After Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and he was told he must compete or lose his magic, (and fought his way out of the ridiculous celebration in the Gryffindor common room and found out that even his best friend - his first friend - didn’t believe him), Harry pulled the curtains on his bed, rolled himself tightly into his blankets and thought.
Why should he stay?
His life before Hogwarts had been bad, true, but, unlike Hogwarts, not repeatedly life-threateningly bad.1 (The summer he’d just spent had been by far the worst he’d been treated, and that, he was sure, was because he knew he had magic and was learning to use it. If he lost his magic, he’d be the normal child his Aunt and Uncle insisted was what he should have been. Maybe they’d take him back? Maybe it would be no worse than before Hogwarts. Maybe he could pay rent as well as do chores to earn his keep?
… wait, he could pay rent. He had money. Maybe he could just not go back to the Durleys and pay rent somewhere else that wouldn’t work him to exhaustion while half-starving him. Would a kid be able to rent his own place?
… Maybe Sirius would let Harry run away to wherever he was hiding with him? The brightly colored birds he’d sent with letters implied he was far away from England and its insanity. (Would Sirius still care for him if he lost his magic?)
The next morning, he talked to Hermione - who, thank goodness, believed him and wanted to help - about just leaving. They spent an hour in the library, ostensibly doing homework, and brainstormed possible options. Harry really didn’t want to compete, but he didn’t know if he could access his vault if he lost his magic. But Hermione wasn’t at risk for losing hers and had agreed to be a last resort liaison, if he could give the goblins permission for her to transfer money for him. She also knew how to manage in the muggle world, and would have no trouble arranging to meet him if he couldn’t be a wizard. He wouldn’t lose her as a friend. (and that was such a relief)
They each sent off a few letters,2 and Harry began planning his escape.
The atmosphere in the castle was tense and oppressive. Harry hated it. Things had only gotten worse in the two and a half weeks since the stupid goblet had spat out his name.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer. Dobby had gotten a job in the Hogwarts kitchens, and was very willing to oblige ‘The Great Harry Potter Sir’ by making it so his school trunk could be shrunk on command and stored in Harry’s school bag - Harry had used the excuse of others getting into it and messing with his stuff. Harry had then started simply taking all his things with him everywhere. Aside from some dirty looks and snide comments from *certain roommates/ former friends*, no one had made a big deal about it. No one would pay attention to his trunk not being by his bed and his books not being on the bedside table.
And tonight, he’d be taking them all with him.
Donning his invisibility cloak, Harry made his way out to the Quidditch pitch, using the Marauder’s Map to avoid everyone. He retrieved his broom (and it was only the near sacred nature of Quidditch that kept people from messing with his broom, he was sure) and flew up as high as he could without getting short of breath. He and Hermione hadn’t been able to find out much about Wards, but the fact the Dementors had managed to get over them to attack the Quidditch game the previous year implied that they didn’t block *up*. So up he went, before heading cautiously toward Hogsmeade. (Cautiously, so as not to break his nose - or his broom - if he did run into a Ward wall. Once he could see the village directly below him, Harry let out a sigh of relief - Hogwarts’ Wards definitely didn’t extend this far - and turned south, pushing his Firebolt to its top speed. He stopped to rest in a copse of trees sometime later, wrapping his winter cloak securely around him and burrowing his way into a patch of underbrush with his bag and his broom and taking a nap under the invisibility cloak.
The sun showed it was well into morning when he awoke, and he listened carefully for any hint of what (or maybe who) might be nearby. Aside from a few chirping birds and droning insects, there was nothing he could sense. Moving slowly and as quietly as he could in the accumulation of fallen leaves, Harry worked his way out of the bushes, pausing frequently to listen and readjust the invisibility cloak to cover him.
