Jim Moriarty was not a patient man.

He was, in fact, as far from patient as one could really get. He was, however, good at disguising this. (Until it was too late for his victims.)

So when his chauffeur wasn't there to pick him up at exactly midnight from his bingo night, he decided that he would just walk home. It might have been a few hours' walk, but he was so keyed up from the blackout round that it would probably help him settle down for the night.

Of course, none of this would be stopping him from slowly murdering his now ex-chauffeur in front of his family when he found him.

He adopted an easy gait, humming nameless tunes under his breath as he went. His mind was happily planning the torture as he went.

Jim was quite disgusted by his surroundings. The delightfully interesting criminal areas had given way to some sort of hell about two hours previously. They were truly obscene, these suburbs. If only fires didn't take so long to spread widely.

He was wading through the worst street so far –– Privet Drive –– when he heard a sound that didn't belong. The rustle of blankets.

Now, rustling blankets alone were not an out of place sound in the middle of the night, but they were when they were heard out of doors in a place that probably hadn't even heard of homeless people.

His interest piqued, Jim decided to take a brief detour and if the sound wasn't interesting enough, he'd leave a rude message on one of the doorsteps to be blamed on a local child.

He didn't have to go far, only four houses, before he saw it. A moses basket. An occupied moses basket.

Jim took a step closer to the basket and then he saw the baby. It was awake, probably from the cool autumn air, and restless. It looked up at him when he peered into the basket.

"Da?"

It could speak then, so not a newborn. He honestly wasn't sure why he hadn't walked away yet, but something in the little child's expression held him.

It had the most disgruntled look on its little face, quite amusing. He thought it was a boy, but he hadn't been around babies enough to really say.

He looked at the blanket and then saw the letter. It was addressed to Mrs. P. Dursley, Number 4, Privet Drive. He quickly decided to take a quick peek, and opened it while starting to lightly rock the basket with a foot.

The letter was annoyingly brief, with some nonsense about an evil wizards and blood protections. He decided that Mrs. P. Dursley must have a drug addict sibling who couldn't care for the child (Harry) anymore. He looked at the boy again.

Harry looked quite unimpressed by his lacklustre rocking. He stopped, and reached into the basket and picked him up.

Harry was smallish and quite light. Jim didn't know if this was normal or an effect of his drugged parent(s).

"Da? Paf't? Mum?" The childish voice was doing something to him. He wasn't sure, but he thought it might have been some sort of feeling.

Jim didn't often get new feelings. He felt annoyance and anger often, and boredom even more so, but he didn't really feel the others.

This one was new, and he quite liked it. It made him feel good, happiness maybe? It was different from the satisfaction he felt after besting his opponents. It made him want to be around Harry more.

He was seized by a sudden desire to make Harry smile, he thought that it might look cute. And for some reason, the thought of making Harry feel good made him feel good.

Jim wasn't a patient man, but he was a decidedly impulsive one. It was this trait which caused him to place Harry back in the basket, and tuck the letter into the inner pocket of his suit before picking up the basket and walking away from Privet Drive.

When he got to his house, he called Seb and told him to take care of his chauffeur situation and then he called one of his assistants and told him to set up a doctor's appointment and then buy the necessary items for a child of one and a half years. He then marked down July 31st and Harry's birthday on his schedule and made a note to have papers for Harry Moriarty drawn up in the morning. He brought the basket with a now sleeping Harry into his room and set it down next to his bed and soon went to sleep.

The next four years passed in a lovely blur for Jim. He found that having a young charge settled his boredom and stabilized his life. He was now able to have a peaceful life at home, which was good for his health, and stay his fun, crime loving self at work. He no longer had those awful bouts of boredom which had been drawing him closer and closer to killing himself just to escape them.

Harry was kept a complete secret from most of the world. Jim had given the daily control of his empire over to Seb temporarily, until Harry was old enough to come out with him and defend himself.

So Harry's first four years were spent tutoring him in reading and writing and early math. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge, and quickly advanced beyond the intellect of a normal toddler. When his fourth birthday passed, Jim started to teach him physical skills. He was taught to dance, to improve his coordination, and from there he learnt every type of fighting and self-defence that Jim and Uncle Seb could teach him, which was a frightening amount.

Over the following two years, Harry became the most deadly six year old in London. More dangerous than most assassins, Harry was able to read books often saved for high school students, beat up a man three times his size, and fire an entire clip onto a bullseye from 70 yards before the neighbour kids could say "difficulty". He was soon allowed to join Jim at work, and his innocent visage lent a sense of credibility to Jim's acts that they had never had before. Jim fancied that they'd be able to fool Sherlock should they encounter him.

