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So far... Harry has changed his name to John Dursley and is making a career developing video games but was forced to attend Hogwarts. A protective ring that bonded him with Hannah Abbott caused Voldemort and Quirrell to be entombed forever in the Sepulchre of Setting Stone. Read on...

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Chapter 4

Walking Away

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A new defence teacher called Lupin was soon hired to replace the missing Quirrell, but Harry had no further interest in any lessons except Professor Vector's 'COOL' Arithmancy. Hannah did mention that Professor Lupin was much better than Quirrell but he made the mistake of inviting students in alphabetical order to face a Boggart. Hannah Abbott being first, and Lupin not knowing about her protective ring, the creature was literally frightened to death by its own worst fear before anyone else got a look in.

Hannah was annoyed and a little worried. A teacher forces children to make their greatest fears public? Perhaps Harry had the right idea after all: Hogwarts was very restrictive, and magic often downright dangerous. Crime should be dealt with by the police and Aurors, not the general public. Harry was only staying here to be with her. She had become more involved with his business organisation which promised to provide a good livelihood. If he did leave Hogwarts, she would be very tempted to go with him.

Finding an escape was something Harry contemplated in the bathroom mirror every morning. He longed to walk away from magic, but how to prevent Dumbledore demanding his return? He might come and go freely in secret but he'd never permanently leave Hannah.

He stared at his reflection. Surprisingly, the flesh paint on his forehead still looked intact, but was overdue to be replenished. It would be awkward if its bewitchment failed in public. First he took the magical stripper fluid from his bag and tried to rub the remaining old paint away but without success. Harry frowned and scrubbed more vigorously before sighing in disappointment; clearly magic was not reliable. Should he apply fresh paint on top? Hang on – his bathroom was still within the Room of Requirement!

I need something to remove this paint. He held the thought by repeating it in his head. An empty bottle materialised on the shelf above the washbasin. He pulled a face. What use was that? Did the Room expect him to remove the paint with thin air? Nothing at all?

Then it struck him. He needed nothing! He'd actually removed the paint but the scar was gone. Back went his thoughts to that first experience with Hannah. It had not been his imagination that his physical marks and flaws had been removed.

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Christmas seemed to follow Halloween quite quickly with Harry being so busy polishing off his game. At King's Cross, Hannah's parents invited him to Floo to their home with them and stay, which he promised to do as soon as he'd cleared up all overdue business at the Dursleys that only he could deal with.

These were three frantic days. Cap-man was selling well; the orders were routinely dealt with and Harry needed only attend to organising files and customers with problems, but that was time-consuming. Finally, all paperwork was in order. A Mr Bentley of Stafford was satisfied that the secret tunnel in Cap-man was not a glitch but intended. Numerous documents were completed, and, although too late for Christmas day, sufficient disks had been dispatched hopefully in time for the later days of the holiday period. Harry signed his name one last time, then leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs, and sighed. He was missing Hannah already – but that was soon to be remedied.

He nicked a nice bottle of wine from the fridge, caught a bus to Charing Cross Road, and took the Leaky Cauldron Floo to the Abbotts' residence.

It was a quiet time and Harry experienced a pleasant home life for the first time in his life. Patricia Abbott was somewhat miffed at her husband's insistence that the two children must sleep together, and dubious that they were not being physically intimate.

"Are you really sure about this, Durwin?" frowned Mrs Abbott, as she listened to the children walking upstairs to bed.

"Think of them as little angels, Patricia," he smiled – to which she snorted.

She could not have been too annoyed however, for Mrs Abbott had bought Harry Catacomb 3D for Christmas. She herself had received a massive seventeen-inch monitor from her husband and they all watched in amazement as Harry rushed forward, along stone corridors vanquishing monsters and gathering goodies.

"This changes everything," Harry said, when he finally stopped for dinner, slumping back in his chair.

"How do you mean, John?" said Hannah.

"Can't you see? Moving three-dimensional action is the future. Our text game will be obsolete within a few years. I have to find out how this is done."

"But the pictures aren't very good, are they? Worse than a TV cartoon."

"Yes, but just imagine one day if they were," mused Harry. "Suppose they were as realistic as... as a movie!"

Hannah sighed, nodding. "Just imagine..."

