escape velocity
n.

The minimum velocity that a body must attain to escape a gravitational field completely.

It is a fortress, a sanctuary, and a super exclusive world-class resort all in one. There are three rules on this island.

1. Do not, under any circumstances, bother Harry Potter about his past.

2. Do not start trouble with other guests. If you do, you will be ejected and never permitted to return.

3. Magic is prohibited except for the owner Harry Potter and his staff.

No one dares disobey these rules, for the most powerful wizard in the world enforces them zealously. He doesn't care who comes to his island, or why, as long as they pay, and don't stir up trouble. It is a place to run away from the magical world, no matter who you are. Guests have included just about any type of wizard or witch, Death Eaters, the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, foreign diplomats, and close personal friends of Harry Potter. The island is heavily warded, but only 5 people aside from Harry are permitted wands. These peoples' identities are unknown. The only thing known about these witches and wizards is that they are very powerful and dedicated guards. They wear a simple mask to cover their face, and they wouldn't hesitate an instant to take a curse for Harry Potter, or to forcefully eject any guest that stirs up trouble.

The island's location is completely unknown; the only way to get there is via port key made by Harry Potter himself. It is somewhere tropical. The island is the shape of a crescent moon, about 1000 yards from point to point, with the inner edge one continuous white sand beach. The beach slopes up, turning to beautifully manicured lawns and grounds. The outer edge is a rocky cliff about 20 feet high, which excellent snorkeling in the coral reefs bellow. Towards the northern tip of the island lies a beautiful 3-story stucco building. It is simple in appearance both inside and out. An Olympic sized swimming pool is at the center of the island, along with several large Jacuzzis. A large dock, restaurant, and rental center lies at the southern tip of the island.

People dot the beach at random intervals. I will never let it get crowded; the waiting list to visit is enormous. Spray flies from the tip of the small Lazer sailboat, misting my face. Smiling, I hike out farther, and turn the rudder slightly to port. This is the closest thing to flying I can do here. Giving a shout of joy as the boat picks up more speed, I'm leaning back as far as I can, but the boat has almost capsized, and it finally does. I laugh as I'm dumped over the back of the boat and into the clear turquoise sea. The boat is on its side, kept from turning completely over by a section of foam affixed to the tip of the mast; the dagger board sticks from the bottom of the boat out into air. Gripping the dagger board, I lean on it, and heave myself up on it, tipping the boat back over; I climb in as it rights itself. Rarely have I been so happy.

As usual, it was not expected to last. I can see one of my guards in the distance, sailing briskly towards me. I turn the boat into the wind, and wait, the sail flaps in the wind.

The other Lazer approaches and the sailor releases the main sheet, and steers into the wind next to me. It is Sarah. Or that is what she wishes to be called. A shiny silver mask obscures her face. She's wearing a simple black bikini, a wand holster strapped to her right thigh. She's an odd one, the newest of my guards. I've never seen her face, unlike the other guards. They're all here, running from something, their past, just like me.

"Sir, Hermione and Ron Weasley have requested admittance to the island. I thought you might like to know immediately," always so formal, I wonder what could have possibly happened to her to make her so cold. I can still laugh and smile, despite what has happened to me, could her experiences possibly be worse?

"Thanks," my thoughts return to Hermione and Ron, why the hell are they here? To rub it in my face? This was one of the things I'm running from, why were they chasing me? Hermione had been my girlfriend for the entirety of our seventh year at Hogwarts, until I left to face Voldemort. Presumed dead, not 1 month after I left, she started with Ron. Would I have been mad if she had waited 6 months? A year? No way to know, but 1 month seems a ridiculously short amount of time. When I returned it was both a joyous and devastating occasion. The friendship was ripped to shreds, and I ran. I ran away from the press, away from Hogwarts, away from my closest friends.

"Should I send them away Sir?"

"No, I'll see them, it must be important; I'll meet them in my office."

After carefully putting the Lazer away, I wander back up the beach, greeting guests and making small talk as I go. The hotel itself was very open due to the fair weather. A cool breeze blows through the lobby, rustling the potted palm trees. Several guests sit on the wicker furniture, sipping drinks and chatting. I make my way past them, around the check-in counter, and into my office. My two friends are sitting in the chairs across from my desk, but I'm hardly looking at them, instead I'm looking at the squirming baby in Hermione's arms. I collapse into my chair, staring at the baby boy. Unmistakable, glaring for the entire world to see, a lightning bolt shaped scar is on his forehead, messy black hair on his head.

"Harry," her voice is quiet; I'm not looking at her.

"Mine?" I already know the answer.

"Yes," possible of course, as I must have seen her only a few weeks into her pregnancy before I ran away. The scar and hair cement it though.

"Merlin, what a mess," I choke back a sob, "Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just stay away?"

"Think about it mate," Ron sits forward, I can't meet his eyes, "He's clearly yours, it's not as if we could hide that from the world, we're stumped as to what to do. Hermione and I love each other very much. We thought you were dead."

"And you waited what? All of a few weeks after my death?" Hermione withers under my glare.

"H-Harry, it was such a void… they told me you must be dead, what do we do? I love Ron, but I still love you," the baby began to cry too.

"I don't love you as anything more than a friend anymore," I stop to collect myself, "You and Ron will raise the child as your own. When he is old enough to understand you will explain it to him," and I thought I'd never experience anything more painful that a Cruciatus curse, or Bellatrix slicing me up with knives, "Please leave."

