The Great Escape

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: Bereaved and bereft after the disastrous end to the Triwizard Tournament, Harry seeks aid elsewhere in order to prepare for Voldemort, who will never rest until Harry is dead. Post Goblet of Fire, (extreme) OOTP AU. Not HBP/DH compliant. OOC. OC's. A 'Harry leaves Hogwarts' fic.

Rating: T for mild language, mild violence, references to adult themes, and character death.

Author: tlyxor1.

Chapter One

On Privet Drive, Harry Potter was unsurprised by the fact nothing had changed in his absence. The housewives were still gossiping shrews, Dudley was still a brute, Vernon and Petunia were still as apathetic as ever. And yet, Harry had been changed irrevocably by his fourth year at Hogwarts School, and a part of him had almost expected his surroundings to reflect that fact.

They hadn't.

With a fatigued sigh, Harry deposited his school trunk at the end of his bed, released Hedwig from her cage, and contemplated the sky outside his bedroom window. Dusk had descended over Little Whinging, and the sound of birdsong filled the evening air, but there was somewhere he wanted to be, and sundown was not going to deter him.

That in mind, Harry packed a duffel bag with all he would need, discarded his school blazer over the chair at his desk, and retreated from his bedroom. Dudley's room, down the hall, was silent, but he could hear the murmur of Petunia and Vernon in conversation downstairs, and they went ignored.

"Where are you going, boy?" Vernon grunted. He was as rotund as ever, his cheeks made ruddy by the whisky he'd begun to imbibe, his temper made worse.

It was fortunate, Harry supposed, that the tub of lard had never been the violent type. Or at least, was too lazy to be. Harry's life on Privet Drive would have been a lot more miserable, otherwise. It wasn't stellar, by any means, but at the very least, he had his own room, a roof over his head, and three meals a day. Bare essentials, certainly, but it could have been far worse.

"Out," Harry answered, tone clipped.

Vernon harrumphed. "DOn't expect us to wait up for you.

Petunia, the peanut gallery on this particular occasion, sniffed haughtily, scowled, and glared at the television."

In fact, Harry hadn't expected them to wait up, but he didn't say that. Instead, he nodded his acknowledgement, left the house, and made the familiar walk to his destination at a steady trot. Dudley's gang was nowhere in sight, but they'd taken to terrorising the unfortunate kids at Little Whinging's local parks, and Harry supposed that was for the best.

For himself, anyway, and for Dudley and company, too. They'd all come a long way from the schoolyard brats at Little Whinging primary school, and they were each significantly more dangerous for it. Harry and Dudley, more than most.

"You've grown," Sebastian Boudreau greeted him. He was clad in his Savate trousers and a plain t-shirt, his dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had been Harry's martial arts/acrobatics trainer for years, had continued those lessons in the summers between Harry's years at Hogwarts, and had become something of an older brother/mentor in the time since they'd met.

The time in question was in 1987, when Harry was Dudley's favourite target for bullying. Sebastian, who'd been teaching Karate at the local primary school, had taken Harry under his wing, and the rest - as the story went - was history.

"That generally happens, doesn't it?" Harry parried idly, shuffled in past his teacher, and into the studio Sebastian called his own.

"You look tired," Sebastian ignored him, "What happened?"

Harry retreated into the change rooms before he was forced to explain, dressed in his training gear, and absently noted that he would need to order some new training clothes. Sebastian was waiting though, and Harry needed to vent.

He sparred, first.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Not yet," Harry began, gulped down a mouthful of water, and approached the mats again. Sebastian followed. "I need to think."

"If that's what you want," Sebastian conceded, dropped his bottle of water against the wall, and stretched his arms over his head. "Then let's spar. You've gotten sloppy."

In actuality, Harry had spent a great deal of time sparring with the training dummies in Hogwarts' 'Room of Requirement', but Sebastian had never been one for compliments. He'd improved though, not only in his repertoire, but also in speed and accuracy, and it showed in his spars against his teacher. They were a blend of martial arts - Savate, Karate, Judo, among others - with some gymnastics and acrobatics thrown in for good measure, and the effort was exhausting.

By the time Sebastian had him pinned, they were both slick with sweat, and Harry's breath was ragged.

"Better?" Sebastian enquired. He helped Harry to his feet, retrieved both their water bottles, and threw Harry's in his direction. It was caught without issue.

"Much," Harry confirmed, settled himself on the ground, and stared at the foam matting beneath him. "I'm thinking of leaving."