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Harry gasped and hit keys frantically as more text flowed up onto his monitor:

E-Log 47c. Third March, 2133. Officer Eleanor Randal reporting. The enemy have us surrounded and are closing in. Smith, Turner, Jackson, and Warbeck all lost to the Screaming Haze. Bailey and Sanderson not expected to regain consciousness. I have dispatched the classified intel by M-wave and set our bunker to destruct six minutes from now or when the door yields to the filth – whichever is sooner. Commander Dursley, sir... it's been an honour, sir.

There was a long silence as Harry stared in shock at the young woman saluting him from the screen – he still trying frantically to think of a way of saving her. Finally, the boy slumped back, eyes shining with tears. "We've lost her, Hannah. I don't think we can win at all now."

Despondent, he looked up at his girlfriend who was standing at his shoulder. She was grinning down at the desperation in his expression. "If the game was easy, it wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

He snuffed and began to chuckle at his own distress. "It's really immersive, right? Who'd have thought words could be so gripping?"

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Early in the new year Harry was satisfied his text adventure game was as perfect as he could make it and fitted on only six hi-def floppies. He was almost ready to publish.

"John, we may get in trouble with the Ministry for bewitching a Muggle artefact. They have a department watching out for any unusual effects."

"They'll never even see or understand a video game, nor be able to detect any outward magic. The compiled game looks like, and is, normal programming which already consists of just numbers at the lowest level. There are a great many ways to vary those values without crashing the game, but every microsecond the code computes all the best possible outcomes and adjusts. This game is WAY better than anything out there!"

"For now. Game companies always learn from each other and copy ideas."

"Well, that's the beauty of Arithmancy; Muggle developers can reverse engineer my game and write their own code but without values rearranged and optimised by COOL, theirs will be fixed and limited. It'll be impossible for them to understand why my game is so flexible, creative, and adaptive to the player because it simply is not logical – it's Arithmantical. And they can't copy the exact same game code because it's my copyright."

Harry was right. He'd missed the Christmas market, but by Easter his game was selling so well he needed to agree a deal with an established game publisher to get the full benefit.

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Then came another bombshell: Wolfenstein 3D was released in May and Harry committed himself to learning the techniques involved. It would be a long haul but he was determined his next game would be a true video action game and not simply text and static images. People would live their dreams if his vision worked out, and the software would create a new game world, new events, and new quests, each time played, dependent only on settings and the actions of the player.

By summer he was on a college course studying hard for the future, funded by the money rolling in from his text adventure. The name John Dursley was becoming well-respected as millions around the world played his game. Hannah had changed the icon to an open storybook, and the title: Evermortells. There was even talk about television advertising, but that seemed ridiculous for something as trivial as a video game.

The World Wide Web was becoming more popular and perfect for an online text adventure even at the slow speeds of dial up. COOL was soon producing dynamic web pages for multiple players, and the future of Harry's business looked bright.

"Decision time, Hannah," said Harry towards the end of August. "Do we return to Hogwarts or just walk away?"

After a long discussion they agreed to give Hogwarts one more try. "We'll be second-years, Harry," smiled Hannah. "Perhaps things will go smoothly. I'll learn a little more magic. You can improve your Arithmancy. What can go wrong?"

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But at the end of October, Mr Filch's cat was found petrified close to a warning message about a secret chamber. Because of the petrification, Hannah was becoming even more reluctant to remain at Hogwarts. Only Harry's game took her mind off the scare. She was now fascinated by the range and diversity of each story she lived in within Evermortells, but mostly enjoyed one she named Atlantilux in which she ran a five-star hotel afloat in the ocean.

Most days she'd finish dinner early so she could run upstairs to drag Harry off his PC so she could continue playing. By the end of November there were so many new and fascinating characters visiting her resort, she could hardly keep track of their interactions. In particular, her manager had called in a private detective to investigate a series of mysterious thefts, a suicide by a deranged opera singer, and a dead shark found in the main pool. The contents of its stomach were not yet known.

"I never planned any of this, John," she grumbled to Harry, "but I don't want to keep asking the game for help to fix things either."

"It's called emergent behaviour," he explained. "It's inevitable even with normal complex games, but even more so with my Arithmancy code. There's no setting you can change to stop that other than to over-simplify your plots which would be boring."