Ron looks very relieved, but Hermione is a sobbing mess now. She's blathering something but I can't hear her through my own throbbing head and tears. They leave and shut the door. I just sit there. I have no idea how much time has passed, but it's dark outside. The door opens and Sarah enters. She sits down in the chair across from me.

"Sir, can I ask you a personal question?"

"No,"

"What if I trade you a question for a question Sir?

I think about that, I am curious as to her past, but that makes me such a hypocrite. This island is a place to run from your past, yet she wants to know about mine I presume, and I'm curious as to hers.

"Ok," I say hesistantly.

"What was 'the power The Dark Lord knows not'?"

"I don't know, it could have been any number of things. I can think of many times in that fight where I used tactics and powers he didn't. It's never really bothered me, why do you ask?"

"Because it's the one thing about your history with Voldemort that has never been revealed. That was your one question," I swear softly, I didn't mean to use my question on that, I wanted to ask her what she's running from.

"Trade again?"

"OK," she says.

"What are you running from?"

"Myself, the magical world. Do you still love Hermione?" Ouch.

"Yes, but this is the solution that causes the least pain overall," I struggle to maintain my emotions.

"You always chose the best for your friends even though it causes maximum pain and suffering to you, why?"

"You used your question already, are we starting a new trade? And do you want a drink?" I pull a bottle of Firewhiskey from a desk drawer.

"Yes, and yes, that's two questions, so now I get two," She smirks, I'm not doing so well at this game.

"How did you get those scars on your chest and back?"

I sigh; she sure is picking the tough ones, I down a shot of the Firewhiskey, "Bellatrix Black was interrogating me before my confrontation with Voldemort," never before has anyone had the nerve to ask me how I received the large scars that criss-cross my chest and back like two huge X's.

"How can you let her be a guest here after she did that?" was that a flicker of emotion I saw? Surprise? Fear? Confusion?

"I punished her beyond what any other person could have endured. I'm surprised she's still alive today. I broke her both physically and mentally. Despite what the Aurors and MLE think, she's totally reformed, but that doesn't stop her from running away from them. They'd execute her on site after all. For 11 months a year she runs from them and she obviously has never been caught. The remainder of every month she rests here where they can't get her," It's so damn hard to see if she's expressing any emotion with that mask on.

"What do you look like with your mask off?

She stands up, her blue-grey eyes full of emotion now, and knocks over her glass of Firewhiskey in her haste.

"Wait!" she's out the door and around the corner quicker than me, I'm a bit light headed from drinking a few shots and I stumble knocking my chair over. I jog after her.

"Which way?" I ask Alex, the man at the check in desk. He points towards the beach bellow the hotel.

Tiki torches line the beach at random intervals, making small halos of orange light on the surrounding sand. The beach is mostly empty. Most of the night swimmers are on the other side of the cliffs, night diving and fishing. I can see Sarah running down the beach away from me, so I take off after her. She is increasing the distance between us, clearly a faster runner, and I haven't yet totally recovered from my collapsed lung. I kneel down, steady my breathing, and draw Voldemort's wand, aim, and fire a stunner at her. The distance is great, and she's moving, but I've got some experience in such matters, she drops to the sand. I approach slowly, she's not going to be happy about me stunning her, but I'm not letting her run after dropping a bomb like that on me.

I get within 10 feet and she flips up to her feet, she dives sideways, drawing her wand from its thigh holster, she gets two stunners off at me before she hits the ground. I quickly conjure two shields and hold my ground. She rolls to her feet, wet sand coating her arm and her ringlets of black hair.

She's the only one that was able to disarm me in the interview, although that was once out of 3 duels. In a 1 on 1 duel I like to hold my ground and block everything they throw at me until I'm close enough to drop my shields and unleash an overwhelming amount and variety of spells. She backtracks, putting distance between us, and fires borderline dark magic spells at me. I fire and explosive curse at the sand in front of her, sending a huge plume of sand into the air, she covers her face to stop it from getting in her eyes. I'm there instantly. I slap the wand from her hand and it flies into the dark. She's definitely not done; I barely dodge a kick aimed at my face. She clearly knows some kind of martial arts. I don't. The only kind of fighting I can do is the mindless pounding of ones fists into your opponent. Her reach is incredible; needless to say I'm surprised when her foot connects with my hand, sending my wand flying. She's coming at me again, despite her mask I can tell she's really pissed. I'm quite out of breath now; my lungs feel like they're going to explode, and my head throbs. This time her kick connects, square in my chest, I fly through the air and into the shallows of the cool ocean. Little waves hit the back of my head. I stagger to my feet and cough up some blood.

She's waiting for me a few yards away. She's defiantly made a mistake now, because I'm pissed too. I charge her; my anger materializes in the form of powerful wandless magic. It makes me faster, and stronger. The back of my hand slams into her cheek, and she whips around and drops to the sand unconscious.

I roll her over. It seems my strike has dislodged her mask. I gaze at her face. She's quite beautiful, high cheekbones, a delicate nose and chin cool blue-grey eyes. Yes beautiful, despite the sand in her hair, and angry bruise forming on her cheek and the white scar about an inch long under her right eye. Is this why she wears a mask? The scar? I sit down heavily and wait for her to wake up. Idly I push sand around with my bare feet and look up at the spectacular stars. My head is spinning and throbbing, and I fall unconscious too. Concussion I think distantly as I fall into dreamless sleep.