Sirius would be too obvious as the secret keeper, and convinced him to change it to Pettigrew. He'd never even remotely considered that any of the Marauders, barring Remus, could be working for Voldemort. Not only that, but Sirius had been thrown into Azkaban and had his wand snapped before he could do anything about it. Nothing could have been done, as Veritaserum was not reliable enough to use during a trial, and his wand, being snapped, could not be examined.

Arianna was too painful to think about.

So Albus redirected his thoughts to Harry. It had been his birthday yesterday. He hoped that his relatives weren't treating him too badly, but the safety of the blood wards was essential to ensuring the boy's survival.

Even as those thoughts were crossing his mind, a silver spiraled instrument on his desk started whirling, blaring a shrill alarm. It flashed red, startling the Headmaster from his thoughts.

Dread filled his body as he confirmed which instrument had gone off. That particular alarm had been keyed directly to Harry, and only went off if he was in severe danger. Standing, he sent off a Patronus to alert Professor McGonagall to his absence and flicked a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace. Stepping in, he called, "Figg residence," and disappeared in a flash of green fire.

Arabella Figg hummed merrily as she tended to her plants in the backyard. She found that gardening was an enjoyable hobby, and spent most of her free time fussing over her plants. Not three feet away, two of her half-kneazle cats were sprawled in the sun, basking in the warmth of the early morning.

As she clipped a particularly large branch off one of her rosebushes, she heard the distinct crackle of flames that signified a person coming through the Floo Network. That was odd, she thought, not many people, if any, came through her fireplace. Most people didn't associate with a Squib like her, and all others usually apparated.

With that thought in mind, she stood up and made her way back into the house. Stepping into the parlor, she was greeted with the sight of a worried Albus Dumbledore. That worried her. His eyes were lacking his customary twinkle, and his shoulders were bowed, as if a great burden had settled upon them.

"Dumbledore," she greeted, "what brings you—"

"—No time. Harry is in danger," Dumbledore interrupted her, drawing his wand. "Have you heard anything?"

"What? No, nothing. Is it Death Eaters?"

Dumbledore's face was grim. "No, that is not likely. Unfortunately, the most likely scenario is that the Dursleys have resorted to physically abusing him."

Arabella gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "What? But—" Her gaze narrowed. "If this was possible, why did you leave him with them?"

"I will explain later. For the moment, I will retrieve Harry." And with that, Albus Dumbledore swept out of the house, casting a weak Notice-Me-Not charm as he stalked towards Number Four Privet Drive.

"YOU FREAK! WE GIVE YOU FOOD, WE GIVE YOU A ROOF OVER YOUR GODDAMN HEAD, AND THIS IS HOW YOU BEHAVE?" Vernon roared, smashing his foot into Harry's ribs. Harry whimpered in pain, feeling yet another rib break. He tried to get his wind back, only to nearly howl in pain as a rib punctured his lung. He coughed violently, and expelled blood onto his shirt and the floor.

"Vernon, stop!" Aunt Petunia cried, her face growing whiter and whiter. "You can't kill him!" Even Dudley began to lose some color at the sight of Harry coughing blood onto the floor.

"And why not? He's just a freak spawned from your freak sister," Vernon fumed furiously. With a cruel grin, he carefully stepped on Harry's left hand, feeling the bones of his fingers crack beneath his feet. "We need to teach him his place in life."

"No!" Petunia cried, "the freaks will come—" At that moment, the doorbell rang, just before the door slammed open, revealing a coldly furious Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore rarely, if ever, became angry. Normally, he was a cheerful and mischievous old man with a preference for sweets of any kind. But when he was angry, when something had riled him up past even his formidable patience, he turned into a powerful wizard who was even more terrifying than Lord Voldemort himself. Not even his peculiar choice of clothes could mask the fact that Albus was one of, if not the most terrifying wizards to anger in the Wizarding World.

Exuding an aura of pure fury and his wrinkled face twisted into a portrait of rage, Albus Dumbledore stepped into the house, dropping the Notice-Me-Not charm.

