Thank you to Whiffingbooks for everything. You're precious and amazing.

And a special thanks to everyone who helped me with that chapter in a way or another.

Chapter 1. I ship you

There was a certain effervescence in the Leaky Cauldron that day, one Harry wasn't accustomed to on the regular. Of course, it wasn't everyday that the biggest ship that had ever grazed the sea near London, Britain even, found itself at the port, waiting majestically to welcome thousands of Muggles thirsty for a new life, a new beginning. That ship, The Symphonia, represented for most of them, Harry mused, the hope that their life meant something in this insane world, like an omen for happiness, one they could only find miles away from the place where they were born.

This prospect, that one of happiness and fulfillment, seemed almost unattainable to Harry, like an elusive dream he once had in an old and dark cupboard under the stairs in a perfect house where nothing was even remotely perfect.

Somehow, the boat attracted the attention of the Wizarding World, which Harry, to be completely honest, didn't understand one bit.

Taking a gulp of his now flat and lukewarm butterbeer, he looked around him in the pub, noticing how wizards and witches were talking with enthusiasm, a thrill in their voices. He could hear tens of conversations and most were about the unsinkable ship. Some were questioning what kind of magic could be the reason for that, assuming any wizard had worked on the ship. Others were telling with high-pitched voices how they would give anything to go on it.

A small and loud group was singing out-of-tune, arms over shoulders and using their feet as a beat. Totally wasted, some other people were swinging, their drinks spilling a little on the floor or calling, classless, the waitress for another round of drinks.

The firewhiskey flowed freely, to Tom the bartender's evident happiness. His usual grumpiness evaporated. Lifting his head, careful to not receive a flying mug on the head, Harry watched Tom behind the bar, pouring dark local beer in freshly clean glasses incessantly. The older man met Harry's eyes and waved, to which Harry contented himself to nod in return, satisfied to see the poor man didn't look overwhelmed by the strong activity in his pub.

Harry adored this place, the first one he'd put a foot in, in the Wizarding World.

That little secret pub, the most known in Britain, was on the corner of a street, appearing tatti and abandoned to any Muggle and pushing them away with the repulsive Muggle spell.

The misty interior was comforting, the sunlight coming from the large windows was giving the pub a homey ambiance, and the pungent herbs smell of magical cigarettes smoke (cigarettes acting like a mild Calming Draught -though it was clear people were abusing it) had something mundane to Harry, yet sometimes overwhelming. The aromatic scent of a glass of Elf-made wine (or Elderflower wine, depending on your wallet) or the strong perfume of Firewhiskey hitting his nostrils when he entered the pub always lifted Harry's spirit a bit.

Well, normally.

"Take a seat, Potter."

Harry walked in the Minister's office, a scent of old parchments and ink filling his nose. There was a picture of Fudge's wife on his desk. He sat on one of the green velvet chairs in front of his wooden desk, drumming his fingers on his knee. He waited for Fudge to finish writing something on a parchment, a bit impatient to hear what he had to offer him.

"So," began the MInister, looking up and putting his quill on his desk. "I'm sure you're aware that there's an upsurge of dark activities in the area-"

"Yes, Sir, I've read of it in the Daily Prophet lately and had the chance to discuss it with Dumbledore."

"Yes, The Daily Prophet wrote plenty about it, of course," said Fudge. He crossed his fingers on the table, giving him an air of business man. "And like you probably know from Dumbledore, we're unfortunately finding ourselves in a short staff situation in the Auror department. You'll agree with me that it's an unexpected and deplorable position for the Ministry," he added, sending him a pointed look.

"That's why I wrote to you this morning and asked you to meet me, Mr. Potter. We're all familiar with your prowess, evidently." Fudge took a pause, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. Harry frowned, his heart beating fast.

"Potter, I'm happy to inform you that your professor, Dumbledore, has been kind enough to notify me of your talent and potential. Considering the unfortunate position our department is in, we think you could be an asset for us. Listen to me, Harry. We want you with us."

