Hogwarts Grounds, Minutes Earlier
Moments before Albus Dumbledore was destined to be roused from his sleep, Harry Potter sat astride his Firebolt and looked wistfully at Hogwarts Castle. He was hovering fifty feet in the air, and the castle was breathtakingly beautiful when lit up against the darkness.
This castle had been Harry's true home for the past four years, and it was hard for him to believe that he was voluntarily leaving it. If things didn't go well, this could be the last time he laid eyes on it.
He was leaving most of his possessions behind; they were to be hidden by Dobby in a place only he could access. His parent's photo album, his glasses, and his clothes were locked securely in his trunk. Harry was taking only his wand, his key, his money, his invisibility cloak, and his Firebolt. Even those were incredibly risky, given the likelihood of tracking charms, but Harry felt their usefulness outweighed their risk.
Harry had tried to empty his vault before he fled Hogwarts, but found that he could not do so via Dobby. He had sent Dobby to Gringotts with his key and a note signed with his blood, which Dobby had insisted upon, but Dumbledore had left instructions with the goblins that forbade house elf access. That meant Harry would have to show up in person to withdraw any money, and that was not a risk he was willing to take just yet. His 75 galleons would have to last for awhile.
A few hours earlier he had said a tearful goodbye to Hedwig in the owlery. He, Parvati, and Padma didn't know if she could be tracked, so it was dangerous for her to be anywhere near Harry. She would have to stay at Hogwarts or fend for herself in the forbidden forest while Harry sorted out his situation. He bitterly hated to leave his faithful familiar behind, but he saw no help for it. His heart had nearly broken at the reproachful look she gave him when he explained what was happening.
Harry blinked at the slight wetness in his eyes, and steeled himself for the trial to come. What happened next was going to happen fast, and he would need extraordinary concentration and luck.
The Patil twins had come through for him, and he was to be meeting Dinesh Patil just outside the Leaky Cauldron in a few minutes. They had planned as well as they could, but there was no way to be certain how easily Dumbledore could track Harry. Padma had transfigured new glasses for him to remove that threat, but they would only last for a couple of days before they reverted back to a small hand mirror. He was wearing clothes that Dobby had pilfered from somewhere, and Harry knew better than to ask where they came from. He only hoped that he wasn't wearing Draco Malfoy's castoffs. Dobby might be amused by such an irony.
Taking one last longing look at Hogwarts, Harry turned his broom toward Hogsmeade and took a deep breath. The village lights glimmered invitingly three miles in the distance. At the broom's top speed, it would take him just over 60 seconds to reach The Three Broomsticks, which would be serving the last of its late night customers.
No time like the present, Harry thought, and accelerated on his broom like his life depended on it, which, in fact, it did. When he reached the castle gates, he was flying twenty feet off the ground and going over 160mph.
Harry never remembered exactly what happened next. He saw a bright flash of blue light, felt a sudden compression in his chest, and a few seconds later found himself staring dazedly up at the night sky. He was lying on his back on the road to Hogsmeade, just beyond the castle gates. He had apparently been knocked off his broom by some kind of ward, and had fallen 20 feet to the ground. The fall had bruised his arse and back terribly, and the breath was knocked out of him, but otherwise he seemed to be okay.
Standing woozily and swaying, Harry got his bearings and tried not to panic. Whatever had just happened, someone probably knew about it, and he was just standing here out in the open. Recovering his broom and wrapping his cloak around his arm, Harry turned toward Hogsmeade and shot off as fast as the Firebolt could carry him. His paranoia was in overdrive, and he expected spell fire to erupt around him at any second.
The next minute seemed to take an eternity to Harry. The dark landscape of the road to Hogsmeade rushed by him at a breakneck pace, but it seemed to him like he was crawling. Almost there, he thought, come on, come on…
Finally he pulled up sharply in front of the old café and jumped off his broom. He whipped his invisibility cloak around himself and sprinted into The Three Broomsticks, not caring that the broom he was carrying would be visible to all. The café had only three customers at this hour, all of whom looked to be in advanced stages of inebriation, and Madam Rosmerta was leaning against her elbow in a slight doze. Her eyes opened at the sound of her floo activating, but she heard only the words "Leaky Cauldron" and saw no one. A sickle was spinning on the floor, apparently left behind by her mysterious visitor.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles to the south, Harry Potter was spat out of the fireplace of The Leaky Cauldron, landing unceremoniously on his bum. He grabbed his belongings and ran out the entrance to muggle London, sparing not a glance for whoever might be in the bar. Once outside, he turned right sharply and sprinted fifty meters to the edge of a dark alley, where he skidded and then ducked into the darkness.
"Dinesh?" he panted hesitantly, desperately hoping that he had not been stood up.
In the darkness he felt a hand grip his arm, but saw nothing.
"Hold on, Harry Potter," a slightly accented voice spoke, and with a soft pop the alley was empty.
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