She was still pondering this while enjoying dinner one evening in the Great Hall. Perhaps she could dock her virtual hotel at Liverpool and call in the local police to solve the crimes – yes, that was it. Hannah pushed away her almost-finished roast, glanced briefly at the range of puddings, then slipped away from the raucous chatter to head upstairs. The reputation of Hotel Atlantilux would be restored! Its glory would be–

–Hannah stopped on the second floor, head cocked, listening. The hubbub of the students down in the dining chamber was barely a murmur far, far away, but the sound she had heard was nearby. Dull. Heavy. Sliding...

A pungent odour came on a rush of air, and with it a giant shadow. Panic twisted Hannah round, pigtails swirling, hands coming up defensively. Merlin's Halo flared bright as the sun from her finger and through that blinding curtain of brilliant haze, she briefly glimpsed two large staring yellow eyes crisping over like toast in the radiance. The great serpent-beast flailed blindly, statues and suits of armour batted away by its mighty coils, and portraits flicked screaming into the distance.

Then silence. Impossibly, the huge snake had choked on the venom intended for its victim.

Hannah backed away to lean against the wall, breathing heavily, then slid down weakly to a sitting position. Vlad the Vanquisher, one of the few portraits still hanging, stared in awe for several seconds, then quietly disappeared from his skewed picture frame.

Harry was the first to arrive on the scene, alerted by a fearful shift in his empathic bond with the girl. He stared in disbelief at the mighty still-twitching snake that lay dead nearby.

"John, I'm not sure I want to do this anymore. First thrust into Slytherin, now Boggarts and Basilisks in the school! What next? If it wasn't for you and this ring I'd be dead!"

"You want to leave Hogwarts?" said Harry, kneeling down and putting an arm round her shoulder. "If you go, I'd definitely go."

"I'm thinking about it."

"Rest assured, Miss Abbott" came Dumbledore's voice from the stairwell, "There is no safer place than Hogwarts I promise you."

The man strode purposefully towards them, followed by Snape and McGonagall. Harry's stare moved back and forth between the Headmaster's serenely confident demeanour and the huge quivering body of the slain beast. In that moment he knew Dumbledore must be quite mad.

"Come with me, Miss Abbott," said the great man, "that I might put your mind at rest."

"Hannah's in shock!" cried Harry. "Let her at least be helped to the Hospital wing first."

"That will not be–"

"–Call my parents, Harry!" cried Hannah, as she felt a force separate her from him.

Dumbledore staggered, but persevered against the resistance of the enchanted ring on Hannah's finger. He marched the poor girl to his office, and there his interrogation began.

"You will do Harry Potter a great disservice if you in any way persuade him to leave Hogwarts. This I cannot permit. Give me your ring, Miss Abbott for I am convinced it is dark, and that it is confusing your judgement."

Hannah shook with fear, twisting and turning in vain hope of support. To one side of the Headmaster's office: scowling portraits. A side view revealed only a smouldering pile of ashes below an empty perch. Door locked. Windows shut tight. The ceiling, too high and aloof to care.

She was alone with one of the most dominant, powerful men that had ever lived. Helpless.

Except... Except for Harry's everlasting hand in hers. She raised herself up. Her voice squeaked pathetically and she choked on her words, but the words came:

"Take it if you can!"

"Miss Abbott, do not challenge me!" thundered Professor Dumbledore. "You must see that what you are doing is not in Harry's best interest. Give me the ring and then we can–"

"–What's going on here!" bellowed a man's voice from the Floo.

"Daddy!" cried Hannah.

"We're coming through!" said Mr Abbott. "Dumbledore, what business do you have with my daughter?" As he spoke, Mrs Abbott was stepping out behind him.

For a few moments, the Headmaster looked quite bewildered at the change in events. "How...? How did you–"

"–Electronics, Dumbledore. My wife received an urgent email and we came immediately. Now, what is going on here? What's this about your ring, Hannah?"

"He's trying to take it, Daddy!" cried Hannah tearfully. "Harry's ring protected me from a monster ... a monstrous serpent."