"Oh er, thank you for the offer, Minister. It would be-"

"And of course, I can guarantee you a privileged place at my side. A man like you, as loved and talented, would be, I'd dare say, precious, for my campaign. You're certainly well aware we'll start running again in a couple of months, which would be just enough to gain a couple of votes for our party."

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not sure I understand correctly. You want me to fight dark wizards or to smile at your side?"

Fudge cleared his throat. "There, there, it's not as simple as that, Potter. You see, the population is beginning to get scared, trust is fragile. Your support would be appreciated.

Think about it, boy."

Think about it, boy.

Harry replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a finger and made sure his scar was still well hidden with a strand of his hair. It was such a busy afternoon at the pub that Harry wondered once again why he thought it would be a good idea to come here that day to drown his sorrows and contemplate what next life was reserved for him. There were too many chances he'd be recognized when he just wanted to be left alone and drink in peace.

The days were all the same: long, boring and empty. His fascination with the Wizarding World quickly vanished to be replaced by the sentiment he was prisoner of it, of that unwanted fame. Fame for something he wished had never happened and that weighed heavier on his shoulder as days went.

A meeting with the Minister of Magic was on his calendar later that day, he remembered, drawing circles with the tiny puddles of liquid on the bar. Sighing, Harry already suspected the old man would press him again to join the Aurors. It'd been the same every month since Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school he attended, had let slip that Harry Potter was what they'd need.

Harry was all in, of course, ready to pack his bag and fight if needed, having nothing in life to stop him anyway. An opportunity to feel alive, to feel like he deserved his place in this amazing world he had no idea of seven years ago. All in until Harry learned how he'd become the poster boy, and in full honesty, he was zero interested in it. He still felt it in his veins, the adrenaline, that thrill he was always searching for, and that unexplainable electricity coursing through his veins when he saved people, when they got the chances his parents never had.

"The Symphonia! The Symphonia!" chanted a drunk group of people, a fist in the air and unaware of how stupid they looked.

Disgusted, Harry imagined how The Symphonia would most likely be soon packed with pretentious people who would take an unhealthy pleasure to parade in their most gorgeous and expensive attires. With haughty air plastered on their face, they would search for eyes filled with envy and bitterness, like they were chasing their prey, to, ultimately, ignore those people with such simplicity, chin lifted in the air and white gloves holding champagne.

Maybe it was because his newfound social status made him apprehensive of the kind of people who would have the chance to walk on the superior deck later that night. He was well familiar with their extravagances now he frequented them at the Ministry.

Harry could see it all in his head, how in an instant, they would have provided more visions of what they could never have to those who hadn't been graced with the same luck as them.

The whole situation was baffling to Harry considering how the riches would embark in this ocean liner for a similar reason as everyone else: to cross seas with the expectation, the faith they would find themselves. The self-promise they would find the aspiration to realize their dreams, they would lay hands on the missing piece they were unable to locate in Britain, and that, just like the ones sleeping under them at night who were destined for far less.

Harry sighed, fighting the storm of images buzzing in his mind, of him lazing on the grass or walking unbothered by the weight of the past in another country. A country where no one would know him as the Boy-who-lived (or that 'moody, mysterious, young man' Skeeter liked to call him) since he appeared again one evening in the Wizarding World on Dumbledore's arm.

Chasing the stupid idea of getting onto the ship clandestinely, Harry took another gulp, wiping the fizz on his upper lips with his linen shirt. Hands around his glass, he frowned at the chipped wooden bar, the same color as his suspenders, and ignored when a young and loud man, in his agitation about the new best thing in town, brushed his shoulder on his way to the loos. In a swiff movement, he lowered his brown cap over his eyes, not wanting anyone to recognize him today. Nor ever.

There was something precious about drinking all alone at the bar, musing about how everyone around seemed crazier than him. They were all the same: full of unfulfilled dreams and with the ambition to be someone else. Just for one day. Time passed, and people were whistling and clapping their hands every time the big clock of the Leaky Cauldron vibrated under the sound of its bells, bringing them closer and closer by hours to when The Symphonia would sail.

