Author's note: I'm really happy to have finally finished drafting this first chapter. I've been working on it for some time by now. I already have chapters 2-4 outlined, and I'm excited to see how far I can go with this. Anyways, enjoy the chapter, and leave any reviews please! ~experimentation (1/3/2024)

Harry paced the Gryffindor common room, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. It had been only a few hours since he spoke to Dumbledore after leading an ill-fated infiltration of the Ministry of Magic. The same one that had almost gotten five of his best friends killed at the hands of death eaters. The same one they had pulled off in the name of saving Sirius Black, only to have him killed in the end anyways…

The common room was perfectly quiet, most of the students having gone off to breakfast. A low flame crackled in the fireplace, and the plush sofas that were normally occupied by those studying for their classes were now empty. Had Harry not gone to the Ministry of Magic, he might've found this scene relaxing. Happy, even. Now, he found himself glaring at the ruby-colored carpet beneath his feet, his knuckles white with anger, and his eyes bloodshot. Every muscle in his body weighed with fatigue. His mind screamed for sleep, but how could he rest after what just happened? His godfather - the last semblance of a family member to him - was dead. Killed by the death eater Bellatrix Lestrange.

The thought of her name made Harry's vision go red. Without thinking he whipped out his wand, and, not aiming at anything in particular, yelled "Avada kedavra!"

A few green sparks sputtered out the end of his wand, but the full curse failed to materialize. Of course it didn't. Harry knew the killing curse was an immensely advanced spell, far beyond his current abilities. Even so, the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange running free - laughing, jeering, mocking Sirius - proved too much for him.

He yelled. He screamed. He sent stunning spells flying through the common room, smashing windows and blowing holes through paintings. Jinxes bounced off the walls, leaving scorch marks on the floor and ceiling. By the end of his tirade the Gryffindor common room was choked full of tattered canvas, broken glass, and feathers that had been torn from the sofas by a reductor curse. Standing in the midst of the wreckage, Harry felt his legs give way, and he collapsed onto the floor from a combination of fatigue and delirium.

None of it alleviated the pain. Now crouching on the floor, Harry tried in vain to control his own breathing. His mind snapped to the one thing on his mind aside from Sirius - the prophecy. Dumbledore. His supposed fate to battle Voldemort.

Neither can live while the other survives.

Harry was not frightened by the prophecy. He had faced Voldemort before, and he had long ago accepted the possibility of an early death at the hands of the Dark Lord. Despite this, he felt a gut-wrenching sensation at the thought of the prophecy. Not towards its contents, but towards the man who had explained it to him. Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, the man he looked up to as a mentor, the one who spent the last four years protecting him from all manners of harm. The one who seemed so wise, so knowledgeable, so universally trusted. And yet, he just exited a room in which that same Dumbledore told him that his job was to face Voldemort because some prophecy demanded it to happen. Him - Harry Potter, a fifth year at Hogwarts who could hardly hold his ground against some death eaters - was supposed to face the greatest Dark Wizard to ever live.

And Dumbledore was okay with this. He had dismissed Harry after only a half-hour conversation. No instructions, no special training, no secret weapons. To Harry, it seemed as if Dumbledore was using him as a pawn in a chess game against Voldemort - perfectly content to throw him into the meat shredder if it served his purposes. Harry calmed his breathing - his hands stopped shaking as the cold truth washed over him.

Dumbledore could no longer be trusted.

Harry knew he couldn't beat the Dark Lord. He witnessed the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort, and saw the magic they used - magic he had no hope of replicating with his current knowledge. And yet, both Dumbledore and Voldemort appeared convinced that the prophecy was true - that he was somehow destined to duel Voldemort in single combat.

But how was he supposed to duel Voldemort? He, who couldn't cast a killing curse, who could hardly make a teacup do a backflip during his O.W.L. exams, whose track record now involved running blindly into an ambush that got his only remaining family member killed. Voldemort had decades of experience on him, and had experimented in the dark arts to such an extent that even speaking his name had become taboo. Harry shook his head. Of course he didn't stand a chance. He'd be a fool to think he did.