The Dursleys paled, with Petunia shaking like a leaf. She had the greatest understanding of what Dumbledore could do to them, due to Lily's teasing over her teenage summers. She was on the verge of passing out entirely, supporting herself with her chair.

"W-what's going on, Mummy?" Dudley finally managed to squeak, his pudgy face slack with fear.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?" Vernon roared, his face quickly regaining its color as his fear turned to rage, as was his habit. "GET OUT OF—"

"Do you know what you have done?" Albus whispered furiously. The room instantly quieted, the Headmaster's quiet words seeming to echo through the room.

Throwing quick looks towards his wife and son, Vernon blustered, "I'm teaching the freak his place. He's disrespecting me and my family and—"

"How could you, Petunia?" Dumbledore interrupted, ignoring Vernon. "This is your sister's son, your nephew! How could you condone such behavior?"

"D-d-d-don't m-mention Lily to m-me again," Petunia whispered, recovering slightly. "Her and the Potter bastard! Even before he showed up, she got that h-horrid letter and went off to that… that school of hers! Even when she wasn't home, it was Lily this and Lily that! They were proud of her because she was different and went to a different school! Nothing g-good can come out of her son!"

"And this was good enough reason to abuse her only child?" Dumbledore asked, his voice dangerously quiet. Her only response was a half-sob. He sighed wearily, his rage deflating like a spent balloon. "I'll be taking Harry."

"Good. Take the freak and keep him!" Vernon declared, nervously tugging at his moustache.

"I'll also be taking down the blood wards."

Petunia paled. "What? N-no! We'll be in danger!"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Even if I left them up, they require Harry's presence, and also that he call this house home. He'll be doing neither."

With a note of finality, he crouched down and gently took the wheezing Harry into his arms. With the boy safely in his arms, he walked to the middle of the parlor and out the door, leaving a stricken Petunia Dursley alone with her confused family.

Albus Dumbledore sighed wearily and held his head in his hands. Harry was safely in the hands of Madam Pomfrey, with three broken ribs, two broken fingers, one shattered finger, and one broken arm with breaks in two separate places. He was recovering nicely, if only physically. The poor boy still wasn't even used to his own name, for Merlin's sake! The boy was confused at why Madam Pomfrey wasn't calling him a freak! Again, he sighed, and popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

His most pressing problem was where to place Harry. He couldn't have him staying at Hogwarts, for that could have irreparable consequences on his pride. He could not learn too much about his status as The-Boy-Who-Lived too early, or he would most likely become arrogant and overconfident. No, Hogwarts was out of the question.

Because of that particular problem, there really wasn't any place that he could be sheltered at in Britain while remaining safe and ignorant of his status. The Leaky Cauldron was too popular with too many people walking in and out. He couldn't leave him with any of the pureblood families, nor could he just drop him off at a Muggle orphanage. Albus pursed his lips as he remembered Tom Marvolo Riddle, and how many mistakes he had made with the young man.

After pondering for quite a while, he realized his mistake. He was thinking in terms of the Wizarding World, and confining his possibilities to Britain. There were other options.

Like the Mages Association.

The Mages Association was completely separate from the Wizarding World, and those who did know the specifics of Voldemort's demise would not care enough to tell Harry too much. Furthermore, the Mages Association was not heavily centered in Britain. Many mages lived all over the world, even if the Clock Tower was based in London.

There were far worse possibilities, Albus decided. Immediately, his mind settled on a past associate of his, from Japan. Albus had met the man in muggle London, where he had been currently attending the Clock Tower. They had quickly found many things in common, but had been forced to separate because of Grindelwald. It had been years since they had contacted each other, but Albus knew that he would not leave his home in Japan too easily. It was, after all, more than several generations old and the ancestral home of his family.

His decision made, Albus leaned back in his chair, content in his decision to leave Harry with Tohsaka Keiji.

The first thing Harry was aware of was a throbbing pain in his left pinky and an intense itching on his arm. Blinking blearily, he used his uninjured right hand to scrabble for his glasses, for without them, he was practically blind. He finally grasped his glasses and shoved them on his face, blinking as the world came into focus.

