Welcome to my new story! The idea for this struck me rather suddenly and while I should really be working on my other stories, this one just wouldn't let me go until I wrote some of it down. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

Warnings: None for this chapter, except like, one curse word.

Disclaimer:If you recognize any terms, characters, or concepts, that's because they don't belong to me.

Chapter 1 – Out of the Frying Pan...

"Harry had never been in a worse situation. He was alone, stranded in the Muggle world, and had just seriously broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. So seriously, in fact, that he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives were not yet swooping down upon him to snap his wand and arrest him.

He thought of Ron and Hermione, who he was sure would want to help him, criminal or not, but they were both out of the country, and with Hedwig gone for Aunt Marge's stay, there was no way to contact them.

He was even without any money with which to get by. He had some wizarding currency in the bottom of his trunk while the rest of his parents' fortune was in the London Gringott's chapter. But with no Muggle money, he had no way to get there.

But, he thought, looking down at his wand, he was already a criminal. Surely a little more magic wouldn't make his situation worse? He could simply charm his trunk feather-light, slip on his father's old Invisibility Cloak, and fly to London on his broom. From there, he could withdraw his money, have it converted to Muggle, and begin his life as an outcast."

-Paraphrased from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 3

Harry glumly recalled the process that had led him to the featherbed on which he lay, desperately gripping the sheets to keep himself from being flung into the glass windows as the Knight Bus exploded forwards with a BANG. Between blowing up Aunt Marge, threatening Uncle Vernon, encountering that intimidating figure in the alley, and unintentionally summoning magical transportation, Harry's last half-hour had been very busy, indeed.

He hoped they arrived in London soon – it was rather difficult to plan his future as an outcast when every sharp turn the Knight Bus made shook all thought from his head. At least, he considered, he was well away from that strange, hulking thing he had seen in the alley on Magnolia Crescent.

Another BANG, and Harry collided with the brass headboard of the bed. The newspaper he had been attempting to look occupied with flew up into his face, and the terrifying visage of the mass murderer Sirius Black – who was in fact a wizard, fancy that? – crinkled up against his glasses. Perhaps he might chance upon Sirius Black while he was on the run. Maybe if he hid his scar – so as not to instigate a further murderous rampage – the man would be willing to give him some tips on being an outlaw.

Hours passed and one by one the other passengers gleefully exited the bus until only Harry was left. He had spent the time alternately fretting terribly, and feeling a grim sort of vindictiveness. Despite that he had effectively ruined his own future, he could not bring himself to truly regret using magic on Aunt Marge – he wouldn't stand such insults to his parents, the people who had loved him dearly and who had died for his sake.

"Next up, Diagon Alley!" Stan Shunpike called from the front of the bus. Harry hurriedly stuffed his few scattered belongings into his trunk and rose up from the bed. With another BANG, the Knight Bus was suddenly speeding through Charing Cross Road and coming to a stop before the Leaky Cauldron.

"Right, then, Neville, hope you–" Stan's word stuttered to a halt and Harry was instantly on guard. Seeing that the driver and conductor were both fixated on the door to the bus, Harry hurriedly pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and dove under the bed, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he scrambled to hide himself.

He could not yet tell what had snapped Stan to attention so immediately, but Harry was quite sure he did not want to wait around in the open to find out. He watched, breath caught in his throat, as a pair of expensive dragonhide boots and the hem of a pinstriped cloak appeared on the bus.

"Minister," Stan breathed. "Wha– What can we do for you today, sir?"

"Morning, morning," Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister for Magic, said impatiently. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. He boarded this bus at approximately 9:00 yesterday evening, yes?"

Harry felt nauseous. The Minister for Magic himself was looking for him, and so soon! There must have been terrible repercussions to inflating Marge the way he had; surely, for the Minister to be hunting him down, dozens, even hundreds of Muggles must have seen what he'd done, had seen her great ballooned form tumbling through the sky! Harry could practically smell the damp moldiness of the dark cell in Azkaban they had surely reserved for him.

"Nope, no 'Arry Potter, Mr. Minister, sir. Got a Neville Longbottom what asked get let off 'ere, but 'e must've scarpered already. Look 'ere, though, 'e must've been in such a hurry 'e's gone an' left 'is trunk!"

Shit! Harry cursed in his mind. In his hurry to avoid being seen, he had forgotten to hide his trunk along with him! Harry tried, and failed, to swallow the dry, heavy knot of dread that had lodged itself in his throat. He shuffled backwards, pressing himself further against the wall of the bus.

