For The Greater Good
The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters

Pairings:
This story is not a romance; though throughout the story people get together and people break up, any intimate situations that occur are written as part of the plot or part of the story – not solely to pair characters off.

Rating: NC17

My characters have their own world views and do things they believe they can justify or believe they can get away with, some of which are considered illegal, immoral, or plain evil in the eyes of other characters and real-life people (including me). If you are likely to take offence at this, please don't read this story. On a lighter note, this is not written to be angst or dark-fic. On the other hand, I do intend to bring out some issues in the wizarding world that are glossed over in canon, much to my regret and, sometimes, anger.

I do not like warnings since I consider them spoilery. However, if there are issues that really bother you and you would like to know if this story is safe for you to read, ask me about them in a signed review and I'll sent you an owl back.

Disclaimer: Based on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, anything you recognise from these is hers. Anything you recognise from another fanfic must have somehow slipped into my canon-memory, because the writer was just that good. If I slip, feel free to point it out so I can give credit where it is due. :-)

Author notes, added August 2009:

I write fanfiction to become a better writer. When I posted my first chapters, I was very proud and satisfied with them. Recently, I re-read them and cringed at my writing, which is good, for it must mean I got better. I would like to rewrite the first few posts, but that would take writing time I prefer to put into new chapters. I did correct the worst parts of the prologue and might repost a few other chapters later. The prologue remains in a different style as the rest of the story, directly addressing the reader. Please do not let the writing put you off if you like the plot; it gets better. I promise.

Now onto the important part…

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Prologue: The Deal of a Life

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Mr. Vernon Dursley, director of Grunning's Drills Inc., had had a quite satisfying, normal morning. He had shouted at several of his subordinates and made some firm phone calls. Maybe he had been overdoing it a little bit. Not that he would admit such a thing, but one might have perceived him as being somewhat nervous. He happened to have good reason, I assure you.

Very soon, now, the summer holidays would start. And while he had been looking forward to having his darling Dudders back home, his bright and strong, but only, son, who was growing nicely into a solid, straight young man, he would also have to tolerate his good-for-nothing, freak of a nephew in his house once more. Not only was the ungrateful, insolent boy eating from their table, sleeping in their house, and wearing Dudley's clothes, which would have been bad enough, no, the situation was a million times worse…

His nephew, you see, was not normal. Frankly, the boy was about as far from normal as it was possible to be whilst still being human. Although, the boy's humanity was, in Vernon's view of things, not a certainty at all.

Whenever the boy was around, strange things would happen. Freaky things, things one might have been tempted to call magical, were it not that, as any solid Englishman well knows, there was no such thing as magic.

Truly, there was no such thing as magic. No such thing as children levitating cakes though the house and absolutely no such thing as a school where adults – who should know better – were teaching magic tricks to impressionable children. And this school was absolutely not located in Scotland. There was no such thing as Scotland... Err, okay, maybe Vernon was just a tiny little bit over-apprehensive about the upcoming holidays.

So now you can see Vernon's problem. Here he was, a hard working, good, upright member of the community, loving his wife, his son and his country. Trying to project a happy family life to the community, while having to house this freakish boy who continued to do things which had no right to exist whenever he or his wife had their back turned even for a second.

It was absolutely maddening. Every time he thought he had the boy somewhat under control, something weird would happen and always at the worst possible moment. What should have been Dudley's perfect birthday outing was spoiled by the freak setting loose wild animals at the zoo, on purpose! What would have been his best business deal ever, wrecked because the freak thought it funny to go and throw cakes at their guests. His kind sister Marge, a soul as loyal as a bulldog and just as protective, had nearly been launched into space, only because the boy was not able to face the fact that his parents were just as much good-for-nothings as the boy himself was determined to become. The list of the freak's crimes went on and on.