Harry found himself walking up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. He didn't think as he pulled the trunk out from beneath his bed, and began cramming all sorts of items into it - clothing, the invisibility cloak, his entire set of books from Flourish and Blotts, a set of empty vials and bottles, on-hand potion ingredients, and the Marauder's map. As he did this his mind began to clear, and the plan his body was following appeared in his head - why didn't he think of this earlier? In a world where everyone was out to get him, his only option was to flee. To get as far from England as possible, as far from Voldemort and Dumbledore and the death eaters and-

"Harry?"

Harry froze. From where he was standing he managed to make out the top of Ron's red hair poking up from beneath the top edge of the spiral staircase that led to the boy's dormitory. "Oh - Ron," Harry immediately fumbled, dropping a copy of The Dark Arts Outsmarted onto the floor. "I - I thought you were in the hospital wing!"

"I was, but Madam Pomfrey got me fixed up pretty quick." Ron made his way into the dormitory. He had a nervous expression on his face, and his arms sported scars from the battle at the Ministry. "You…uh…you caused a bit of a wreck downstairs."

"I did?" Harry blinked, before shaking his head, "I mean, yeah. I've just had a lot on my mind."

"I know mate." Ron patted him on the back. To Harry it felt more like a complimentary thump than a pat. "Listen, I'm sorry about Siri-"

"Don't say his name!" hissed Harry.

"Right, sorry." Ron sighed. His eyes swept the dormitory and landed on Harry's open trunk. "Wait a minute…what are you doing?"

Harry quickly lied, "I'm packing."

"Packing? School ends in two weeks. Why're you packing now?"

Before Harry could reply, however, another voice rang out from behind them both, this time a girl's. "Harry, are you alright?"

Hermione cautiously entered the dormitory. While girls weren't allowed in the boy's dorms, the rule had become a commonly broken one ever since the middle of this year, when Hermione began to routinely break in to plan out DA meetings with Harry. "Yeah, I'm alright," replied Harry, now wiping his eyes in a failed attempt to hide how bloodshot they were. "And aren't you also supposed to be in the hospital wing?"

"Yes, but I left anyways," replied Hermione - for once, breaking the rules didn't seem to bother her, despite the fact that she was walking with a very clear limp. "I wanted to check up on you after…" she glanced at Harry's face, which was now pointed straight at the ground, his jaw locked in anticipation for the inevitable mention of Sirius' name, "...nevermind."

An uncomfortable pause followed, which was abruptly interrupted by Hermione again, "And you shouldn't blow up furniture, Harry. It's not…it's not productive."

Harry's fists balled up again, but he managed to control his speech. "I know," he managed to force out. "It's just been difficult."

Hermione nodded, before also taking notice of the open trunk at Harry's feet. "What are you doing?" she asked pointedly, her tone suddenly becoming more inquisitive.

Ron shrugged. "I was asking the same thing. Said he's 'packing.'"

"But school ends in two weeks-"

"I was packing early, okay?" said Harry exasperatedly, "And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you left me alone."

Without saying another word, he returned to shoving The Dark Arts Outsmarted back into his trunk, cursing under his breath as he gave himself a papercut while doing so. Ron and Hermione remained standing where they were. Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't help but glance up, and saw that both of them had worried expressions on their faces.

"Harry, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. "You don't seem like yourself right now."

"Yeah, tell us what's going on," said Ron.

"I…I can't," said Harry through gritted teeth, as he threw a bag of galleons from a drawer next to his bed into the trunk. His voice became shakier. "Seriously, you two should go and eat some breakfast, I'll join you after-"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong," replied Hermione, her voice growing more commanding. "We're your friends, Harry. Whatever you're going through right now…you don't have to go through it alone. I know that losing Sirius is-"

"It's not about Sirius!" snarled Harry. That was partially a lie, of course - in truth, he just wanted Hermione to stop talking about his dead godfather.

"Then what is it? Talk to us, Harry."

Harry stared at the floorboards beneath his feet. By now there was no concealing how tired he appeared - his shoulders were slumped, his hands had gone back to shaking, and his eyes had black spots underneath them from how tired he was. He turned to Ron and Hermione and looked up.

"Dumbledore wants me to fight him."

Ron's mouth opened slightly, while Hermione's expression faltered. "What do you mean?" asked Ron, and Harry got the distinct impression that he already knew the answer.

"The prophecy. Dumbledore told me what it said. It states that I must eventually face Voldemort, and that when I do, only one of us will survive."