"No no, that's just not possible. Ministry records show that Harry Potter's wand boarded the Knight Bus last night. He must be here. Perhaps he boarded without your knowledge," the Minister was saying as footsteps drew nearer. Two pairs of boots stopped just before Harry's trunk and he saw hands appear to inspect it. Stan gripped it by the handles and heaved it with a wheezing grunt onto the bed under which Harry was hidden. The mattress above him sagged with the sudden weight of it, and a flexible brass support dipped down and knocked against his head.

Harry couldn't quite swallow his squeak of pained surprise. There was a pause above him, and then Cornelius Fudge's round, flushed face suddenly appeared, eyes squinted and peering into the darkness below the bed. Harry flinched back, heart in his throat and hand over his mouth to keep in any more startled noises as those probing eyes roved right past him.

"…Just the mattress then," Fudge murmured to himself.

"'Ere now, Mr. Minister, sir, I wouldn't hope to tell you how to do your job, sir, so I'd ask you not to say I'm no good–" Stan was saying above them. Fudge heaved himself back upright.

"Not my intention, I assure you, young man. But nevertheless, panicked, desperate young boys can be very resourceful, indeed. Aha!" he cried suddenly, triumphantly. "You see here? Harry Potter's name across the trunk! A passenger, certainly! I'll have to check the bus thoroughly, you understand."

"Aye, sir, of course! Blimey, you 'ere that, Ern? Neville Longbottom is 'Arry Potter!"

"Right then," Fudge coughed importantly. "Homenum revelio!" he called sharply. Harry gasped and bit down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut and waiting, terrified, to be exposed and arrested. And he waited a bit longer. It seemed the Minister, as well as Stan and Ernie, were waiting for something to happen, but Harry remained where he was, still hidden. Harry wasn't sure what that spell was supposed to do, but he guessed it hadn't worked properly, if the Minister's annoyed huff was anything to go by.

"Accio Harry Potter!" he cried. Nothing. "Accio Harry Potter's wand! Accio, accio, accio!" Fudge growled with frustration, but whatever this spell was supposed to do, by some saving grace, it was also not revealing Harry to him, and Harry was not about to give himself away.

"Well. Well. I suppose he must have already left. Missed him by a moment, perhaps. I'll have to confiscate the trunk, you understand." And with that, the Minister for Magic turned and stalked off the bus, Harry's trunk floating behind him, too frustrated to even apologize for holding up the bus.

"Well now, that's one to tell the missus, 'ey, Ernie? The Minister for Magic, righ' 'ere, lookin' for 'Arry Potter. Wonder what 'e's done?"

"Aye," said Ernie. And with a great BANG, the bus was off again. With great difficulty, Harry kept his grip on the leg of the bed to keep from tumbling backwards across the floor.

Finally away from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry lay tense and shaking huddled beneath the bed, his heart in palpitations over the close call. That was almost the end for me, he thought blankly. I was almost caught, was almost arrested and thrown in prison.

He couldn't risk going for his money now, not with the Minister himself and Merlin knew how many other Ministry officials looking for him in Diagon Alley. But how had they known where to look in the first place…?

My wand, Harry remembered, horrified. Fudge said they traced my wand. His only means of protection, the only thing that would let him survive as an outcast, was also his downfall. He stared down at his beloved wand, conflicted betrayal welling inside him. He couldn't forsake survival and leave it somewhere, but he couldn't let it give him away.

So long as he was in this country and had his wand, he would be found again and again. He might have lucked out this time, as the Minister's spells had not worked for some reason, but surely there were more experienced investigators under the Ministry's employ who would be able to find him, invisible or not.

As the bus came to a screeching halt and allowed a portly witch on board, Harry waited, tense and expectant, for Ministry officials to follow, claiming to have detected the presence of his wand. But no one came but the portly witch, and no one but ordinary passengers boarded for the next several stops. Eventually, Harry stopped preparing himself to be arrested each time the bus halted. Obviously, they weren't looking for him on the bus any longer.

Maybe being on the bus is keeping them from finding me? Maybe it's blocking whatever spell they're using to trace my wand, he thought, cautiously moving to his feet and towards the back of the bus as the beds suddenly changed into plush armchairs. But he couldn't remain on the bus forever. No, he had to get somewhere they couldn't find him, somewhere they couldn't trace him… Somewhere they weren't allowed to trace him.

