As always I don't own Harry Potter, however, I do own this storyline and the collection its a part of.

Please let me know what you think.

The Burglar of Tokyo.

It was amazing and wonderful what you were able to find in a public library. Safely hidden from the rest of the people in the library he had walked in, Harry Potter was sitting at one of the empty tables with a small pile of books clustered in a neat pile in front of him. He had been in the library for two hours now, studying the books quietly.

In the last two days since he had stolen the gun from those guys in the alleyway where they'd cornered that girl, he had been studying the gun as carefully as he could without letting off a single shot. Okay, that was a white lie; he had fired one single bullet, but that was by accident rather than by design. He had just been examining the damn thing when it suddenly fired. It was his mistake, and it had cost him a bullet; so many people believed it was so easy to use a gun, but until he'd held one for himself and fired one by himself, Harry had believed that as well.

But there was a lot more to using guns than he'd expected; there were little switches, catches on the gun he didn't understand yet, and that was why he was here. The library may not be the best place to study guns, but it was the most logical place for Harry to look for information. In any case, as far as he knew the police didn't know about him and the gun he'd stolen from those thugs. So that meant he was safe to read up on the reference books relating to guns in the public library. As he studied the book's information, Harry was relieved he had a good knowledge of Japanese to understand what was written.

As he read and made mental notes about the weapon he had stolen, Harry turned his mind to the plans he had so far.

The basics of his plans - get enough money and hopefully find a way back to Britain, while looking out for potential alternatives had remained the same - had not changed, but with the gun in his hands he had the means to really get some money and escape from Japan. But at the same time, Harry felt there was an opportunity here to grow as a thief and as a burglar.

At the same time, he felt he needed to address a truth he had been hiding from; the fact he didn't really even need money to escape. It would be straightforward enough for him to go to the city's docks or the airport, and find a way out from there. Okay, he might be on a ship for months or a plane for hours, but he hadn't done it yet because he inwardly wanted to learn how to survive. The only downside was he didn't feel too comfortable living in a place without a predetermined route of escape, a loophole that he knew would always be present. He hadn't had one when he had been living with the Dursleys, forcing him to steal money in order to find decent opportunities for getting out.

Harry had become increasingly more worried as he had lived with the Dursleys, but then again anyone would if they were living with such an unpleasant, evil, and disgusting family like them. He hadn't realised until he had seen that red-painted message on the glass in the house they'd purchased in Tokyo they'd had plans like that for a long time, probably for as long as he had been living with them. It was ironic, really; he had been planning on escaping them and finding a way to do just that, only for them to be ready before he'd had a chance to react.

He didn't want that to happen again.

He wanted to be prepared for everything.

Lifting his head and rubbing his eyes, Harry realised just how badly he hadn't thought through his plans clearly or properly. He knew he would need to come up with precautions when he moved his current hideout again, lookout for new ways of getting out in case something went wrong. It was something he would have to bear in mind for next time.

With that in mind, he would need to find a foolproof way of finding a backdoor, some way of escaping, but the problem was a good amount of his mind that had spent years and years being conditioned by the Dursleys, and their lies about him and he would need to change that. The only good reprieve was the time he spent on the streets, the fights he had gotten into, being forced to think on his feet…. Harry knew he was shaking off the remaining chains his family had used to imprison him, break his will, but he would need to continue changes. He would need to properly move to a place, study it and find out everything he could about the place, and then move in when he was satisfied he had a backdoor in case something went wrong.

And then he had found a place.

It was perfect.

Okay, well maybe not entirely perfect, but it would be good enough for his immediate purposes, and besides he had explored the place, and it seemed empty enough; he was sure it was recently deserted and abandoned, some office-based business that had gone out of work or something like that. Nothing to worry himself about.

Anyway, he had checked it out.

It was in a fairly good neighbourhood, with a large subway interchange hub, allowing him to travel anywhere through the city. He had found a number of backdoors and ways of getting out in case someone discovered him, and he would need to get out in an emergency. He could live there for a time before he looked for another place, and at the same time when he had mastered the use of the gun, committed one or two robberies with it and threatened a few others, Harry had no doubt in his heart his mindset would change until it became second nature. It might take a month, perhaps six months, or even a year until he had reached that moment, but he would reach it. When he returned to Britain he'd hopefully have the mindset he wanted the most; tough, geared for survival, constantly looking for one backdoor after another without requiring excessive resources, being prepared to commit murder without thought or remorse in the long term. The thought of becoming a murderer was a disturbing one, but one Harry knew he would have to accept.

He shook his head and returned to his books, mentally considering every single test he planned to put into place with his gun. It looked straightforward enough, although he would need to find people who could supply him with the precious ammunition for his gun.

Harry made notes on a piece of paper he had gotten hold of with a pen, including diagrams on how to load the gun, how to work the safety catch, and the hammer. But truthfully the notes were meant to be a point of reference in case he forgot some of the essentials. He put down the pen and he looked over the notes. He smiled as he read the English words written on the paper. Only someone fluent in written and spoken English could read them, although truthfully he knew they wouldn't need to be Albert Einstein to know what was on this piece of paper. It didn't really matter. He doubted the gun would take too long to master. The only thing that bothered him about the gun was the fact he would need to find ammunition, but otherwise, it would not be a problem learning how to use the gun.

