Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
-November 21st 1994
[Hogwarts Floo]
"Harry... that is a terrible idea." Sirius said, his voice filled with disbelief. "What is wrong with you, kid? No, not only are you not out flying a dragon, with a spell you don't even know no less, you will very well become its lunch." Sirius Orion Black, the notorious marauder and Harry Potter's godfather, gave his honest opinion about his godson's plan for the First Task not knowing the dragon's would be tied down.
Harry, his precious and perpetually headstrong godson, simply blinked in confusion. As if he couldn't understand why his 'perfectly good' idea (that wasn't really his) had been shot down so quickly. Sirius had the dubious honor of being the first person Harry had confided in about his plan, and the man was more than willing to set him straight.
"But flying is the best thing I can do, Sirius," Harry argued. "I'm rubbish with magic." He spoke those words with complete sincerity, oblivious to the absurdity of his proposal in the face of a dragon in its natural element.
Sirius rubbed his temple, a headache starting to form as he glanced through the flickering flames of the floo. "Harry... Have you all learned about dragons yet? They should've covered that in your third year, right?" Sirius felt a brief flicker of doubt, he'd lost track of time while rotting away in Azkaban, but surely the curriculum had included dragons by then, hadn't it?
Harry nodded slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. "Yeah, but... I don't think I can remember much, nor did Hagrid really go too deep into them."
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his wild hair. "Well, that's a start. But let's see if we can jog your memory. What's the average lifespan of a dragon, Harry?" His tone was calm, patient even.
"About three hundred years or more... if they're healthy?" Harry ventured, clearly trying to piece together what he remembered.
"Correct," Sirius said with a nod, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He wasn't sure if Harry even understood just how dangerous this task would be, especially on a broom of all things. He decided to keep pressing, guiding the boy step by step. "Now, when do they start flying? Any idea?"
Harry thought for a moment before answering, his voice unsure. "A little before they're a year old?"
"Exactly. Now put it all together, Harry."
"If a dragon starts flying before it turns one, it can live for over three hundred years and their fire can reach as long as some spells-" Sirius paused before nodding seeing the boy's pale face and didn't continue.
"I'm doomed!" The conclusion came together and spilled from the boy's mouth
"No, you're not doomed!" Sirius' tone snapped back, despite the panic gnawing at his insides. He knew they still had a chance, but Harry had to believe it too.
"Not with me here. We'll figure something out, I promise. Now, when is the task again? We've got time, right? We can work with this."
Harry, however, looked at him with grave eyes. "Three days," he said simply, his voice quiet and heavy with finality.
Sirius froze, took a deep breath and then he forced a smile.
"Right. Well… you're doomed-" He cut himself off with a cough. "I mean, don't worry. We'll get it done. Just leave it to me!"
Harry gave him a dubious look, but Sirius could tell the boy was clinging to that thread of hope.
After a few more moments of anxious back-and-forth, they settled on a plan to meet up as soon as possible. Sirius ended the floo call and stood up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His gaze wandered over the dark Grimmauld Place, the house he'd always loathed. It felt like a prison now as much as it had when he was a child, but now-
"Right," he muttered to himself, turning on his heel towards the library. "Time to get to work."
-Deputy Headmistress' Office.
Harry wasted no time in setting the plan into motion. After 2 hours of quiet research in the library, he'd stumbled upon something, some obscure rule in the Triwizard Tournament regulations that allowed a contestant to temporarily withdraw in certain circumstances covering their predicted death. It was added after the numerous accidents during the tournaments.
It was a small loophole(not really), one that would let him escape to go to Sirius. His research had been hurried and disjointed, not wanting to involve Hermione. He didn't want to drag her into this mess, especially when there was nothing she could do.
He could have asked her for help. Hermione was an absolute bloodhound when it came to digging through the library's dusty tomes, but Harry had resisted the urge.
He knew she'd worry, and it was hard enough to keep his own anxiety at bay, let alone pile it onto her. Plus, there was the fact that when he'd turned away earlier, he'd seen her laughing with Ron, causing something inside him to sour. It was ridiculous, of course, he knew that but that prick, who Harry had always thought of as a friend, hadn't even noticed how bad things had gotten. Had no idea what he was facing.