Swirling his drink, Harry thought about how these people all wanted to change the world somehow, when their only true goal should be to start changing themselves first.

Somehow, this afternoon, he'd never felt more alone than surrounded by so many wizards. It was unfortunate, really, how the noise was doing nothing to drown his train of thoughts, so he assumed there was only alcohol that would do the trick then.

There was no way he'd have ignored that voice though, that loud and deep cheerful voice he could have recognized anywhere. Turning on his footstool, Harry located the owner of the voice without problem. Hagrid, his pink umbrella leaning on the brick wall at his side, was playing what looked like Wizard Poker. The cards on the dirty table filled with empty glasses were shouting their number and color and Harry could easily identify who was about to win the round by the grimaces on some of the players' face.

In the center of the table, there was a pill of wet Galleons, Sickles and Knuts in a jumble, what Harry assumed was a magical watch, some potions ingredients (probably rarities in the area), and long white tickets. Hagrid had his eyes fixed on the pill of money on the table, his face, to Harry's surprise, letting nothing known. A wizard had his tongue between his teeth and Harry could see his eyes shifting from Hagrid, the money and his cards. Another one with a big pointy hat, his hands crisped around his cards, licked the sweat above his upper lip. Another one, the smallest, was trembling.

"I'm not letting you go with it, that's mine!" one of the men sneered at Hagrid, who shrugged with a total perkiness. Harry hid his snort with his fist.

"Maybe you should have thought before betting it," Hagrid churtled.

"I can't lose, I can't," he slurred, gripping his hair. He turned to Hagrid. "How? What are you-"

"Bagman, when you've got nothin', you've got nothin' to lose," Hagrid said to the man with a serious voice filled with a certain wisdom. "Are you goin' to play or we have to wait for Merlin to do it for you?"

The man sent Hagrid the nastiest look Harry had ever seen directed at his friend, making his stomach boil with anger.

"Your cards, Bagman," Hagrid said, nodding in the man's direction. Harry reckoned he was the dealer of the game. The man, Bagman, took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand, picked up a card to then lay his whole hand on the table. Hagrid sighed, shifting on his chair uncomfortably. "A flush," he called, rekindling the hope in Bagman's eyes.

"Your turn, Goyle."

The man, Goyle, who was probably related to a bloke in Harry's year in Slytherin at Hogwarts, sneered at Hagrid, a toothpick between his teeth. He threw, with aggressiveness, his cards in the center. Hagrid didn't even move a muscle. Crossing his arms, a murderous look in his eyes, Goyle didn't say a word, waiting for his inevitable loss.

Bagman glanced at Goyle. There was an uneasiness in the air and Harry couldn't focus on anything else. He sipped his butterbeer, watching with amusement how Hagrid seemed way too in control for the other men's liking.

"Right. A pair. Let's go Crabbe, show your cards," Hagrid said. The smaller man lifted his glass from the table and gulped the dark local beer in one shot before throwing his cards with despair. Harry didn't know much about the game, but there was no doubt it wasn't a strong hand if the frown on Crabbe's face was any indication. Or Hagrid's smirk. "Oh, two pairs."

"You were a terrible idiot to bet all our gold!" Goyle shouted at Crabbe. The latter threw his hands in the air in surrender.

"I didn't expect him to win!" Crabbe hissed in return at his mate, pointing at Hagrid. "You said you knew a spell to-"

Goyle shook his head, eyes wide. "Oh shut-"

"No, no, that's interesting," Bagman interjected, anger flaring in his eyes and putting his forearms on the table, imposing his presence to the cheaters. "Please, let him finish, Goyle, I'm curious to-."

"Alright, alright, alright," Hagrid said, cutting off the men's argument with his loud voice. He gave them all a severe look and then, with a dramatic sigh, he brushed his cards with the tip of his thumb. "My turn."