Jim was incredibly pleased with Harry's progress. He often wondered if other children could become as accomplished as Harry with his training, or if he was uniquely brilliant. The last years had brought with them an anomaly. Every so often, when Harry grew frustrated by the stupidity of the populace, strange things would happen.

Once, they had been on a zoo tour (part of Jim's effort to not destroy Harry's childhood too thoroughly) and the tour guide had called what was clearly a Burmese python a "boa constrictor". This had upset Harry, because it was always frustrating when people were stupid, and during Harry's death glares aimed at the guide, the glass on the enclosure had vanished. The python had escaped and Jim could have sworn he heard Harry and the snake hissing at each other before it had woven its way through the feet of the crowds and escaped amongst the screams and shrieks.

Though Jim wasn't sure if it was Harry's doing, he had rewarded him with an ice cream just in case.

Smaller incidents also happened, assistants who brought the wrong brands of breakfast cereals often suffered debilitating illnesses. Harry was always given a treat in these instances. After the seventh replacement assistant, Jim had spoken with Harry about his abilities and they had agreed to try to harness them into a reliable defence. Jim provided test subjects, Seb helped him focus, and Harry slowly learned all he was capable of.

They found that there wasn't much he couldn't do, and that precise actions were easer the more that he practiced.

Harry had killed his first man when he turned five years old, and quickly found that he was very good at assassinations. With his new abilities, he was lethal and untouchable. His kill count rivalled Seb's and Jim couldn't have been prouder.

When Harry turned seven he began to call Jim "Dad". Jim celebrated by buying Harry the new bomb materials he'd been begging for.

The next four years honed Harry's skills still further. Harry and his dad had been worried about what to do next, because he had started reaching the limits of what tutor and trainers could teach him, but he was too young to take a more active role in the Moriarty empire.

So when, just before his eleventh birthday, a letter addressed to Mr. H. Moriarty arrived talking of magic and wizardry, they were almost relieved for the new distraction. They compared the letter to the one found with Harry all those years ago and recognized the Headmaster as the man who'd left a baby outside in the middle of the night with nothing but a blanket as protection.

They decided almost instantly that he would be attending and sent his affirmative response back with an owl that Harry had coaxed into the house with his power (magic!)

They had included a request for a guide or even just a pamphlet, so three days later, a man resembling an overgrown bat arrived.

The man had taken one look at Harry and paled.

"P-Potter… I thought… we thought… we thought you dead" The man had said these words in a rich voice that did not sound at all used to being unsure of itself.

Jim had quickly steered the conversation away from Harry's presence in his custody and more or less ordered him to show them the shopping district. After a well camouflaged interrogation, Jim learned of the events of Halloween 1981, and a bit about the wizarding world.

Mr. Snape still hadn't quite recovered by the time their shopping was completed, but Jim had still been sure to take him aside while Harry was testing wands and ensured that Harry would be looked out for by the overgrown bat.

The following year was disconcerting for Jim. He'd received weekly letters from Harry which told of decapitated trolls and dormitories in the dungeons and being disliked by his entire house until being caught having a conversation with a snake in a portrait. He felt so out of control, and had needed to compensate by starting a game with his favourite nemesis, Sherlock. He kept it going until the scales started tipping against him, then he'd disappeared again.

In the first week of June, a letter arrived from Harry's friend Blaise that caused a bout of rage such as he hadn't felt in years. His son, his only joy, had nearly been killed by Voldemort. It had been thanks to Harry's extensive training that the possessed teacher had been killed before he could hurt Harry. He had brushed off Seb's attempts to call him and made his way to the Leakey Cauldron where he took the floo network to Hogsmeade and then walked in the direction that the barmaid pointed him.

He had known he was getting close when he started feeling the urge to turn around. Then he saw the dilapidated ruins and sped up. He had pushed past the defences until the ruins turned into a glorious castle, but he didn't pause to gaze at it. Instead, he walked in the large doors and asked the first student where the hospital wing was.

His Westwood suit brought many confused looks and a sneer or two, but he brushed past the crowds and found the hospital wing. Sleeping in a bed, looking far smaller than he had any right to, was his son. The nurse looked absolutely bewildered and asked him who he was. He ignored her until she left and then took a seat next to his son and began to wait for his son to wake.

When Harry woke, he would get the story and then kill every person who had contributed to Harry's condition. He would be having words with the Headmaster, overdue words, about a baby on a doorstep, and wild creatures in the school, and possessed teachers. He would show them why his underlings were afraid to even say his name. Then he would take Harry away from this school and give him some ice cream while the two of them decided if he would be attending the following year.

Until Harry woke, however, he would wait.

For his son, he would be patient.