Now here he was, standing in front of Professor McGonagall's office door, a piece of parchment clutched tightly in his hand. He straightened up, doing his best to look serious as he knocked three times. The door swung open almost instantly, as if it had been waiting for him.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, her voice clipped and stern, as always. Her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose, and she fixed him with a gaze that made it clear she wasn't going to let him off easily. "I trust you know that the faculty cannot assist you in the Tournament. It is strictly forbidden."
Harry swallowed but steeled himself, forcing a calm expression on his face. "I couldn't imagine asking for that, Professor," he said, his voice as level as he could make it. "But there is a rule in the Tournament that I would like to take advantage of, if you wouldn't mind." He placed the piece of parchment on her desk, pushing it gently toward her, trying to ignore the little flicker of satisfaction he felt as she raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not expecting it.
Her eyes narrowed as she picked it up, scanning the paper. Harry watched closely as her facial expression shifted, her brows slowly climbing higher with each word she read. It was brief but her usual sternness faltered just for a moment.
"Mr. Potter…" She removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes as though trying to ease a headache. "The Tournament has many safety precautions in place to ensure no one is seriously harmed. I don't think-"
But Harry interrupted her. "Sorry, Professor, but I'd like to make my funeral preparations before the task. I'm sure everyone has made the Tournament safer, but that doesn't change the fact that there's never been one where someone hasn't died. I'd like to at least give my family peace of mind before I-" He couldn't quite bring himself to finish the sentence.
Not because he was that scared but because the thought of the Dursleys being sad about his death was actually funny.
McGonagall looked at him for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were weighing the gravity of his words. Finally, she exhaled, her posture sinking a little as she leaned back in her chair. "Are you sure, Mr. Potter? If you take this route, it will need to be reported to the host of the Tournament, and from there, it will eventually reach the Ministry. And as with anything that goes to the Ministry… it will be leaked to the press. Is that what you want?" Her voice softened, almost like a challenge, but Harry didn't flinch.
"That's fine," Harry replied with a shrug, his tone tinged with bitterness. "Maybe if the press gets hold of it, people will finally understand that I could actually die here. At least that way, maybe someone will take it seriously." His words hung and Harry could see the discomfort flash across McGonagall's face. She had been one of the people who'd thought he'd be fine, he knew it. And maybe part of her still did despite clearly knowing the task was about dragons.
McGonagall sat back in her chair, her fingers tapping idly on the desk as she thought. For a brief moment, Harry wasn't sure if she would approve or shut him down completely. But then she sighed, clearly resigned to the inevitable. "Very well, Mr. Potter," she said, lifting the parchment from her desk and giving it one last glance. "I'll authorize this withdrawal. But understand that this will go through the proper channels and-"
"I understand." Harry cut in, eager to finish this before she could say anything more. "I just need to tell my family."
With a reluctant nod, McGonagall waved him off. "You may send an owl to your family to arrange your 'departure'. However," she added, looking up at him once more, "You will still have to attend the next task on time, less you lose your magic. It will be officially noted that you've withdrawn from Hogwarts temporarily."
Harry barely heard her. He'd already succeeded in what he came for. He stood up, the weight in his chest lifting a little as he left.
"Thank you, Professor."
"And Mr Potter?"
Harry paused when she called out to him.
"Good luck."
Harry had packed his trunk before heading to see her, and he'd written a letter, though not to the Dursleys. This one was for Hermione.
There was no way he was going to stick around for her to knock some sense into him, literally. No, he was content to let his departure be marked by a letter. Still, he knew Hermione would probably try to track him down and strangle him, she was surprisingly strong when she was angry.
'She seemed happy with him. She'll be fine.' Harry thought, his voice in his mind a little more bitter than he intended. With a deep breath, he pushed the feeling aside. What was he even angry about? He had far greater concerns and with that realization he let those thoughts fall away.
So, here he was, having slipped out of the castle in broad daylight, concealed under his Invisibility Cloak. Now, he sat in the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Sirius to arrive.
"Anything to wet your throat, kid?" The voice startled him, and Harry barely kept himself from flinching. He'd been so focused on his mission that he hadn't noticed the woman approach.
He looked up and blinked, finding a rather curvy blonde barmaid smiling down at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
'Madam Rosmerta!' Harry pinpointed having heard the other boys talk about her.
"Jumpy, aren't you?" she remarked, clearly enjoying his surprise.