"Go, throw them on the table," Bagman said, his voice filled with anxiety.

"Somebody's life's about to change," Hagrid said, and Harry put his glass on the bar without looking behind him, feeling on his hand the butterbeer spilling out a little. Not caring, he took his wand in his hand and felt it vibrate right away, a peculiar characteristic of it that had been revealed to him when Harry bounded with that magical wooden stick years ago.

He tightened his hand around it, ready to act if he judged it necessary.

Just in case.

It was barely perceptible, that smile on the corner of Hagrid's lips, and Harry knew he was working hard to hide any trace of it. Like in slow-motion, Hagrid put his cards on the table, and Harry realized he'd forgotten to breathe.

"FULL HOUSE, BOYS! I win!" Hagrid exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist and whooping. Harry, chuckling, imagined Hagrid had looked like that when he'd won his dragon egg years ago: carefree, proud of himself and warmth and joy emanating from his being.

Scandalized, Bagman watched Hagrid gulping his drink in one big gulp. "You were bluffing!"

Hagrid let out an uproarious laugh, one warming Harry's insides, reminding him of his youthful years, when he was still discovering the world in which he belonged, and they would eat ice cream together at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.

Without a doubt, Hagrid had no shame in misleading his opponents. But it was the game, wasn't it?

"Don't be such an hypocrite-"

Goyle jumped on the table to grip Hagrid's jacket, not giving the empty glasses any chance. They shattered on the floor, giving to the pub the signal a fight had just started. Bagman didn't wait a second and tried to take the ticket from the center, but Hagrid was faster and lifted it up in the air. Every eye was on the men fighting, and wizards and witches started shouting. Crabbe used the diversion to put handfuls of Galleons in his pockets, but it was the last thing Harry cared about at the moment.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry screamed in Goyle's direction. His wand that was brandished at Hagrid's nose a second ago, went flying towards Harry. It was just enough for Hagrid to be able to push Goyle from the table, the man landing on the cold floor with a bang, breaking a chair in his way.

"Hey Harry! You came to play too? I'm so happy to see you here!" Hagrid said to him in the cacophony with a radiant smile, catching his umbrella at his side by the handle. The umbrella opened without Hagrid having to say a word and an explosion directed to Crabbe exited the tip of it. Thousands of small flames bursted from it, leaving cinders on the now forgotten cards. Taken by complete surprise, Crabbe fell against the brick wall, the stolen Galleons falling out of his pockets, to Harry's joy. Bagman didn't wait a second and stepped back.

"Harry? Harry Potter?"

"He's here?"

"Look! It's Harry Potter!"

All of a sudden, a loud roar was heard between the shoots.

"What the hell?!" a bald man said further in the pub, pressing his eyes with his palms. Without looking, he punched the closest guy at his side, making Harry's eyebrows jump.

Something blasted behind Harry and he ducked, groaning at the fact people now knew he was there, and the pain flaring on his knee when it collided with the ground.

Goyle saw Harry's misfortune as the opportunity to attack him and tried to hit him with a kick, but Harry rolled on the floor, his dark robes now dripping with Firewhiskey. Not waiting a second, he sent a hex to Crabbe to immobilize him. Picking up his glasses from the floor and cleaning the small drops of alcohol on them with the bottom of his sleeve, Harry took a moment to register what was happening.

A bunch of men were now fighting in the middle of the place, throwing punches around and wanting to show who had the most powerful wand. Some women were screaming in fear, while others were on tables, encouraging their man to hit harder or sending hexes in the air.

It was chaos. Absolute and complete chaos.

Hagrid was pointing his umbrella at anyone coming too close to him and Tom, the bartender, was looking with wide eyes at the mess, a plate of steamy chips in his hand.

Harry made his way to his friend, ducking in the turmoil and twirling spells, a hand on his brown cap to assure he wouldn't lose it. "Are you okay, Hagrid?" he yelled, gasping for air.

"Never better!" answered the beaming half-giant.