For a moment, he could not remember where he was, until the memory of a fussy woman forcing him to drink several repulsive potions reminded him. He was at some sort of hospital, Moghorts? No, it was Hogwarts, he remembered.

Groaning, he sat up, only to hiss in pain and fall back down. His body hurt all over. Lifting his head, he took a look at his body.

There was a large bandage on his right arm, and his fingers were splinted, with bandages wrapping around his waist. His head was pounding, and his neck was sore, throbbing whenever he moved it. "Ouch," he muttered, as he tallied his own injuries like a checklist. Sort of like when he got groceries. Check off one item and move to the next.

Fear bubbled in his stomach as the thought of going back to Uncle Vernon entered his mind. He was definitely not going to have much food when that came around. Maybe he'd even beat Harry up again. Dudley would just get him in trouble again, now that he knew he could get away with it.

With a swish, the curtains surrounding his bed opened. The woman from before bustled in. "Good, you're awake," she said curtly, and wheeled in a large cart crammed with bottles of every shape and size. Most of the liquids were clear or some sort of dull color, with some exceptions. Harry noticed a particular potion that was bright orange with bubbles racing down.

All of a sudden, a bottle was thrust towards him. "Drink this," the woman ordered. Harry dutifully choked it down; it had a horrible taste that was sour and spicy at the same time. Again, he was handed a potion, and he downed it, and all consecutive bottles.

Drinking the last vial, he immediately felt his eyes drooping. Within a minute, he was deep in a dreamless sleep.

Tohsaka Tokiomi let out a groan unbefitting of a man of his status as the doorknocker woke him up. He shifted around blearily, accidently waking up his wife.

"What's wrong?" Aoi asked drowsily.

"Someone's at the door," Tokiomi mumbled, and managed to push himself out of bed. Without having to look, he knew his wife was greedily stealing his share of the sheets. He pulled on a dark red pullover and shoved himself into last night's pants.

Running a hand through his normally groomed hair, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn. It had been at least a month since Sakura had stopped wailing in the middle of the night. He was taking great advantage of the respite, after all, who woudn't?

Padding into the freezing entrance hall, he unbolted the door and threw it open. And stared at the odd people standing at his door. One looked extremely old, with a beard long enough to reach his navel and purple robes that had a pattern of cheerful yellow stars plastered on it. The other was a small child, cradled in the man's arms. His hair was extremely messy and shaggy, standing out from his pale skin. He was clothed in ill-fitting pyjamas.

"Excuse me?" Tokiomi asked, doing his best to keep his composure.

"I'm terribly sorry about waking you at this hour, but I must speak to Tohsaka Keiji," the old man said apologetically.

"My old man? He passed away a couple years ago."

"I see," the old man said softly. "I was wondering if I could persuade him to take in Harry, but that is impossible now, isn't it?"

"The boy?" Tokiomi asked curiously. "You want us to take him in?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude," the old man said regretfully, "but if you are willing, then I thank you and promise that you will be rewarded."

"Reward? You mean money?" Tokiomi asked, his interest officially piqued. The Tohsaka jewelcraft thaumaturgy wasn't exactly cheap and required a great deal of the Tohsaka fortune just to maintain the necessary amounts of the precious stones on hand. He decided it was worth it. "I don't mean to sound greedy or presumptuous, but how much money are you talking about? My…career requires that I dip into my own funds more than I feel safe doing, and frankly, the extra money could help."

The man nodded. "Ah, the Tohsaka jewelcraft thaumaturgy. I see how that could require funds."

Tokiomi was instantly on guard. "You are a magus? Who are you?"

"Oh, I am no magus; rather, I am a wizard. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

The Tohsaka family head frowned, the name striking a chord. "Albus Dumbledore," he said slowly, "the defeater of Gellert Grindlewald?"

"The very same," Dumbledore said, though he seemed a bit saddened. "I must say, I'm surprised you know me. I was under the assumption that most mages very rarely deigned to keep up with the wizarding world."

