A/N: Obviously the years are a bit... off to make this work. We'll say it's 2005 and early in Leverage. Instead of being born in 81, Harry would've been born in 04.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Leverage, nor do I stand to profit from writing this story.

The job was simple. Vernon Dursley had in his possession a folder containing doctored documents proving their client's allegations. Lawrence Grunnings, CEO of Grunnings Drills, believed those documents to have been safely destroyed. As far as Hardison could tell, the folder had been an oversight. No one remembered that Dursley had it, and Dursley himself probably didn't know exactly what he had in his possession. The hardest part of the job had been discovering that Dursley had the damn thing. Breaking into a small family home in the middle of the suburbs was child's play; Parker had been extremely offended by Nate's suggestion that the rest of the team tag along "just in case."

The street was strangely dark as Parker slipped out of the ground floor window, file tucked safely into her backpack. She paused, crouching beneath the window as she observed her surroundings. The streetlights had all gone out, she noted, as had all the porch lights. That was odd. She'd never seen that happen before, but it was a useful trick.

"Hardison," she hissed. "Why'd you turn the streetlights off?"

"I didn't," he said, sounding surprised. She could hear him start tapping away at one of his computers. "That's weird," he muttered.

"What's weird," she asked when he failed to elaborate.

"You say the streetlights are out?"

"Yes." Had he not heard her the first time? Maybe these radio things didn't work as well as he thought they did.

"Hey!" He sounded offended. Oops, did she say that out loud?

"Yeah," he harrumphed. "Anyway, it's weird 'cause the lights aren't out, at least not according to the city. They're still registering as on and drawing normal electricity."

"Weird," said Parker, unconsciously echoing Hardison's earlier proclamation. She ignored his grumbled response and crept over to peer around the corner of the house. She immediately dropped lower when she saw the strange people clustered around the Dursleys' front porch.

They appeared to be discussing a basket, and the woman with the funny hat – Parker decided she wanted a funny hat like that – was protesting that the Dursleys were the worst sort of something. Parker was sure she agreed, though she wasn't sure what a 'Muggle' was. The Dursleys reminded her of one of her earliest foster families in the worst way. With that thought in mind, she seriously considered going back and planting explosives.

"Not okay, Parker," said her conscience, which sounded strangely like Eliot. Oh, right. Earpieces.

"But I wanna," she whined, pouting as she watched the three strange people seem to finish their argument. The old guy appeared to have won, as he leaned down to put the basket on the Dursley's front porch. Parker had to duck back around the corner of the house when the big one turned to look in her directions. She stayed there for a minute before the rumble of a motorcycle prompted her to peek around again. The three strangers were gone, leaving the basket on the doorstep.

Curiosity aroused, Parker slipped silently over to the porch and shooed away the tabby cat who was way too interested in the basket.

"It's a baby," said Parker, confused. Who left babies on doorsteps? Other than the Stork, of course.

"Babies don't come from storks," argued Eliot, sounding a bit miffed as always. "I don't always sound miffed," he said, sounding even more miffed. He growled, and Parker smirked.

The baby smirked back, gurgling up at her.

"It's frothing at the mouth," Parker hissed, poking the basket. The baby laughed and squirmed.

"Wait," said Hardison, ignoring Parker's observation, "are you saying that someone actually left a baby on a doorstep?"

"Don't you listen? Yes." Parker rolled her eyes. She watched the baby curiously as she listened to her teammates discuss the situation. It giggled when she made a face at it, so she stuck out her tongue again. It was kind of cute, once you got over the frothing mouth and inability to talk.

Teammates still arguing in her ear, she made her decision. She carefully lifted the baby out of the basket and settled it into her backpack. Checking to make sure it was more or less secure, she zipped up the backpack and slipped her arms through the straps. She stood up smoothly, careful not to jostle around too much. She remembered someone telling her once that babies were fragile.

Ten minutes and six blocks later, she threw open the back doors of the surveillance van where Hardison and Eliot were waiting.

"Gah!" said Hardison.

"Any trouble?" asked Eliot, catching her tossed backpack as Parker scrambled into the van and pulled the doors shut.

"Nope," said Parker, grinning and sitting down next to Hardison. She continued to smile as Eliot unzipped the backpack.

"Jesus Christ, Parker," snapped Eliot, glaring at her as he carefully shifted his grip on the backpack. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" Hardison spun around, curious as always.

"It likes being tossed," Parker informed them, smiling. "And it makes a funny faces when you poke it."

"Wait," Hardison's face took on an incredulous look. "Is that… Parker, did you…"

"Yes," Eliot ground out, carefully removing the wide-eyed infant from the backpack. "She did."

"It followed me home!" Parker chirped on cue. "Can we keep it?"