A long pause followed, which was broken by Hermione's quiet voice. "But how are you supposed to defeat…Voldemort?" The Dark Lord's name was spoken as a whisper. This surprised Harry - he was under the impression that Hermione had become accustomed to saying Voldemort's name.

"I don't know," replied Harry, "and that's why I'm running."

The reaction to this was immediate. "Run?" yelped Ron. "You mean-"

"I mean I'm going to flee. Get as far away from here as I possibly can. Jump countries, maybe."

"How's that going to help you defeat You-Know-Who?" asked Ron, his voice more high-pitched than normal. "Aren't you safest at Hogwarts anyways?"

"I don't care about fighting Voldemort anymore," said Harry bluntly. "But Dumbledore and Voldemort both seem to believe in the prophecy, and because of that they'll do anything in their power to hunt me down. If I stay at Hogwarts, I'll be under Dumbledore's thumb, and I guarantee you that right now, he's thinking up of some way to get me killed-"

"Don't say that, Dumbledore has always cared about you," said Hermione, whose face had turned rather white. "I mean…if what you say is true-"

"Cared about me? Cared about me? Hermione, he's only been protecting me because he believes that I'm meant to fulfill the prophecy - a prophecy that would have me duel Voldemort! Do you understand how suicidal that is? And he only revealed that prophecy to me today, after five years! You can't expect me to believe that Dumbledore has my best interests in mind after that. And I'd bet anything that there's more information he's withholding from me…"

"So what do you hope to accomplish by running?" countered Hermione. "If what you say is true, then you'll be running from both the death eaters and the Order of the Phoenix…and likely the Ministry of Magic too! And what about your education?"

"I'm going to visit as many locations of magical significance as I can," said Harry. He found himself pacing the dormitory, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. "America, Canada, Brazil, Antarctica, China, the Pacific Islands - these are all places with deep histories in magic, as you well know, Hermione. I'm going to go to those places and learn as much as possible while also keeping myself concealed. Hopefully Dumbledore and Voldemort give up looking for me. If not…then at least I'll be more prepared to duel Voldemort than if I were to stay here studying for my N.E.W.T.s all day."

Ron stared at Harry as if he was an alien creature. Hermione, on the other hand, had an expression on her face that Harry wasn't expecting. Was that…excitement?

"You're really going to do it, aren't you?" she asked. Her voice had lost its inquisitive charge, and had been replaced by something much softer. "You're really planning on…on running away. From Hogwarts. From Dumbledore. From the Order. Everyone."

Harry nodded firmly. "I am," he said, and after a pause added, "and nothing that you two say is going to stop me. I'm sorry, but I need to go."

"You're right," replied Hermione, "because I'm coming with you."

A long pause followed. Harry stared at Hermione, who was glaring back at him with an even greater ferocity. There was a stern coolness in her face, as if she had just passed judgment in a court.

"You can't," replied Harry in a rushed voice. "I won't let you."

"You're both bleeding mad," muttered Ron, "but I'm going to agree with Hermione. If you go, Harry, we're coming with you."

"Absolutely not." Harry could feel the twisting sensation in his stomach tighten as the image of Sirius being struck by Bellatrix's killing curse replayed itself over and over in his head. "I can't let you. It's too dangerous."

"We've been together through plenty," said Ron. "It's not as if we've never risked our lives together before-"

"Yes, but this is different. This is long-term, Ron. I don't think you understand. I'll be spending years out there, probably in very remote locations. If you come with me, it's your future that's going down the drain. You don't have to worry about the prophecy, or Voldemort, or Dumbledore. You'll be throwing your education out…for what?"

"I don't know, only my best friend!" snarled Ron in response. Harry was caught off guard by this flare-up. "My education can burn for all I care. Since when have we ever given a damn about classes when any one of us was in danger?"

"What about your family?" countered Harry. "What about Ginny? Fred and George? Your parents? You're willing to leave them all behind?"

Ron's expression faltered. He hesitated, before saying, "They…they'll do fine without me."

"Don't be thick, Ron. You can't join me. I've got to go at it alone."

"No you don't," snapped Hermione. "You can't go at it alone because you've never gone at it alone. It's always been us three. You'll need all the help you can get. Let us help you."

