Harry Potter and the Miscarriage of Justice
Harry looked through the window of the car, not hearing the grumblings of his uncle in the front.
His godfather was on the run. His innocent godfather had a death sentence on his head and NO ONE was going to do anything about it.
And that traitor, Pettigrew. The rat got Harry's parents killed, got Sirius thrown in Hell for 12 years, and he got away scott free. Like Malfoy and the other rich death eaters.
And the minister was going to just look the other way. Like when he put Hagrid in prison to be "seen to be doing something". Or when he refused to listen to Hermione and Harry. Not that Dumbledore did anything to make the Minister change his mind.
Looking back over the last three years – and even all the years Harry had been indentured to the Dursleys - Dumbledore hadn't been a great deal of help when Harry needed him. Dumbledore knew when Harry was in trouble and never did a thing to help. At all. Dumbledore saw the letter to the "cupboard under the stairs." Dumbledore stood back when the school called him the Heir of Slytherin. Dumbledore let the Minister use Harry as bait last summer, trying to catch a man everyone thought was a mass murderer.
The magical world was corrupt. Everyone wanted to use the Boy Who Lived but no one gave a toss about Harry Potter. They were all mad.
His aunt and uncle were completely right.
When they arrived back in Privet Drive, his uncle turned to Harry.
"You'll put your things in your room and come down tomorrow for your list of chores," he began. "I'll have none of your freakishness."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered. "May I request an audience with you and Aunt Petunia first, Sir?"
Vernon Dursley raised one eyebrow at his nephew. Gone was the snarkiness from the boy's voice. It was actually a respectful tone, and Vernon wondered what the child was up to. Forewarned is forearmed, he'd always thought, so he grunted in acquiescence and nodded toward the kitchen.
Petunia stood at the counter, sipping a cup of tea. She turned when Vernon and Harry walked in. Sniffing at Harry's appearance, she tilted her head when he didn't look at her with Lily's defiance.
"Well, boy?"
"I wanted to let you both know something important. I've been thinking about all the things that have happened to us. You never asked to take me. You were put to considerable expense and danger to care for me, and no one has ever thanked you. I do. I thank you. And I wish you'd been more successful in stamping the freakishness out of me.
"You see, a lot of things happened this year, and I realize you're right. They are selfish, awful freaks in that world. I want nothing more to do with them, but I can't walk away. For reasons I don't want to go into, I studied a lot of their laws this year. I'm stuck having to learn magic until I pass the general exams. But I really, really don't want to go back there.
"My parents left a very small educational trust. I know you don't owe me anything, but I'm wondering if you, as my legal guardians, will allow me to drop out of Hogwarts and hire a private tutor with those funds. I should be able to do that and go to Stonewall high. Then I can live in the real world and forget all about those freaks."
He stood, silent, having said his peace.
(this is a line break)
Now that he was on better terms with his aunt and uncle – and it would give his aunt and uncle a way to thumb their noses at the freaks, in general – Harry had rides to Diagon Alley weekly. From there, he found information on other magical and mixed areas he could get information on his particular situation.
He found a school in Ireland, run by muggleborn who had a serious issue with the muckety-mucks of the British magical world. Those administrators and teachers were more than glad to help Harry in his predicament.
So it was, on 1 August, that Minerva McGonagall, deputy at Hogwarts, opened a letter announcing the withdrawal of one Harry Potter from Hogwarts. He had transferred to another school with the full support of his guardians (who were happily out of the country on holiday).
As Albus was also on holiday, and cc'd on the letter were members of the hierarchy of both British and Irish governments, Minerva followed the request for copies of all health and academic records. She was saddened by the loss of Potter, but she had a school to get ready.
Harry, meanwhile, was busy catching up at his new school. He had tutors (paid for by the new fund his newly-found barrister had set up with proceeds from the successful lawsuits against the BWL product makers) that were making up for the missed classes (anything not magical and many things that were useful and magical) and the magical classes he had taken but was woefully behind in (anything taught by a ghost, a revolving-door, or a greasy git).
The fact that he had to be in a time-capsule to do some serious physical healing helped here. One month before school was a bit more than a year in the capsule. Harry had needed it.
Of course, Potter luck had to come into play at some point. Harry was busy minding his business, keeping up in classes, learning his new environment. He had just started to get comfortable in his new home when he felt it.
On Halloween (wasn't it ALWAYS on Halloween), he felt the pull on his magic. The healer and headmaster were quite furious when Albus Dumbledore deigned to inform them – his eyes all a-twinkle – that Harry had been pressed into service in a long-forgotten, deadly tournament. He urged them to bring the young wizard back to Britain, post-haste, in order that Potter might be brought up to date on his new responsibilities.
Master Behan, the headmaster, thanked his fellow headmaster coolly. He then demanded a full copy of the rules and regulations for this supposed tri-wizard tournament (that had bound a fourth, unwilling, underage contestant). He also informed Ireland's minister of magic, just to be on the safe side.
Harry's new team – his barrister (a squib cast from a prominent British wizarding family), his favorite muggleborn teacher (whose family had been killed in the Voldemort fiasco a score or so years before), and his headmaster went through the rules with a fine-toothed comb.
So it was, on a blustery morning in late autumn, that Harry presented himself (accompanied by his teacher Mr. Leahy) to the tent of the tri-wizard competitors. The other three competitors looked at him curiously. It was obvious that his name had been entered for some nefarious purpose, but no one bothered sending him condolences. His former friends had been angry that he'd left Britain – no amount of logic could talk them out of their hurt feelings. That he'd been thrown into this competition showed just how stacked the deck was against him, but still, neither Ron nor Hermione nor any of the quiddich team had sent a word to him. The rest of the school had been pretty much against him for "abandoning" them.
