The Art of Peace

Chapter 1:

New Beginnings

The wizarding world awoke the next morning to headlines screaming "The Boy Who Lived Dead! Muggles Blamed!" Across England wizards and witches sat at their breakfast table, stunned. In a small cabin alongside a loch in Scotland Remus Lupin and Sirius Black got drunk together, bawling like children. The Burrow was quieter than it had ever been, as Arthur and Molly Weasley were surrounded by their children and Hermione, who had just arrived by Floo, taking solace in each other. Not even Fred and George could break the gloom, not that they were up to trying. Ginny, though, sat in a corner by herself, puzzled. Her bloodshot eyes and puffy cheeks showed that she too had been crying, but she was too busy thinking right now. Owls were very magical creatures, so why wasn't Hedwig grieving the loss of her master? She knew they had some sort of elemental bond between the two of them; otherwise Hedwig would never be able to deliver letters to him. So what did this mean? Was Harry alive? If so, whose body was in the St. Mungo's morgue? Hesitantly, she left the room with Hedwig and after giving her a letter and careful instructions, let her fly away, leaving Ginny alone with her thoughts and fears.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his office at Hogwarts, gazing at Fawkes the phoenix. "It seems our dear Harry has left us," he said. "I know he'll be alright though. He learned from the best." A pause filled the air as unspoken communication sped between the magical bird and the Headmaster. "No, I won't go after him yet. Let us see how this plays out. Who knows, maybe he will learn more now than ever!"

And a disgruntled Severus Snape looked over autopsy reports in his dingy Potions lab, muttering. "Potter, you fool, what have you done now?"

Harry was tired and hungry. Running away wasn't supposed to be this difficult! He had already been through three run-ins with the coppers. How was he to know it was illegal to sleep in public parks? And who knew that it was almost a capital crime to steal a milk bottle off of a porch?! Sure, he could have gotten rid of them easily enough with a few well placed charms and hexes. Hermione and Voldemort between them had given him a huge amount of incentive to learn about the more fighting oriented portions of magic after all. The only problem was that any use of his wand would end up with him being right at the Ministry and that was the last place he wanted to be right now. Maybe he could get around to teaching himself some wandless magic. It wasn't impossible, the incident with the snake in the zoo had shown him that, it was just he didn't know where to start. Oh well, he had a lot of time for that later; first he had to reach the Continent to get out of the Ministry's reach. In order to get there though, he needed money, and in London that only came from Gringott's in Diagon Alley.

Thanking his father for his foresight in getting an invisibility cloak, Harry carefully approached the Gringott's branch and slipped inside when the door opened. Walking through the main doors, he hid in a corner to unobtrusively remove his cloak. His so obviously Muggle hat, sunglasses and clothes covered all his identifying features as well as giving people something else to look at than his face. If there was one thing that he had learned from Barty Crouch when he had impersonated Moody, it was that the best place to hide was in plain sight. The only problem now was to get into his vault unnoticed. Fortunately, wizards and goblins still had their communication problems, so hopefully his visit would be ignored until it was too late for anyone to catch him. Walking brazenly to the main desk, he asked the goblin there if he could enter his vault. The goblin looked at him suspiciously, but let him in without a word after ensuring that he was actually Harry Potter. After taking as much out as he could carry hidden on his person and transferring it into common English currency, Harry put the cloak back on and once more slipped into Diagon Alley's streets.

Outside, Harry sighted in relief. This had been much easier than he expected, and once he was out of here he was almost home free. Then the inevitable disaster struck. The new edition of the Daily Prophet appeared on the newsstands. People were immediately rushing to buy it, gathering in small groups and... crying? Harry was at a loss to what was going on. He could not get close enough to see the headlines, so he tried eavesdropping on one of the calmer groups of people.

"I can't believe it!" one woman sobbed. "He can't be gone!"

One of the others in the group spoke up--a little more calmly this time. "Isn't it ironic though? After all the work Dumbledore did to protect him, the 'Boy Who Lived' was killed by mere Muggles!"

Harry couldn't believe what he had heard. He was supposed to be dead? What on earth was going on? He listened to more groups and eventually discovered the story - at least the Prophet's take on it anyways. He had been killed when a bomb had exploded in the Dursley's living room, obliterating the entire house when the gas main caught fire and blew. The Dursley's had died as well, leaving Harry without any family at all. As soon as he learned this, Harry was trembling in fear and anger. Even when he was gone people who knew him were still being hurt. It was better if they thought him dead; it would save a lot of people a lot of agony. He was sorry for the Dursley's though. Sure they had held a mutual hate for each other, but they were family, and just for that they had been killed. One of these days Voldemort was going to pay, and pay with his life, for all the evil he had done. With that final promise to the family he had never really known, Harry left Diagon Alley, slipping into the immense city of London, losing himself as only a Muggle could.

When he finally was able to sneak onto a ship two days later, Harry was more than willing to forget all about London and everything to do with it. It was amazing how stratified Muggle society was. It was just as bad as wizards. Right now he was on a ship that could have been carrying garbage for a hundred years considering the shape it was in, and not a kilometer away was a cruise ship, catering to all the vices of the rich and famous on their way to the Azores. However, that wasn't what he was here for. This ship happened to be carrying a load of sheep across the Channel to France for an auction. Apparently they were something special with extra fine wool or something, Harry didn't really care. He was out of England, and that is all that mattered for now. After a nice refreshing nap, a bump jolted Harry out of his sleep, telling him it was time to go. Once more making sure he was completely covered by the invisibility cloak, he left the ship, not a single soul realizing they had been carrying a much more precious cargo than sheep.

The port city of Calais was like nothing Harry had ever seen. Sure, he had walked he docks of London, but this--this was old. It was obvious that the city had been rebuilt several times. Walking through it Harry could see houses that were unmistakably English next to ones that were most definitely French, and others that he had no idea where they came from. He had taken off the cloak in a secluded alley soon after making a swift exit from the port, so he was able to lose himself in the crowds. He had a limited supply of French at his disposal - he had gotten a dictionary to learn a few important words at a bookstore in London. Right now he was looking for a bank or something like it to change his money. Might as well get that over with as soon as possible since he did not plan on returning to England any time soon, if ever. Spying a small branch bank nearby, he made his way inside and converted his money.

It was getting dark by the time he left, so he decided to find a hotel and spend the next few days resting until he decided where to go from here. However, he soon discovered that just as Calais had been a bright inviting place in the day, the part he was in quickly turned sinister in the evening shadows. Groups of people started to congregate; many of them were his own age, but there were children as young as ten or eleven. Feeling for his wand, Harry kept a good grasp on it as he walked down the boulevard. Suddenly it happened. Out of nowhere, a group of toughs materialized all around him, forcing him down into a dark alley.

"Well, what do we have here?" stated one in English with a heavy French accent (A/N: I'm not going to even try to make a French accent, just pretend its there ). "Is the little English boy all on his own in the big city?"

Harry continued to back into the stone wall behind him. "Leave me alone! I don't want to have to hurt you!"

At this the group laughed; a chilled laugh that just added to the fear Harry had. This was different than facing Voldemort. These toughs were an unknown quantity, just after his money or the sport of beating him up. At least he knew where he stood with Voldemort and he had people to help him even if they were only on their way. Here it was just him and the gang.

As they approached, he heard a noise behind him. Someone had back there the whole time! He quickly whirled and caught the other boy with a fist across the jaw, stunning him. In an instant the others were on him, dragging him down. The last thing he saw as he fell was a man running to his rescue, jumping in the air from at least ten meters away, and... flying?