Still, at the same time, Harry was unsure how the take the notion of using the gun to threaten or harm others. He had never once harmed anyone before, at least not severe enough to kill them. He knew, thanks to those years spent living with the Dursleys, he didn't have the physical strength needed to cause any severe damage; the best he could do would be to use his surroundings, picking up things like bricks or use metal bars like baseball or cricket bats to do the injuring for him. He suspected one of the reasons why the Dursleys had deliberately starved him and neglected to ensure he had proper medications and inoculations was to make him weak so then he would never physically be a threat to them. When he had found himself stranded in Japan, Harry had needed to learn how he was going to survive on his own. He needed to. He was a foreign kid trapped in a foreign country, and although he knew the language and was rapidly getting better with it each day, he was still disadvantaged despite knowing there were gangs of kids out there, but none of them would help him. So he had learnt how to survive on his own.

But he wasn't bothered; in many ways, he had known from the moment he had cooked the plan up to run away from Privet Drive would be difficult, and when he actually got away from the Dursleys and found himself in London there was a good chance he would be left alone.

Harry rubbed his face thoughtfully. He wondered what was happening with the Dursleys at that precise minute. He knew from his studies Tokyo and Britain followed a time difference, so it was likely night on that side of the world, meaning they were asleep or close to going to bed. He didn't really care. All he wanted to know was what was going on with them right now. He knew there was little doubt they had likely moved away from Little Whinging by now. They had gone to a lot of trouble to strand him in Japan, it would be pointless of them to just return to Little Whinging when they knew it would be the first place he turned up. They'd probably laughed about it all the way home.

But when he got back to Britain it would be the last place he would visit. He had already made up his mind. He was going to do much in London as he was now; finding places to live, learning how to become a proper thief so he would never ever find himself in this kind of mess again, making sure he possessed the right skills for surviving on his own, and then he would learn as much as he could. He would visit Little Whinging at some point, although how long that would be, he didn't currently know. If he couldn't find the Dursleys, well he could always confront Marge and if he was good with guns by that point, he would teach her a lesson that she wouldn't have time to remember unless heaven or hell existed, which he doubted.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and he looked down at his research. He had no more reason to be here anymore. He felt he had found out enough about guns, now all he needed was to test the one he had.

Standing up, Harry made sure to shove the piece of paper which his notes on it into his inner pocket and he then took the books he had collected and put them back before he walked out of the library. He paid for a ticket and he headed out all the way to the subway, where he took a train to a different part of the city.

X

He had discovered the building only a few weeks ago, an old deserted office block which had become overshadowed by the other buildings. Harry did not know what had happened to the place, nor did he care. But it was perfect. It was large and deserted, and as long as he kept to a small part of it he had the place to himself although he guessed it would be considered real estate by homeless people sooner or later. Still, as long as they didn't bother him he wouldn't bother them.

As he stood outside for a moment, Harry was reminded of the stories of knights and noble lords who lived in castles; Britain's castles were massive blocks of stone, with battlements providing cover against enemy artillery, whereas the Japanese version had large, ornate palace-like houses. For a boy like Harry, who had been a slave and a prisoner in two houses and treated like rubbish by other people who were lords and ladies of their own little empires where they were king, this building felt like something grander than anything he had seen before. Yeah, it was bordering on dilapidation, but he didn't mind that. For the first time in his life, he had a place he could call his own even though it was temporary.

The building was surrounded by fences, but he was easily able to squeeze through, and he went in through the backway. He went up the flights of stairs to where he had made a small home. It was not much; there was a sleeping bag on the floor, which made for some rough nights. Otherwise, it was very tidy - another sign of the Dursley's conditioning, but truthfully he believed it was a benefit rather than detrimental to his health, and some of the things he had stolen were hidden nearby.

Harry took his gun and he also picked up a few old drink cans. He took them to a basement, knowing it was far underground enough so no-one would hear it.

He placed the cans on the stairs, one on a level higher than the last until he was finally ready. He loaded the gun, took off the safety and went through the other procedures, and he held it in both hands before he slowly lifted it up and took careful aim. He targeted the muzzle until it was centre with one of the more colourful parts of the can. And then he fired.

The gun muzzle exploded.

Harry dropped the gun with a yelp as the sound exploded in his brain. "Ow!" He yelled, whimpering, before he staggered out of the basement, knocking over a few of the cans as he did, and almost tripping up on one or two of them on the way up, but he didn't care. He went to where he had set up shop and he rested against the wall, closing his eyes. As he leaned against the wall, Harry realised he could hear a static humming buzzing sound that was hard for him to shake off.

After a moment he realised the sound would not go away, and then a horrifying thought crept through into Harry's mind. He rushed out of the room and ran up the fire escape stairs to the roof, and he leaned over the wall and listened. He had been in the building for a couple of days now, but the top of the building gave him a tremendous view, especially at night, where the darkness of night meant all of the buildings' lights shone as bright as the stars in the sky above.

But he had always been able to hear everything. The sounds of the streets, the sounds of the cars as they honked their horns, the sounds of planes as they flew overhead, things like that.

But not anymore. Now all he could hear was a terrible buzzing sound in his ears.

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "I'm deaf!" He wailed in despair, thinking of all the people whom the Dursleys termed as abnormal; the Dursleys were prejudiced against people who were of different nationalities, colours, what their languages were, their customs, but most of all and for reasons that utterly escaped reality, they hated disabled people of any kind. As with all things the hateful family came out with, Harry ignored them and felt a kinship with disabled people for that reason. And now he was deaf. A part of Harry's mind, which had long since been seeded there by the Dursleys and grown on their hate, taunted him by calling him a freak.

Harry angrily screamed in defiance and loss.