While the boy was away at that excuse of a school, Vernon was pretty comfortable. But when he was at their home, Vernon lived his days in fear. Fear of returning home one evening only to find his house BLOWN UP, or worse to find that the neighbours had finally got wind of the abnormality they had been desperately been trying to hide. Ever since the boy had been pushed upon them, Petunia in particular feared that that would happen, not that she had ever said anything – not one to whine, his lovely lithe flower. He knew it from the way she peeked out of the window several times an hour, to see if anyone was watching them, from her nosing over the fence, just to make sure no one was listening in.

And now the imbecilic boy had picked a fight with Britain's most dangerous w... wiz... maniac ever! Now he and Petunia lived in fear of danger unimaginable, or worse.

While Vernon was musing over this the umpteenth time this week, his secretary announced his next appointment had arrived.

-o-O-o-

Vernon set himself to display every shred of joviality that he could muster when Mister White was shown into his office. At the same time, he examined the stranger's appearance as best as he could, without being overly obvious.

This new business contact has been directed to him by an old schoolmate from Smeltings, who had confessed he didn't know what the man might be wanting with drills, for this White didn't seem to be involved in the building industry. However, his old Smeltings-fellow was positive the man had too much money for his own good and was aching to spend it. It shouldn't be too difficult to rid him of a nice part of it.

Mr. White walked into Vernon's office clothed in a neat suit that seemed to be Italian and made to fit. The sort of thing Vernon wore in his most ambitious dreams. It was of a rather conservative cut, not to say old fashioned. In Vernon's eyes, Whites appearance screamed 'old money'. His contact had been spot on. White stood too straight, Vernon observed, and the man projected an air of thinking himself better than Vernon. 'Oh yes,' he knew this type. 'Money like water and airs to go with it.'

This suited him just fine. 'Those with too much money for their own good tend to have little idea of the worth of it. So, whatever it is that the man wants, if I kiss up a little this could become a very, very profitable day,' mused Vernon.

Vernon had originally offered to discuss the business over lunch in some expensive restaurant; not that he liked those bills encroaching on his profits, but such invitations were an expected part of business negotiations. Mister White, however, had politely declined this, opting to meet Vernon in his office instead. This was just about perfect, in Vernon's view, for the cost would be minimal and he was now in his own territory, which was always a helpful thing in negotiations.

White gave a firm handshake – good, Vernon didn't like dealing with nancy-boys. It made him feel filthy. Being like that wasn't normal; experts – at least the level-headed ones who dared to be politically incorrect - said it was an illness and Vernon was afraid that he would get infected and become some kind of sissy himself. The virus, or whatever it was that was causing it, seemed especially endemic in upper-class circles. Well, it prevented all the money to be spread amongst to many heirs, Vernon guessed.

They sat themselves in Vernon's comfortable leather chairs while his secretary served them coffee. Vernon started with some chit-chat about sports, his usual introduction to business conversation, but White stated he preferred to get down to business directly. A client to Vernon's hearth.

"Mister Dursley..."

"Oh, do call me Vernon, I have the feeling we are old friends already..."

"Vernon, if you wish." Something about the way White said his name, made Vernon feel they were, truly, old friends already, even while White refrained from telling Vernon his own given name.

'Ah, a pity,' Vernon thought, 'Well, it shouldn't be too easy.' He was positive he could win White's trust.

"I'd like to be frank with you, for beating about the bush is not going to aid in our understanding of each other's wishes."

Vernon nodded his approval, waiting for Mr White to continue.

"I am aware that Grunnings is the best drill producing company in Britain, and therefore in the whole word..."

This evoked an almost genuine smile from Vernon.

"...however my business does not concern drills."

Vernon was disappointed, almost to the point of losing his jovial negotiating poker-face.
But just as he opened his mouth to respond, White continued, "I see that I confuse you. I am very sorry for all the subterfuge, but in a moment you will understand the necessity. Before I get to the actual topic I wish to discuss with you, I need to verify that we are not overheard. The topic is very sensitive and not even your secretary should know."

