Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl or Harry Potter. They belong to Eoin Colfer and J.K Rowling respectively.


Chapter 1 - The Beginning

It was yet another typical morning in downtown London - amidst a torrential downpour, suits rushed out of the taxis and the Underground, scrambling towards their offices. An alien looking on the scene from above could be forgiven for believing that Earth was full of ants rushing to their hills. Of course, both the suits and the alien would also miss the tiny figure bobbing and weaving its way through the morass, snatching a wallet here and there.

Our enterprising pickpocket was a small, wiry 8-year old with black hair and distinctive green eyes. He studiously kept his head down, and his eyes keenly sought out bulging pockets, which generally contained wallets or smartphones,and wristwatches - items that could be easily pawned for food. Of course, if one were to take a closer look, she would notice that all of these items disappeared into a small knapsack, which logically shouldn't have been able to hold so much stuff. Then again, she would also notice that in some cases, the targeted items would almost magically appear in the boy's hands even if he had actually been several meters away from them.

Eventually, our little thief ducked into an alley and briskly marched away from the crowd. He paused upon reaching a heavily rusted door and glared it at intensely until it opened with a resounding "click." Again, one could observe the impossibility of unlocking a door without even touching it, but after her previous observations, this is a moot point.

For our thief had always been a special little boy. He had access to a strange set of abilities that perfectly suited his lifestyle - the ability to fade away to his hideout whenever he was on the verge of being captured, the ability to summon objects from his targets, the ability to make items larger and deeper internally. His hideout itself, an abandoned public works project that the government had never gotten around to demolishing, was significantly larger inside than it would seem possible (a feat that had knocked out our thief for a week).

But our thief hadn't always been so skilled at applying his abilities, hadn't always been a self-sufficient street urchin in London. Once he, like the gray suits that he'd robbed, had lived in the suburbs, among cookie-cutter houses and well-watered lawns. However, unlike the gray suits, he had only seen the dark side of the suburbs - the bullies that beat the weak into submission, the relatives who stuck people into cupboards and used them as slaves, the neighbors and school-teachers who blatantly blinded themselves to the abuse that was occurring under their noses. He had learned from a young age to beg and steal to survive, for he sure wasn't going to get any help.

Eventually, after a particularly vicious beating from his uncle, our thief made a decision - he would run away to London. He was practically sneaking food out of the trash and stealing candy from the kids as it was. At least in London, he could steal more valuable items and leverage them for better food. He was already taking care of himself; at least in London, he wouldn't be nearly beaten to death everyday and could sleep with the stars above him.

So, at age 6, our thief - a certain Mr. Harry Potter - ran to London and to freedom. And there begins our tale.