Still nothing. It was possible that his absence hadn’t really been noticed, yet, as he’d been skipping the worst of his classes (Potions and Divination, mostly) and avoiding being out in public areas as much as possible (and he thanked the twins’ kindness in giving him the Map with its extensive knowledge of secret passages for that). After stuffing his heavy winter cloak back into his bag, he used the Point Me charm Hermione had found to orient himself to King’s Cross Station, and mounted his broom. It was a bit riskier, flying in broad daylight, even with the invisibility cloak, but Harry was careful to wrap it around himself and the broom so he wouldn’t be spotted if someone looked up. (The tiny bit of the handle and twigs that didn’t quite fit entirely in the cocoon he’d made would probably escape notice, and definitely wouldn’t catch attention like a person would.)
Harry’s stomach was grumbling and his muscles were sore by the time he made it to London. He landed on the roof of the Station, careful to avoid the skylights and roof access points, and promptly collapsed in the shadows of the … humming whatever it was he was hiding behind. He loved flying, but hadn’t quite realized how tiring it could be. Flying meant he could take a direct line instead of the roundabout meandering of the train, but it was still several hours’ flight and he was exhausted, even with the break he’d taken to relieve himself and take a short nap under an old dry bridge.
After carefully checking his surroundings to make sure there were no windows that could overlook his position and no one around, Harry carefully pulled out his trunk and unshrunk it. The winter cloak went in and the small packet of food he’d been saving up from meals came out. The sunlight filtering weakly through a thin layer of clouds had warmed the rooftop enough to be comfortable and, for the first time in several days, Harry enjoyed his meal in peace.
He rested a while before finding an empty alley nearby to land in, then found a public pay phone to call Hermione’s parents to find out what train to take. They’d agreed to let him stay a few days and help him get a few things set up in the muggle world, but Hermione hadn’t wanted any hint of his plan in writing within the castle where someone might find it (they’d learned that lesson in first year with Malfoy and the dragon).
Sirius had told him Gringotts had branches in other countries, and that they had connections to muggle banks (because money was money and muggle-born’s parents needed to be able to pay school fees and convert pounds to galleons for school shopping, and the goblins didn’t much care one way or the other for wixen, regardless of how many generations had had magic). Harry could access his vault internationally (for a fee, of course) after meeting Sirius in Monaco, so that was no longer a concern. At least for the moment. If he did lose his magic… well, he’d ask the goblins about the whole shady deal when he went to Gringotts. (He was pretty nervous about navigating an airport by himself and riding a plane for the first time, ever, despite Hermione’s repeated assurances it wasn’t really that bad and her step-by-step recitation of every time she’d flown with her parents and what to look out for.)
The date of the First Task came. Sirius, the probably-kind-of-trustworthy back alley lawyer he’d managed to contract, and the goblins had all had Harry swear on his magic that he’d had nothing to do with his name coming out of the goblet. (Apparently, since it was a magical contract and it was his magic he was at risk of losing, swearing on his magic was a pretty important key detail.) He tried not to think of it too much and followed the schedule he’d set in the past week with Sirius (meaning getting to sleep in, have breakfast, listen to Sirius tell increasingly questionable stories and jokes (and sometimes call him ‘James’, but oh, well), and half-heartedly read through his textbooks, just in case he didn’t lose his magic. (Hermione had made him promise to keep studying until he knew.))
In the middle of (not really) reading about the importance of rolling and lightly bruising sweet pea leaves before slicing them ‘thread-thin’ for a flatulence-relieving potion, he felt a strange twisting and tugging in his gut that left him vaguely nauseated, before a sharp pain exploded through his chest and head and he blacked out.
Harry groggily swam up through the thick tar in his head toward consciousness. Something was different. Something was missing…
Crap!
A bolt of agony tore through him and he groaned in pain when the headache he hadn’t noticed intensified.
“Pup?”
Sirius. Sirius was nearby.
“Harry?” A warm hand landed on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
All of a sudden, the full weight of terror over what might happen to him without magic hit. Would Sirius be willing to help him, still? Would he be kicked out, forced to make it on his own in an unfamiliar land?