Vernon was getting impatient at this; no drills, no business; he was wasting his time. Suppressing his feelings, he forced himself the stay polite and said, "Perhaps you could state your area of business; as it isn't drills, I am probably not the one you ought to be talking with. However, I might be able do direct you to someone who can deliver what you need."

Even if he wasn't going to get a contract out of this himself, he might still be able to help one of the old boys from Smeltings; such ties needed to be fed every now and then, anyway.

"I do understand your position in this; however, I can only reveal that it concerns a matter of national security."

Vernon blinked. "National security?"

"I haven't done…" Vernon trailed off. 'Oh shit, the freak has done something and now we are in trouble with the secret service.'

"Vernon, rest assured you are not under any suspicion. To the contrary, the country needs your help."

This got Vernon's interest. "I'd be most honoured to help; however, if it doesn't concern drills..."

"Is the room secure?" White interrupted.

"A second." Vernon pulled out the cord to his intercom, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Now it is. My secretary cannot hear us. Please, state your business."

"Ah, well, my sincere excuses would I be wrong and that the subject might be considered slightly embarrassing. According to my sources, you have charge of a, shall we say, rather strange child."

'Shit, this is about Harry! What to say...how to respond?'

"And if I would say that I have?" Vernon finally replied, proud he managed to stay collected and able to respond in a calm voice.

"You are alarmed. You need not be; I do not blame you for this strangeness. Are you attached to the child?"

Vernon grumbled, "He's my wife's sister's son, his parents got themselves killed with one of their weird antics. We took him in – could not send him for adoption, getting some poor, unsuspecting soul saddled with him."

"Ah, not attached." White sounded very pleased at Vernon's words. "That makes our business a good deal easier.

"As you no doubt guessed from my earlier statement, I am concerned with this country's security and defence. An intelligent man like yourself will also realise that children like your nephew are born not only in Britain." White stopped here for some moments to leave his words time to sink in. When a widening of Vernon's eyes signalled that Vernon realised where he was headed, White continued, "However much we might not like the strangeness that these children are representing, we simply cannot overlook the fact that other countries are willing to put up with it for their own use. Subsequently, we have to do so, too."

Following this, White spoke for nearly ten minutes non-stop. About magical attacks and espionage, all the nasty things that other counties would try to launch at Britain, should Britain be unprepared. About the very secret department, MI13, that was charged with countering this. He spoke about finding children like Harry to train them and make them useful.

Vernon listened and found he agreed with every word. He could not understand that he had never thought of it himself and was very happy to learn that the government did in fact know about those freaks and was doing whatever it took to protect normal society from their weirdness.

"So, you wish to train my nephew, so his talent can become useful for the protection of our country?"

Mr. White smiled in acknowledgement of Vernon's conclusion.

"What if such a child doesn't understand his duty to England?"

"Ah, yes. That happens. In time they see the error of their ways, until then... Sometimes we might have to be a bit...harsh, more so than one would with normal children. It's a pity," White answered, sounding like he had no memory of ever feeling pity for anyone. "You will understand, for you are a man of the world, that in my line of business, one simply cannot allow anything but strict discipline."

Vernon smiled from ear to ear. "I am afraid the boy needs a lot of discipline."

"The older ones usually do; it's easier when we find them young," answered White in his emotionless voice.

Taking Vernon's silence as an indication that he had no more questions, White decided to move on to the more formal part of his business. While drawing some documents out of his business suitcase, he told Vernon, "Due to the unusual traitsof the children involved, there are some adaptations needed in the legal proceedings."

Vernon silently raised his eyebrows, to say 'go ahead, explain!'

"You will need to relocate your parental responsibility of the child in question to me. A normal contract will not be sufficient. The boy needs to be bound by more then that can provide for."