"Er, a butterbeer, please." Harry mumbled, wanting to keep things as low-key as possible. The woman gave him a quick once-over before nodding and walking off to prepare his drink.
Taking a relieved sigh that the pretty woman was gone Harry went back to stake out. Though Harry was relieved that the conversations around him didn't concern him at all. That seemed to be the norm at Hogwarts whenever he stepped into a room.
'Snape always says don't get a big head but that's hard to do when everyone can't keep my name out of their mouths. You'd think they liked me with how obsessed they are.' Harry mused darkly thinking about those badges. House unity, heh- what a load shite-
"Harry!"
This time, Harry was ready. He didn't flinch when the man with the balding spot and crooked teeth sat down next to him, though his eyes still flickered with confusion.
"Sorry, sir, but who are you?"
The man's face faltered, and he gave Harry a strange look, as though the question hadn't been what he expected.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,"
Harry's eyes widened, and a look of realization spread across his face. "Oh." he murmured, recognition dawning as he realized it was Polyjuice Potion at work.
The man chuckled, the smell of alcohol lingering in the air around him. "Yes, oh. Now let's get out of here. I've got about forty more minutes, but I don't want to risk it. Time's wasting."
A sharp, uneasy feeling shot through Harry at the thought of the man being caught and sent back to Azkaban. He immediately stood up, nodding quickly. Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression serious.
"Watch yourself," he said gruffly. "Haven't side-along apparated anyone in a while."
With that ominous warning, they vanished from the table with a sharp pop, leaving the Three Broomsticks in the blink of an eye.
Rosmerta returned to the table, the butterbeer on the plate in her hand, her eyes scanning the empty seat in confusion. Had it really been that long? Customers weren't usually in such a rush to disappear, at least not without finishing their drinks.
She was about to turn away when her gaze caught something glinting on the table. A galleon.
Her brows furrowed. Who in Merlin's name would pay a galleon for a butterbeer they hadn't even received? Did galleons grow on trees now? She bent over and picked it up, eyeing the spot where the boy had been.
"Potter's Vanishing Act: Coward or Is There More To It?"
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
In a shocking turn of events, Harry Potter has completely vanished from the Triwizard Tournament and Hogwarts all together! Despite being named Hogwarts' champion, Potter failed to appear at the event, leaving the wizarding world in a frenzy of speculation.
According to sources close to the tournament, Potter allegedly took advantage of a controversial rule buried deep in the tournament's fine print. This rule, designed to allow champions to take a leave of absence in the event or suspicion of mortal danger, allowing competitors to plan for their own "disappearance" should they believe their life is at risk!
"Pottah always has a knack for bending the rules," one anonymous Hogwarts Student informed me. "It's possible he found a way to exploit this clause, opting out of the First Task before it even began!"
But where is Harry Potter now? Has he fled the competition in fear, or is he hiding somewhere, planning his next move in this dangerous game? Some suspect that Potter's sudden absence may be more than a mere act of cowardice but could there be darker forces at play, or is this simply another case of the so-called "Chosen One" thinking he can outwit the rules?
As the tournament continues without him, many are left wondering: Will Harry Potter return to face the music, or has he truly disappeared, perhaps forever?
More on page 6.
-?????
The body was heavy, dragging against the ground as the figured cursed with each step. The shorter figure's back was hunched, his legs trembling as he hauled the man's unconscious form forward, inch by inch by what had to be miles by now. His grip slipped on the bloodied robes, fingers aching, but he didn't stop.
Every few steps, he had to adjust his hold, shifting the weight. The man's head lolled to one side, too limp to offer any help, and the dragging became more uneven.
Harry dragged Sirius' unconscious body through the rocks, his arms burning with the effort. The wind cut through him like ice, biting at his skin, but he barely felt it anymore.
"I'm never listening to you again, Sirius," Harry sighed, his voice rough from a lack of water and frustrated as he took another step, pulling Sirius a few more feet along the uneven ground.
There was nothing around them, just the empty stretch of wilderness and trees. No sign of civilization. No sign of help.
Harry cursed under his breath, feeling his legs tremble. He couldn't keep going like this much longer. Still, the only direction was forward. He'd give his godfather a piece of his mind later. First he needed to make sure they both didn't die first.
Decided to try write than read for a change.