He was really never more grateful he'd left this place. After all, they'd all have probably accused him of entering himself had he been in the castle when this whole circus had been going on.
Harry waited patiently for his turn, avoiding all eyes and all questions, only looking to his teacher when that man confirmed with him, under the privacy spell, that he only had to show to the task in order to keep his magic.
When it was his turn, he went out to greet his "foe." The dragon was huge, ugly, and looked like it'd gotten up on the wrong side of the bed – every day for the last millennia. Harry took one look and was so glad he and his team had come up with his strategy.
He walked into the competitor's circle. He bowed to the dragon. Then he walked back out. As his teacher portkeyed them away, he heard the booing of the crowd.
Bunch of sheep. How many of them would go up against a horntail?
The Christmas hols were peaceful. He didn't get many presents, but he didn't have to dance at a ball, either. Hermione had finally sent him a letter full of apology. She had been hurt by what she saw as his abandonment. It wasn't until she saw the dragon that she truly knew what Harry was up against, and that the trials seemed to get more and more evil every year.
She also wanted to know if his school took mid-year transfers. He showed it to his teacher, who laughed and began a correspondence with Hermione's parents.
By the time of the second task, Ms. Granger was no longer a student at Hogwarts. She'd also had enough of the "best school in Britain." So it was, when Harry showed up for the second task, for which he was completely unprepared, it was to a panel of judges that were quite angry with him. He'd made a mockery of the first event, simply bowing to the dragon and never even attempting to get the egg. He was told by Albus Dumbledore that Ginny Weasley was waiting at the bottom of the lake for Harry to save her.
Harry had no intention of doing so.
When the whistle blew, he put his feet (after he had taken off his shoes and socks) into the ice-cold water. Shivering, he shook his head. He got back up, picked up his shoes, then walked to his teacher and portkeyed away.
Ginny would be pulled from the water later, completely devastated that her hero didn't come to save her. Dumbledore was stymied. If Harry had grown so cold that he would no longer sacrifice for his friends, the wizarding world hadn't a hope.
The day of the final task dawned. Harry had an exam that morning, so was unable to present himself to Hogwarts until just before the task. He had no idea what the task was, nor did he care. When he showed up, the booing started immediately. He smirked.
This time, his teacher, with the magic portkey made by Dumbledore which would get Harry off Hogwarts grounds, was not allowed anywhere near the event. Harry frowned, thinking that it was good Mr. Leahy had provided him an emergency portkey of his own this time.
The gun went off, and some bloke named Krum went into what used to be the quiddich pitch but was now obviously a maze. After certain indistinct amounts of time, Diggory followed, then Delacour. The gun went off a final time, and Harry roused himself. He walked into the maze, far enough the people could no longer see him. Then he sat down. He attempted his portkey, but Hogwarts was well-known for its anti-portkey wards. Only one made by the headmaster could get around this.
He passed the time revising for the exam he was to take on the following day. He felt very prepared – he'd studied a lot harder this year. But he had little else to do.
Eventually, though, the maze rows fell. Diggory had reached the center and touched the cup.
It was a win for Hogwarts. Huzzah.
Harry did not clap when Cedric was awarded the win. He avoided any and all from Hogwarts who tried to talk to him. The defense flavor of the year – some scarred up old-sod by the name of Moody tried to congratulate him on his method of staying unharmed. Harry ignored them all.
He ignored them all, that is, until Moody tossed a medallion at him. Harry's seeker instincts kicked in, and he grasped the medal from the air. He was quite suddenly dragged, portkey method, away from Hogwarts.
Apparently, Dumbledore had issued this guy some kind of portkey. Knowing it was 1) the defense teacher and 2) something with a Dumbledore taint, Harry was prepared for the worst when he landed.
Harry, though he used to have horrific trouble landing with portkeys, had a year of getting used to the crazy method of travel. As soon as he landed, he activated his own portkey back to Ireland. His head sent a covert message to Mr. Leahy who simply made his own way, quietly, away from Scotland and the crazy furor surrounding the obviously polyjuiced man who'd kidnapped Harry.
Harry was fine. Let the British sort their own problems.
Voldemort and Pettigrew, meanwhile, waited in the cemetery. They saw Potter appear, but before Pettigrew could capture the youth, he disappeared again. Voldemort used what magic he had to crucio Pettigrew, and Pettigrew finally decided, "screw this," and he ran.
Voldemort was left not quite stewing… until aurors showed up. They had captured Moody/Crouch, knew what Voldemonkey was, and, after some brief study by the unspeakables, threw him through the veil. With the free part of his spirit now vanquished, the horcruxes lost their power.
They hadn't captured Pettigrew, however, so they still declared that Sirius Black was persona non grata and kept the kiss-on-sight order in place. For that alone, Harry Potter eschewed Britain, and in his following (extremely successful) years, he never did move back to that nation.
The prophesy in the hall that Dumbledore so ardently believed in marked itself as fulfilled. If anyone had bothered to attempt to reconcile it, they would have been quite confused. But it was quite obvious to anyone who'd studied it and Mr. Potter's life. The power he knows not? Justice!
A/N this is one of the first that I wrote. I felt like it was too similar to my other stuff. But it's good enough for a clippy file. Original blurb: Harry views the condemnation and attempted summary execution of his innocent godfather, and he watches his headmaster, a man who seems infinitely powerful, simply shrug his shoulders at the miscarriage of justice. Harry decides that's enough, and that the British wizarding world can go hang.