Mr Abbott struggled with the enormity of what he was hearing. Theft of a ring of binding was close to stealing a House ring in scale of seriousness, but in addition: "A monster? Is this in connection with that Chamber of Secrets you told us about?"

He turned on the Headmaster. "Explain yourself, Dumbledore!"

"A misunderstanding, Durwin," came the calm reply. "I merely wished to examine the artefact for safety reas–"

"–Nonsense! That ring is family!" His head jerked sideways to glance at the laptop his wife was carrying. "Are you recording all this, Patricia?"

"I am."

"And the initial demand? You got that just before we stepped through?"

"I did. Here, I'll play it back..."

Miss Abbott, do not challenge me! came a voice, tinny but unmistakably that of Professor Dumbledore. You must see that what you are doing is not in Harry's best interest. Give me the ring and then we can–

"You sought to remove my daughter's protection!" thundered Mr Abbott. "Hannah, come home with us while I sort this out with my lawyers. Then we can decide if and when it's safe for you to return."

Dumbledore raised his wand towards Mrs Abbott, but she was faster: "This recording is already up on the internet! I'd like to see you try destroying it there!"

"I was merely–"

"–Save it for the Aurors, Dumbledore! You have declared yourself an enemy of the House of Abbott!" yelled Mr Abbott who, with a final glare back, followed his wife and daughter out through the Floo connection.

The Headmaster's expression was one of confusion. What had happened? How had things gone so completely wrong? Internet? He'd have to find the building where it was hidden and vanish it before the evidence reached the ears of the Wizengamot; they would not take kindly to the attempted theft of a ring of binding. But more urgent was to make sure Harry Potter did not follow the Abbott girl out of Hogwarts. That would be simple enough; he knew all the tunnels and the wards were infallible against someone as magically incompetent as a boy who didn't even attend first-year lessons.

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Madam Bones, head of the Department for Law Enforcement, frowned. "Durwin, I can only repeat that I personally do accept the Muggle recording as evidence – but the Wizengamot will definitely not. You know how prejudiced most of them are."

Mr Abbott sighed. "What about our testimony, Amelia? And Hannah's too? Do they count for nothing?"

"Although the charge against Dumbledore is very serious, the Wizengamot will be reluctant to accept the word of a child, and even less... that of a Muggle."

"So it's all about my wife is it!" raged Mr Abbott, slapping his palm on the desktop between the two of them.

An inkpot wobbled, but Madam Bones was unruffled; she'd often interviewed – and interrogated – a great many agitated and more aggressive individuals than the man before her. "I regret to admit that, yes, that's the way magical Britain is today."

"Then perhaps..." and Mr Abbott's voiced dwindled until he was musing to himself, "perhaps we should just... walk away from it,"

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Dumbledore spluttered in alarm at Mr Abbott's intention of walking away from the magical world – knowing Harry Potter would certainly be drawn away with Hannah. But his protestations were of no avail.

The Abbotts continued to use magic for everyday needs but lived happily in their Muggle community. Harry and Hannah never returned to Hogwarts. As the years passed, their games company: Shatter Shock Software Studios was now HUGE and its employees filled a very large office block guarded by the highest protection available. Few of them knew that highly-trained wizards were also involved in defending the property.

In 2025, Shatter Shock led the world with their interactive, cinematic video game: Dark Sorcery IV: Buried Alive! In that same year, a strange old man dressed up in a pointy hat and a long white beard was shot down as he pointed a fake weapon at four guards while infiltrating the high-security section of Shatter Shock. He died three days later in a lunatic asylum muttering and mumbling to himself about a prophecy.

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The End

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Author's Notes

Starting next week I'll be posting a new 'Walkaway' novel-length fic called 'Walk Away in Plain Sight'. I've already written over 90,000 words and I estimate it's only three-quarters finished. It's also a back-in-time redo of Harry's years fic with various twists that will surprise you. It's Harry/Hermione, but Susan is a prominent character too. But how can Harry walk away in plain sight? Ah, you'll have to read the first chapter to find out! Do not without fail to neither miss it nor don't or you'll definitely not probably. ;)

All these 'Walkaways' arose because I got fed up reading copy/pastes of the original story plot scene by scene. That story has already been told by a better author than all of us. Find a way to be different! That's the challenge.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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