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. A beam of sunlight had penetrated through the nearest window, casting a spotlight over him. "Think about this carefully, both of you. Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Ministry of Magic will all be looking for me. If you come with me, you throw away any possibility for a normal future. I don't have a plan - I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm trying to learn, or who I'll be facing. I have nothing."

"All the same," replied Ron, "We're coming with you."

"We've always stuck together at Hogwarts," affirmed Hermione. "It only seems fitting that we join you for the long haul too."

Harry struggled with words. He was torn. He loved both of his friends, and in truth wanted to remain with them. Part of him was tempted to remain at Hogwarts solely for the presence of Ron and Hermione. But on the other hand, he remembered Voldemort, the death eaters, and Dumbledore - to how far of an extent did their schemes reach? How many lives would be placed in danger if he remained at Hogwarts? Would it not be safer for everyone if he exited the picture altogether? But it was Ron and Hermione - how could he leave them? They were his best friends, his most loyal companions…

Ah, a nasty voice in Harry's head whispered, but you once thought Dumbledore was on your side too, and look at how that turned out…

Hermione interrupted Harry's thoughts by grabbing his arm. "Listen to me," she said, and Harry found himself looking straight into Hermione's eyes. "If you're going to run away, then we're coming with you. You can't do this alone. You'll need all the help you can get."

Harry didn't reply at first. Hermione's touch was warm, and he noticed that her face was very close. The words formed in the back of his throat, but were seemingly ripped out of his mouth by Hermione's voice.

"I…okay."

Hermione smiled - it was a shaky smile, one that exuded both relief and a giddy sort of nervousness. "That should've taken no convincing at all," she said.

"We're bloody insane," mumbled Ron, and for once Harry thought that Ron was speaking more sense than Hermione.

Harry had half a mind to redact his statement immediately and tell them that he was going to flee alone, that he wouldn't let them join, and that they should all forget about having this conversation, but he couldn't get the words out. The twisting feeling in his stomach worsened, and he found himself thinking - in almost a prayer-like way - please, don't let me lose Ron or Hermione, please, don't let me lose Ron or Hermione, please, don't let me lose Ron or Hermione…

The image of that arc of green light flying at Sirius and striking him in the chest - the laugh on his face slowly disappearing as his eyes went blank, as he toppled backwards into the veil…Harry shuddered at the thought. He couldn't imagine the guilt he would feel if Ron or Hermione were to die. It would be his fault, and only his fault. He was the one who just agreed to let them join. And even if they did survive, what would their families think? Harry already knew that Mrs. Weasley would never approve of his plan. He never met Hermione's parents and so he couldn't say for certain what their reaction would be, but he doubted that agreeing to let their daughter run off as an international outlaw would get him very high in their books. He would be tearing families apart, all in the name of what he deemed necessary for himself.

At the same time, from beneath the confusion of the last day's events, the grief at having lost his godfather, and the worry he now held for his two best friends, Harry felt something familiar stir inside of him. Hauntingly enough, it was the same feeling he got when deciding to fly to the Ministry of Magic last night - a childish sort of excitement towards the prospect of doing something so bold.

So stupid as well, said the nasty voice in Harry's head. Already forgotten about what happened to Sirius, have we?

Harry had no good reply to this.

His contemplations were interrupted by a giggle from Hermione. It caught Harry off guard, and his head quickly snapped to face her. By now she was sitting on the floor and staring out the nearest window, seemingly lost in thought. She giggled again. It was a quiet, nervous noise, one that slowly grew in volume until becoming full-fledged, manic laughter. Uncontrollable laughter. A man condemned to death might have shared this sort of humor before being hung.

Ron and Harry stared. Slowly, a grin began to spread on Ron's face, before he too broke out into a fit of laughter. Harry was the last to join - reluctantly at first, but it was infectious. There was no humor to it - they were laughing because of their audacity. Because of what they had just agreed to do. The horrible, twisting sensation never left Harry's stomach, causing a pain to form in his lungs as he wheezed on the floor, but he carried on anyways. The three of them laughed for two minutes straight, before the clock finally struck the hour and the sounds of passing students could be heard outside the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione was the first to speak.

"The three of us should meet at the prefect's bathroom tonight," she said. "Harry, if you're serious about this, we're going to need to draw out some more detailed plans…"