It wasn't a recent development. Ever since he'd learned about the other magical schools across the globe, he'd toyed with the idea. Hogwarts had nearly killed him more times than he cared to count, had frequently condemned him for things he hadn't been able to help, had chewed him up and spat him out.

And now, he was back in Little Whinging, with relatives who had resigned themselves to apathy, haunted by the nightmarish final task, and alone with the secrets he was sure would bury him alive.

"Where would you go?" Sebastian enquired. He dropped down across from Harry, and waited.

"I'm not sure yet, but there are options. I'm meeting with my family's solicitor tomorrow to learn what assets I own, among other things. I'm hopeful he'll have some advice, but I'm currently leaning towards a school in the United States."

Inside Britain, he would never be able to escape Hogwarts, the legacy of the thrice damned 'Boy Who Lived', or the oppressive influence of Albus Dumbledore.

And then, of course, there was the ever-looming spectre of Lord Voldemort, whose resurrection still haunted Harry's nightmares. It had been a fortnight, and Harry wasn't sure he'd ever felt such an all-consuming exhaustion in his life.

Thus, he'd branched out towards other countries, and although Australia was the first choice, it had been discarded after a study of the curriculum, and specifically, the February - November school calendar.

"Would you like me there?"

"Thank you for the offer," he acknowledged, "But I'll be alright."

Sebastian didn't pester. Instead, he guided Harry through a series of Savate forms he'd not yet learned, and sparred with him until the hour grew late.

"You thought about learning to use a baton?"

"I learned the forms," Harry admitted, "I even practised with one, but I'm not very good."

"Practice," Sebastian answered simply, and Harry rolled his eyes. It was a directive he'd received often over the years. "You know what? Come by every night this week - I'll teach you as much as I can before you go."

Sebastian spoke as though Harry's departure was a certainty, and although bittersweet, the confidence was appreciated. Moreover, before Sirius and Remus, Sebastian had been the only adult Harry could truly rely on, so the teen was grateful that Sebastian understood Harry's need to get away.

"I will," Harry agreed.

Once Harry had helped clean up the studio, he gathered up his things, donned a pair of flip-flops, and followed Sebastian out the front door.

"You heading home?" Sebastian enquired. "Did you want a lift?"

"It's alright," Harry answered, "I could use the walk."

Sebastian hesitated, but Harry was insistent, and he relented with a sigh. Harry didn't linger afterwards, and instead headed home. The house was locked up, of course, but Harry rounded the side, climbed the trellis, and squeezed through the window. With the onset of puberty, it wasn't as easy as it had been in years passed, but it was still manageable, and that was all he needed.

He landed on his bedroom floor with a barely audible thump, and after a shower in the bathroom he shared with Dudley, Harry crept downstairs, careful to avoid the creaking steps. He'd gotten exceptionally good at sneaking around since he'd matriculated at Hogwarts, and that was even before he'd taken to relying on his invisibility cloak.

In the kitchen, Harry made himself a couple of sandwiches, ate them quickly, and washed them down with a full glass of water. Then he returned to his room, flopped upon his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

It had been a long year, perhaps the longest in his life. Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup had been only the beginning. The Triwizard Tournament, the fall out with Ron, his short-lived romance with Parvati Patil. The year had eventually culminate in the murder of CedriC Diggory, the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, and Harry's narrowest escape yet.

Harry wasn't sure he could survive another encounter. His magical skills were rather limited, and thus far, he'd scraped by with luck and a great deal of help. Moreover, Voldemort was no longer restricted by his lack of body and wand, and Harry knew, beyond reasonable doubt, that he would only grow stronger as time passed.

He knew, also, that in order to survive their next (inevitable) clash, Harry would have to grow stronger, too.

The thing was, Harry didn't think Hogwarts could offer him the assistance he needed. Never mind that it was a miserable (and dangerous) environment to learn in, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were laughable, and they would not get better.

Thus, he had researched, had contacted his solicitor, had made plans to meet with him as soon as possible, and all he could do now was wait until morning.

It couldn't arrive soon enough.

Author's Note: This one is inspired by 'The Brave New World', which may be found in my favourite stories list. It's a 'Harry leaves Hogwarts' story, and I'd recommend it to anyone interested. I also can't remember how to spell the author's username, so…

Any ideas of how to continue this? I'd like to write it, but I got stuck on Chapter 2.