"My father talked about you," Tokiomi admitted. He suddenly remembered his manners. "Would you like to come in?" he said hastily. "My apologies, I don't normally entertain guests at this hour."

"No, it is I who should apologize," Dumbledore said, entering the mansion. "It is such an early hour, but I'm afraid this matter is of utmost importance.

Tokiomi led him to the parlor and took a seat, gesturing for Dumbledore to sit across from him. "How important is it?"

"I told you that you would be rewarded," Dumbledore began, with the boy still in his arms, "but I have yet to tell you of the dangers. There is a dark lord that would like nothing more than to see young Harry here dead."

Tokiomi steepled his fingers together, his mind firmly on business mode. "How dangerous is this 'dark lord'?" he asked. "How long am I to harbor him, and is there anything special that I should look out for?"

Dumbledore looked grave. "Lord Voldemort is extremely dangerous, even by your standards. It would not surprise me to see him use your magic, and I suspect that he has employed the use of Horcruxes. In addition, he is extremely skilled with dark magic and has a group of followers that has managed to escape incarceration thus far."

Tokiomi nodded absently, but one unfamiliar word had caught his attention. "Horcruxes?" he asked. "Is there anything particularly powerful about it?"

"A horcrux is an object where an individual places a part of his soul," Dumbledore whispered. "I am not sure of the exact procedure, but I do know that it consists of an act of murder in order to split the soul. It is one of the darkest rituals known to our magic."

"He split his soul?" Tokiomi muttered, horrified. To a magus, splitting the soul would be an unforgiveable act. Though it wasn't officially confirmed, he knew the Clock Tower had evidence that the magic circuits truly resided in the soul. To cut those circuits away would be virtual suicide to a mage. Could he honestly take in a target of such a person?

Dumbledore stared at him, and he got the feeling that one more bombshell was to come. "I see that you are conflicted," the old man said softly. "This is the last place where Harry could be truly safe, and so I cannot hold anything back. I understand that you may have already made your decision, but there is one last thing I must tell you."

Tokiomi held his breath as the wizard took something small out of his pocket. When Dumbledore withdrew his wand and unshrunk the basin, his eyeballs grew to the size of dinner plates. However, despite his astonishment, he kept quiet.

"This is a pensieve. It allows wizards to store and view their memories," Dumbledore explained. He placed his wand to his head, muttering something inaudibly to himself. Tokiomi watched with no shortage of amazement as the wand came away with a silvery strand of something on the tip. It was placed in the basin, and seemed to fill the entire space despite its small size.

"Now I am showing you this in the strictest confidence," Dumbledore said firmly. "Even if you decide not to take in Harry, I ask that you not speak a word of this to anyone."

With a soft flick of his wand and some words, a gray, spectral shape coalesced just above the surface of the basin. After a moment, it settled into the shape of a gawky woman with massive bottlecap glasses and some ridiculous-looking robes. She had a distant look in her eyes, and spoke in a deep and raspy voice that belied her skinny frame.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

"What was that?" Tokiomi breathed, staring at the woman in astonishment. There had been an otherworldly feel to those words, as if there was some sort of greater power backing her speech.

"A prophecy." Dumbledore looked grave, his face troubled. "Harry is the subject of this prophecy. I want you to know that there will definitely be things happening around that boy. I came to ask your father because I was a close friend of his. I knew I could ask of him what I am now asking of you, but you have no such guarantees of my character." He stared somberly down at the sleeping child in his arms. "I know you have a family, but still I will ask. Will you take Harry in? Despite the risks and despite the potential dangers to your family?"

Tokiomi thought of his wife. His daughters, Rin and Sakura. He should say no. He knew that the right answer would be no, to protect his family and keep them happy.

But every time he thought of saying no, he saw the completely different magic that Dumbledore used. He imagined the money he would receive and how much easier his life could be knowing he didn't have to ration as much or play it safe all the time. This could be a major advantage in finding Akasha!

"I'll take him," Tokiomi said, having decided on a course of action. "I'll take the boy."