And as the next wizard boarded the Knight Bus and asked to be let off in Dover, Harry knew what he had to do.

Salt and oil, Harry thought, breathing in the scent of the coastal wind as he stepped off the Knight Bus close behind another wizard into the Port of Dover. His fingers clenched tightly around the Invisibility Cloak to prevent it from rippling away from him in the breeze. He squinted painfully against the afternoon sun, which glared at him as it reflected off the towering white cliffs surrounding the port.

Making his way towards the visitors' center for provisions, he wondered if this was the last he would ever see of his birth country. As soon as he stocked up on food and found a suitable vehicle to stow away in, he would be ferried across the English Channel and into France. He had no definitive plans beyond that, but he would tackle the issues of physical and financial security as soon as he was in a country that didn't want to snap his wand and throw him in jail.

He sighed despondently as he waited for someone to enter the shop before him – it wouldn't do for any staff or shoppers to see the door open of its own accord. By a stroke of luck, Harry noticed that someone had dropped a five-pound note on the ground, half-hidden beneath the trashcan beside the door. Harry stooped to grab it and righted himself just in time for a harried woman with two squabbling children to leave the building. He rushed forward to catch the door before it closed and slipped inside, passing through the small food court to the convenience store in the back.

Having joined the number of society's outcasts, Harry knew that at some point he would have to use less than legal means to survive – he would not always have the luxury of a choice in the matter. But he had the choice now, in this moment, having found that bit of cash. He was determined to spare himself the guilt of theft for as long as possible. With that in mind, Harry pressed into a small, hidden niche against the wall between a freezer full of drinks and a rack of travel brochures. Taking a deep breath, he slipped off his Cloak and casually stepped forward to grab a bag of snacks to pay for at the counter.

And almost immediately, there was a sharp, ringing CRACK just outside the store, exactly like the sound Dobby made whenever he appeared or disappeared. Harry rushed back to the safety of his cloak just in time for a man in a flowered blouse and pinstriped suit pants to step through the door. Despite the ridiculous attire, the man's eyes were sharp and leery, his movements brisk and economical as he stalked through the store. Harry held his breath as shifty eyes passed over where he was hidden, crouched beneath his Cloak beside the rack of tourist pamphlets.

There was no doubt in his mind that this man was both a wizard and searching for him – some Ministry agent unaccustomed to Muggle attire. The door opened again a few minutes later, this time admitting a woman. She wore a pair of ratty jeans beneath a yellow sundress and she wasted no time in approaching the man. They stopped together just beside Harry and made a show of inspecting the rack of pamphlets.

"Any sign of Potter?" the man asked quietly through lips that did not move.

"None," the woman muttered back. "Dawlish is running general detection spells outside and around the grounds, but nothing so far. Finks is infiltrating the central office to check if he was captured on Muggle cameras, no word from him yet. Myers just got back from the Knight Bus. She combed it top to bottom, no trace of the boy, and we've identified the only wizard the conductor said disembarked here."

"Merlin, this is a mess," the man huffed. "How hard is it to track down one school boy? Even if he is Harry bloody Potter."

"It just doesn't make sense," the woman hissed. "HR was able to track his wand the whole time he was on the Knight Bus. Then, suddenly, as soon as it stops at the Leaky Cauldron, his signature completely disappears for five hours, and then it's back for all of seventeen seconds here of all places, and then we arrive and there's no sign of him! Merlin, just imagine trying to extradite him from France if he makes it across the Channel legally!"

"I know, Reynolds! Shit, we all get how big this is, but have some discretion! You don't go blurting out details like that in public, even if there's only Muggles around."

"…Sorry. I'm just tired, was on night watch over the Trace spell," she murmured as they moved away from the pamphlet rack and back towards the door.

"Yeah, we all are…" the man's voice cut off abruptly as the doors closed behind him.

Damn, Harry thought. If they were checking security cameras, they might see that brief moment he had taken off the cloak. There could be no more waiting – it was time to cross. Harry stepped cautiously out of his niche, being careful not to let the edges of his Cloak catch on anything. Glancing to make sure no one was around to see the doors open by themselves, he slipped outside and headed to the lines of vehicles waiting to board the ferry.

Passenger and family vehicles were off the list, he thought as he moved past a line of cars. It would be far too easy to knock against his body and detect his physical presence, even if they couldn't see him. Now those, on the other hand, he thought, eyeing a line of articulated lorries, are just about perfect.