Vernon made a face at this reference to his nephew's freakishness, but nodded for White to continue. 'Of course I would get myself involved in weirdness, seeing what we are dealing with. Freaks have no respect for proper normal agreements.' Vernon smirked. 'The arrogant boy had made the rod to beat his own back; he will learn to hate the magic he loves so much once it is used to keep him in check.' Vernon was truly happy the government officials dealing with this make such a thorough job of it. A pity he would not be able to witness the men in MI13 'teaching' the freakish boy his proper place in the world.

"We work with reinforced paper. It will seem oddly thick, but it needs to be strong enough to bear the special ink. The ink is specially made so the contract will be binding, even for such people as your nephew. "

Vernon took a moment to inspect the weird thick yellowish paper White handed him, and tried to read the text on it. He blinked and looked again, but the writing stayed the same. 'Greek?'

"Why not proper English? You are English are you? Not some oriental fake? Are you stealing our resources?" Vernon roared, believing White was trying to deceive him.

When he answered, White's voice somehow had a distinctly calming quality. "I laud your patriotism, Vernon. But rest assured, I am as English as one can get. Related to our dear Queen, even, although that would be several centuries back."

"Related to the Queen, really? Petunia and I should look into our ancestors. Who knows what we will turn up?" Vernon murmured pacified.

He missed the diabolic grin that flashed over White's face.

In a louder voice, Vernon added, "But still, why Greek?"

"I would prefer things to be different, myself; unfortunately, the Greek is a necessity. The ancient Greeks first developed this type of bonding."

Vernon grumbled thinking to himself, 'Involving myself in foreign weirdness. Just my luck.'

White took a deep breath. "The matter of signing is also a bit strange; there is this special dip pen, which contains no ink. This will be used to severe the bond the boy has with your family, through his mother and your wife. As he is related to your wife, she is the one who should sign".

Vernon frowned, while examining the pen White handed him. "How can she sign anything without ink?"

"The pen will use her blood," White stated blandly.

"HER BLOOD, ARE YOU MENTAL?"

"I understand your shock and adversity. Please, do remember just what we are dealing with. Normal ink would not work."

While Vernon remained still at this explanation, he sat shaking with anger. Or maybe it was fear.

"I will not sugar-coat the harsh reality. It will be very uncomfortable. The pen will slice open the back of her hand while she writes with it. But I guaranty her hand will be healed again in seconds, not leaving a scratch."

Vernon's face had become an unsettling shade of purple and he seemed about to throw White out off his office.

White added hastily, "Taking in this child must not only have caused you a lot of grief and worry, it must also be taxing on your finances."

Thus, he managed to direct Vernon's anger away from himself to the item on the agenda again. He even underscored his words with a sort of wave with his hand as if unconsciously conducting Vernon's thoughts elsewhere. The effect was instantaneous. Vernon launched into a rant on all the misfortunes that the boy has caused them through the years, and how that and the upkeep for the good-for-nothing freak has cost them their dream of owning a vacation house in Majorca.

White knew how to recognise an opening, especially if it was presented so greedily. "For those whom I am representing, the child is good for something. So of course we will be happy to compensate you for your expenses."

White paused here, waiting until he was certain he had Vernon's undivided attention. To add to the sphere of drama he even lowered his voice a bit. "Let's say, as soon as I have the contract back, signed by your dear wife, I'll set out, personally, to find your family the perfect vacation house on Majorca. How does that sound to you?"

Vernon's mouth dropped open, resting on his chins. He had hoped the man would catch his hint, but this offer was far beyond what he had believed he could wring out of this. "Vacation bungalow? In Majorca? With six rooms and a swimming pool in the garden and – and – everything?"

White nodded."Nothing less than your family deserves".

"Where do I send this?" Vernon responded eagerly, while he waved vigorously with the contract.

White smiled, handing Vernon his business card.

"I'll be in contact about the details. So good doing business with you."

After White had left, Vernon continued grinning like mad for a full hour. He even forgot to yell at anyone for the rest of the day.

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