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That July morning in Nineteen Eighty-Four was like any other within the Dursley's household. Vernon Dursley sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper with a plate of eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles, sausages, and bowl ceral before him. Petunia Dursley sat across from her husband, a bowl of ceral with fresh fruit and a woman's magazine before her. Dudley Dursleys sat between his parents with several plates of eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausages, french toast, pork chops, waffles, and jammed toasted before him.

Harry Potter, Age 4, was locked in his cupboard after making all that food, none of which he will get, save the literal crimbles he will have to remove to clean up after the Dursleys' breakfast.

It had been made very clear to the young child that a Dursley Breakfast was only for Dursleys, not him, as he was not a Dursley.

Such had been the routine, for as long as he could remember.

But that was about to change.

The first indications of what laid ahead came from Vernon exclaiming in a overly loud voice, "About bloody time!"

"Vernon," his wife hissed at him for using such language. Her hands were covering Dudley's ears.

Vernon looked sheepish at his wife, but smiled and pointed to the article in the newspaper, "But, Pet, this is important! We can get rid of the freak legally."

Petunia blinked and looked stupidly at her husband. To which he all but shoved the paper at her, stating, "Read!"

There in black and white, it proclaimed the passing of the Magic Girl Control Act in the United Kingdoms just the day before. The article went on how concern citizens could call a special hotline to report any magical occurances or Magic Girls that needed to controlled. The article stated that those that met unlisted specifications could own their very own Magic Girl, or receive compensation in assisting the capture of a Magic Girl.

"But," Petunia began. Whether to point out that male freaks were not included in the Law, or to defend her nephew, even she did not know.

"We can get that freak out of our hair," Vernon stated. 'And it's all legal!" Without delay, Vernon got up and walked to the phone.

Lieutenant John Myr got out of his car, and looked around. He stood six foot even, very fit, and looked dashing in his military uniform. He looked around out of habit, more then anything. With his telepathic abilities, it was a wasted gester, but still a long habit he had developed within the Military.

Once done his initial over-view, he went to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.

A young woman, Magic Girl Second-Class Samantha, took her partner's offered hand and stepped out of the door. As a Magic Girl, Samantha was beautiful, and her uniform emphasised it. The standard Uniform for a Magic Girl was the Japanese Schoolgirl Sera-fuku, which consists of a blouse attached with a sailor-style collar and a pleated skirt. A ribbon, tied in the front and laced through the blouse. It lent a military, yet sexy, look to a Magic Girl. Samantha's outfit was the same white with green trimming as John's.

At a mental command from John, Samantha magically scanned the area and whistled. John looked at her, received the information via their link, grimaced, and quietly motioned for her to stay with the car.

John knocked at the door to Number Four Privet Drive and waited.

John could feel that several of the neighbors were watching, with most of the attention going to his partner, who was standing ready by the car. Of course, she could teleport to his location in an instance so he knew his back was covered. And he know she enjoyed the attention. The popular saying, "Vanity thy name is Magic Girl," ran through his head.

A middle-aged woman answered the door, blinked in surprise at him, and then motioned him in. As he walked into the house, he could feel her eyes on his ass.

As he walked in, John did a surface scan of the woman, and did not like what he saw. A more in-depth scan distrubed him more. Which was saying something. Before he was transfered to SPEAR, John had been a Sergeant in Her Majesty's Special Forces and had been on several Black Ops throughout the World and beyond.

"Where is it?" John demanded impatiently, knowing he had to play his part to make this as quick and painless as possible.

The woman, whom he knew telepathically was Petunia Durley and Aunt of Harry Potter, gave a start and broke out of her fantasies. She nodded her head and lead him to the cupboard under the stairs, but stayed a bi of distance away from it. She pointed and said, "In there."

"Right," John replied. He took his scanner out of its belt holster, turned it on, and recorded Harry Potter's conditions for the Court trial he had envisioned happening once his report was filed. He played a techno-music piece to fill the silence as many a Civilian seem to think such a device should make some kind of noise as it operated.

The noise seem to shake Petunia a bit, enough to allow her to notice the pistol on his hip, and that he was wearing fingerless gloves in the house. John noticed that she had missed the slight bulge underneath the right-hand glove, but then many did.

John selected a new song as he easily slipped into the child's mind to help him sleep and heal. Looking at Petunia, he stated, "Any threat has been neutralized. So if you simply open the cupboard, I'll collect what I came for, and be on my way."

Surpriseddly reluctant, Petunia did so, and John gently removed the child from his abusive family and heads out.

Just before opening the door for John, Petunia stopped him again, and quietly, whispered, "Where could I.... Where should I send any junk that needs to be deposed of to?"

John was surprised that while she was still going to go through sending her very own nephew to the Institute to be processed like some common Magic Girl, she did have some humanity to care a little bit about him. Shifting Harry a bit to free an arm, he easily got out a card out of his pocket, and handled it to hear saying, "Send it here."

With that, he quickly walked to the car, handed the very small boy to Samantha, helped them both into the car, got in himself, and drove off.

It would be another seven years or so before a certain long-bearded, white-hair old meddler discovered what had occurred that day. To which he would be ten years too late.