Title: Foundling (Working title... suggestions would be very welcome indeed.)

Author: Chris Atola

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit and will return them more or less intact when I'm done.

Summary: What if little Harry had squirmed his way out of the blankets and toddled off at the start of the first book? What if he had then been picked up by a passer-by and handed over to the authorities? AU for the first chapter of the Philosopher's Stone. Oneshot, minor OCs.

Notes:I've never actually lived in the UK and wasn't even born yet in 1981, so if you could please point out any mistakes you spot, especially when it comes to the police and social services, I'd be very grateful. All of my information came from the nice people at Slytherin's Collective and Fiction Alley. Thanks!

One-year-old Harry Potter was awakened by a wind-blown leaf to the face. He blinked, startled, and lay there in his blankets for a moment. His blurry eyes roamed the street in front of him, and tried in vain to focus on a calico-coloured blob trotting past Number Four, Privet Drive. The blob let out a plaintive meow as it passed, and little Harry, wanting to pet the pretty kitty, started wiggling out of the blankets.

He followed the cat along the pavement and across two silent streets before the cat tired of being followed and decided to make a run for it. Harry pouted for a moment as he watched the blob disappear into the hedges lining one of the gardens nearby, and was about to start crying when he spotted a shiny object in the distance and to his right. He forgot the cat and decided to investigate the shiny thing, but after crossing three streets and having made it only halfway there he was caught by the twin headlights of a car coming down the road. The car braked to a halt a few metres away and the driver climbed out.

"Hello there, sweetie. What are you doing out here all alone?" Harry blinked at the man with the nice voice and the friendly ice-blue eyes. "What's your name?" When Harry said nothing, the man picked him up and checked the back of his shirt collar for a name tag. "Harry, huh? Well, Harry, let's try and find your Mummy and Daddy, shall we?" Noting the lack of light in the surrounding houses he placed the child in his car in his younger son's car seat, and drove home, a couple of blocks away. He took Harry inside and put him down on a soft rug on the floor before calling the police.

"Good evening, this is Bob Smith of Number Nineteen, Oak Lane, Surrey. I'm calling about a little boy, maybe a year old, whom I found alone in the street..." Lulled by the man's deep voice Harry dropped off to sleep.

Bob smiled softly as he set the phone down and saw Harry sprawled out, fast asleep on the hall rug. He picked up the toddler and made his way into the lounge to wait, quietly sitting down in his favourite armchair with the child in his arms. Little Harry sighed, shifted and slept on.

An hour later there was a soft knock on the front door, and Bob got up to answer it. The door swung open silently to reveal two constables standing on the doorstep.

"Good evening, we received a call about a lost toddler at this address?" asked the older constable.

"Yes, he's right here," Bob answered, indicating the dozing toddler. "Please, come in." He gave them a full account of how and where he found Harry, after which the older constable nodded.

"Thank you. We'll take the child to the station now: thank you for alerting us."

Bob smiled and said, "Just doing the right thing. I hope you find the little one's parents quickly." He escorted the police to the door and locked up after them. He turned around to find his wife Helen standing behind him.

"Bob, what's happened? Why were the police here at this hour?" she asked, giving her husband her best "tell me or else" look. Bob took a slightly nervous step back, wary of his wife's temper, and answered

"It's nothing, dear, just a lost little boy I found on my way home. He's on his way to the police station now." Helen gave him a searching look and finally smiled.

"You and your strays! What am I going to do with you?"

Bob grinned sheepishly and followed his wife to bed.

Harry sat quietly in the car seat and stared at the passing blurs of light in the darkness. In no time his eyelids began to feel heavy again and he soon nodded off. When he next awoke he was once again in the arms of the lady with the flashes (as his toddler mind identified the social worker), and found himself being handed over to a brown-haired woman dressed in soft flannel. He heard the adults talking for a few minutes but fell asleep again in moments, exhausted by a very busy night. He barely stirred when placed in a comfortable cot and covered with a nice warm blanket.

When shown his picture the following morning, no-one – not even the occupants of Number Four, Privet Drive – was able to recognise him, and eventually he was given a permanent placement.

Epilogue

Nearly ten years later, on the morning of July thirty-first, young Harry Jacobs found something unusual in the mail. "Mum!" He called, "Who's Harry Potter?"