Hagrid, still brandishing his uncommon weapon towards drunk wizards, glanced twice at Harry and Harry immediately noticed a glint appearing in his eyes. "Hey Harry, take that!" shouted Hagrid with a laugh, smacking with his big hand the ticket on Harry's chest and sending a spell towards Goyle again. In his surprise, Harry took it with a clumsy hand and avoided just in time a flying chair that exploded on the wall behind him.

"What? What is-"' he began, but the words written in golden letters on the ticket attracted his whole attention. His throat clenched, his now pasty tongue seeming too big for his mouth. It could only be a trick of his imagination, an illusion, he thought, until they were there again. Green letters dancing at the bottom of the white ticket. Harry blinked to make sure it wasn't an hallucination.

Third Class, South Wing 9 ¾.

Lifting his head, Harry met the eyes of a woman he'd never seen before and rolled his eyes when she winked at him, the commotion not stopping her. "Potter! Hey, Potter! Lucida, help me with my robes, I need to see Harry Potter!" the witch screamed to another, advancing with difficulty in the crowd towards Harry's corner.

"I don't need it, Dumbledore needs me here! Go, go!"

"I can't! It's-" Harry said, gesturing at the ticket in his hand. The woman's pleas to be seen by Harry were increasing Harry's desire to get out of this town, his frustration bubbling in his chest. He glanced at the clock and licked his lips, his heart beating faster than ever.

"The Symphonia sails in two minutes. Run! Yer goin' to America, 'Arry!"

After giving himself exactly thirty seconds to Apparate to his home and grab a bag of clothes and essentials, Harry appeared on the pavement at the port, welcomed by surprised horses that neighed at him.

"Woh, woh!"

Lifting his forearms to protect himself when he noticed the horses became agitated, he didn't stick around and ran between the passers-by. The blood in his veins pumped when he saw a crew member closing the big white metallic door behind him.

"Oh OH! Wait! Wait! I've got a ticket! Wait! Don't close the door!"

The guy at the door stopped in his tracks and gave an annoyed look at Harry, his hand still on the handle of the door he was about to close before hearing Harry's shouts.

He let out a heavy sigh and held out his hand when Harry showed him his ticket. "Have you passed the passenger inspection?" asked the crew member, irritated and pressed.

"Of course," lied Harry quickly. It was like years of cohabitation with the Dursleys prepared him for that exact moment. "My family is in America."

The man frowned. Now anxious, Harry doubted his little lie had been convincing, but then he was rewarded with a pressed nod, like there was no time to waste and the man couldn't care less at the moment. "Right. Come aboard. Come in, let's go."

And Harry did, jumping from the footbridge to through the door and eager to settle in.

Harry ran to the nearest deck with a spring in his step, holding his cap on his head and his robes flying behind him. Making his way through the crowd and reaching the ship's rail, he looked around, fascinated by how high he was. Panting a bit, he gripped the rail harder when he was elbowed by the flood of people attempting to see that spectacular sight too.

It was easy to spot Hagrid not too far from the side of the street, taller than everyone around. The realization that his long-time friend showed up at his departure to a foreign country warmed his heart and he made himself the promise he'd write to him while he'd be away, already thinking about where he could find an owl.

"HAGRID!" shouted Harry, hoping the half-giant would hear him over the kids crying and the cheerful goodbyes from families and friends. He waved like there was no tomorrow under the sunny sky, elated and excited by that surprising turn of events, a chance he couldn't have let pass him by. The loud blast from the horn made him jump and Harry chuckled at himself, his heart beating wild.

"HAGRID! BYE! BYE! THANKS! I'LL WRITE, PROMISE!"

He had half a mind to jump in the water when the railing started vibrating under his palms, an unmistakable hint the ship was sailing, wondering how he'd been so insane as to take the quick decision to travel across seas to change life, to start anew.

Two minutes. That's all he'd had.

The minutes he'd needed to stop sinking in despair and instead, be soaked by a new hope.