It was the work of a moment to wait for a pair of inspection workers to roll up the back of one of the trucks and to slip in behind them, settling into the corner of the rear behind a large crate. He waited, still and silent, for them to finish examining the cargo. Oddly, a brief word with the driver had them stepping out without a glance in even one crate, but Harry shrugged this off, too relieved that he would not have to worry about evading them during the inspection.

As he was plunged into complete darkness, Harry moved to slip off the Invisibility Cloak before he froze, the wizards' conversation from in the convenience store replaying through his mind. For some reason, the moments when they were unable to track his wand corresponded to the times when he was hidden under the Cloak. Harry would never have guessed that the Cloak would keep him from being detected magically, but was not about to forgo this wonderful stroke of luck.

Sighing, Harry tore open the bag of chips he had stolen from the store and resigned himself to a very long, very dark, and very cramped trip across the English Channel into France.

Harry did not know how long into the trip he had fallen asleep, but he was awakened some time later by the sudden arrest of the engine's comforting rumble. Standing to shake out his stiff limbs, Harry went to hop off his temporary transportation in search of food, making his way carefully in the dark. He bent down to try rolling up the huge door, running his hands along the bottom – and paused. There was no handle on the inside.

"Lumos," he whispered, lifting his wand before him, staring into each corner of the truck with increasing panic. No other doors, no safety latches. Perhaps an alohomora to unlock the door, and then wingardium leviosa to lift it…? But no, that was edging into the territory of more serious magic, spells that would surely alert French authorities to his illegal presence where he doubted a simple lumos would. Harry stifled his wand and slumped back against the wall of the truck.

He would just have to wait until the cargo was unloaded. Hopefully that wouldn't be too long from now. His stomach was starting to ache, although thankfully he did not really need to use the bathroom, as he had not eaten since… he couldn't remember when. That really didn't bode well for the state of his stomach, but it wasn't as though he was unused to going long periods of time without food, courtesy of the Dursleys. With a discontented groan, Harry buried his face in his hands and resigned himself to an even longer wait.

Untold hours later, Harry was truly regretting his decision not to risk detection for the sake of a meal. By this point, it had to have been at least a day and a half, if not two, since he had last eaten, and still the truck had not arrived at its destination. He knew he could last much longer without food (and had before, with the Dursleys), but much longer without water and he would be in serious trouble.

As though bidden by his needs, the truck began decelerating and came to a halt with a sudden lurch. There was a scrabbling of activity and a rush of voices outside the metal walls and Harry felt his way carefully to the back, distancing himself from the door to be sure he was not in danger of being bumped into.

Harry was barely able to bite back his pained groan as the steel door rolled up and blindingly bright sunlight pierced the darkness of the truck. Squinting against the white smear across his vision, he was able to make out several dark figures appearing and breaking up the stark whiteness. His eyes finally adjusted, Harry could now tell the figures were several men and women in dark suits.

He watched, vaguely confused, as they began to unload the crates, murmuring amongst one another in a foreign language. They seemed rather too well dressed to be common laborers, after all. Nonetheless, they went about their work with the ease of long familiarity, working together flawlessly to unload the cargo.

And then another dark figure – smaller than the others – appeared at the end of the truck and the operation stuttered to a brief halt as the other workers froze and flinched away. The smaller figure made a light noise of inquisition and the workers immediately burst into action again, ferrying crates out of the truck at nearly double their previous speed.

Harry shuffled forward and cautiously raised himself to get a better glimpse at the new figure. His breathing echoed harshly in his ears and his heart pounded a furious rhythm against his sternum – something about this new development was making him very, very nervous.

And then came a voice, soft and sibilant, which Harry was quite sure justified his sudden apprehension.

"Ushishishi~ The prince smells a rat."

Welp, there it is then. Hope you enjoyed the first installment! I'd love to hear what you think, if you spotted any errors, etc.

Also, I'd like to hear opinions with regard to romance. I plan for this story to ignore the HP epilogue, to take place predominantly in the KHR side of things, and to be action-centered, but I don't mind some brief forays into romantic implications if you guys would like to see that. So: romance yay or nay? And if so, which KHR character(s) would you like to see Harry flirting with? I'm open to het and slash pairings, but again, nothing serious, as romance is not the focus of the story.

Thanks for reading!

~Breather