“Hush, Pup. I’m here, and I’m not leaving. You… you collapsed, and your head is still bleeding.3 I don’t think you hit it all that hard, though, since there doesn’t seem to be a goose egg… I can’t give you a pain potion until we know the situation with your magic, though. Muggles can’t take potions. If you’re even just a Squib, though, you can.”
Sirius nudged something into his hand and he closed his fingers around it reflexively.
Warmth.
Safety.
*Home*
Sirius yelped and patted out the minute flames that sprouted on his sleeves from the wand-sparks. “Oh, good. Drink this.”
The pain ebbed and Harry slipped back into the welcoming darkness.
He woke to find five owls perched on the footboard of his bed. Staring at him. (Only one seemed to be *glaring*.) Even without his glasses, he could feel the weight of their eyes. A white blur fluttered through the door and Hedwig landed neatly on his chest, cocking her head from one side to the other as she studied him.
A chuckle announced his Godfather's presence. “So… is your boy in good enough health to eat something, Hedwig?”
She prekked, bobbing her head. Harry reached out to gently stroke her breast feathers.
“Thanks, Hedwig.”
Sirius barked a laugh and handed him a small cup of broth to sip. “So… these others have obviously been instructed to wait for a reply. You want to read your private correspondence, or does your head still hurt? I’ll read them out to you if you’d prefer.” Somehow, Harry was sure Sirius meant something as a joke in that offer, but couldn’t figure out what it could be.
“Sure. My head doesn’t hurt much, but the rest of me does and I don’t feel like sitting up.”
Sirius paused. “Not worried I might read something private?” (Why did he sound so... skeptical?)
Harry shook his head gently. “Doubt there’s anything there you don’t already know. Probably just getting yelled at for disappearing and risking my magic. You can skip those parts. Or just summarize them. I don’t need to hear them.”
Sirius took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Okay… first letter is from … Gred and Forge?
Hey, Harrikins! We finally got Granger to tell us a few things after the utter chaos of the First Task…
... and we should finally get Bagman to cough up the gold he owes us by adding our claims to the general suit the goblins are pressing. Having Wizarding victims of his debts and defaults makes it easier for the goblins to push it through since the Ministry doesn’t actually care about the goblins.
Hope you're in fine fettle!
F&GW
The First Task had been dragons and several people had collapsed or gone into convulsions or just screamed in pain when Harry hadn’t shown up for the Task at all.4
Hermione gave him details about who had done each of those things respectively and what rumors were flying about why. (Interestingly, Professor Moody had been one of them... and hadn't been Professor/ ex-Auror Moody at all...)
Ron didn’t apologize for any of the mean things he’d said or done, though the dragons convinced him that maybe, just maybe, Harry hadn’t been lying about not even wanting to enter. He barely mentioned the aftermath, but spent a whole paragraph on Krum's performance and wrote as though there had never been any harsh words in the first place and he was certain of his continued place as Harry's Best Mate. (Harry was no longer quite so sure.)
Dumbledore was gravely disappointed in him. Whether for leaving, or for just not consulting him before leaving was difficult to determine, but - as with Ron - there was no apology. Not for insisting Harry had absolutely no recourse but to compete (funny how easily three other sources had found a simple solution to what the old man had declared an insurmountable problem), and not for doing nothing about the cruel and pervasive rumors that had flooded the school. He also gently chided Harry for being reckless and confidently assured Harry that Hogwarts was the safest possible place for him (ha!) and clearly expected Harry to show up for classes the next day and be properly contrite for causing such an inconvenience for everyone.
Professor McGonagal at least bothered to express concern for his well being, though she chiefly echoed Dumbledore’s sentiments. She’d also apologized… if ‘I am sorry you did not think you could come to me for advice’ could be counted as a genuine apology.
(Absolutely nothing was said about how she’d not believed him, nor attempted to curb the sneers and insults he’d gotten from all quarters, though. According to Gred, even Malfoy’s buttons being worn in her class had only earned an admonition to not be disruptive in the classroom. (Fewer of the buttons were seen after the Task and his willingness to risk losing his magic cited as confirmation of his innocence.))