Chapter 5: Harry's Escape

So that's how Harry found himself in the depths of a military mountain complex, guarded by who knows how many reinforced metal doors. He'd been brought here after surgery, though at the time, he'd been barely conscious and only vaguely aware of passing through at least three massive barriers. Maybe more. Not that it mattered—he could have escaped at any time once fully recovered. But honestly? If the Muggles were so insistent on locking him up, who was he to deny them the pleasure?

He decided to play along. Stay, eat their food, rest, and quietly regain his strength. And when the time was right, he'd stage the most spectacular escape they had ever seen. After all, he was James Potter's son.

The room they gave him was… adequate. About the size of the one he'd had at the Dursleys—maybe a bit more comfortable, though he doubted that was intentional. Still, he appreciated the gesture.

So for the past five months, Harry had followed a routine:

• Wake up

• Eat a government-funded breakfast

• Meditate

• Sort through the tangled memories of the Goa'uld and Voldemort

• And allow the scientists to poke, prod, and draw his blood—if only to keep them entertained.

Let it not be said Harry Potter was ungrateful for free food and accommodation.

Of course, they weren't going to discover anything worthwhile in his blood. Between basilisk venom, phoenix tears, and now the naqahdah secreted by the Goa'uld remnant, his blood had become something entirely new. Even compared to a wizard's blood, it would be unrecognisable. And good luck convincing a wizard to give you a sample in the first place.

Wizards guarded their blood more fiercely than a mother elephant protecting her calf, or a father his daughter's virtue. Harry could go on, but he figured the point was made.

He had to admit—he owed the doctors here something. They'd removed the dead Goa'uld from his system but had left behind the gland-like organ near his spine. His magic had quickly adopted it, weaving it into his system so thoroughly that it now produced naqahdah, which helped restore and enhance his body.

Over the last five months, Harry had grown six inches taller, shooting up from 5'11" to 6'4". The scientists had nearly lost their minds trying to understand the cause. Theories ranged from "environmental exposure" to "experimental medicine." He'd watched their frustration with amusement.

They even tried communication. Flashcards. Gestures. Some poor intern tried interpretive dance. So, of course, Harry responded in Parseltongue. Their reactions were priceless.

Hecate's Memories

As he sifted through the Goa'uld's mind, he discovered its name: Hecate, a mighty but low-profile System Lord whose territory sat on the fringes of the Milky Way. Hecate wasn't interested in flashy conquests. Instead, he played the long game—quiet, calculated, and dangerous.

Harry was sickened by the cruelty embedded in those memories: entire populations enslaved, worship enforced at the barrel of a staff weapon, disobedience punished with extinction. It made Voldemort look… small.

Yet, Harry understood a harsh truth—if he took out the Goa'uld too quickly, the galaxy would fall into chaos. As awful as they were, the System Lords maintained order, and without them, a power vacuum would have swallowed entire civilisations.

So Harry made a choice:

He would become Hecate.

He would wear the mask.

And from inside the empire, he would bring it down—brick by brick.

But that was for another day.

Today… was escape day.

The Plan

He'd been preparing for this for weeks. Using subtle magical waves, Harry had scanned the planet. Most magical concentrations—whether human or artefact—registered as danger zones in his mind, glowing red. Only one place came up green: a magical signal in the heart of Antarctica. Weak, but clean. Safe.

Here in the mountain, he'd marked each of the seven blast doors with intricate runes—disguised, subtle, and devastatingly effective. With one magical push, the runes would activate, sealing each door with Unbreakable Charms. He estimated it would take the Muggles 2 to 3 days to breach them.

Plenty of time.

He wasn't planning to go alone, either. He needed information—someone who could explain this new Earth. So he decided to "borrow" someone. Every 5th of the month, they sent someone down to try communicating. Whoever walked in today? They'd be coming along for the ride.

He smiled when he sensed them crossing the seventh door—two guards, one scientist.

The Escape

As the door to his cell opened, Harry waved at the camera—his version of a goodbye.

Then he released a powerful pulse of magic.

The lights died instantly. Cameras fizzled. Sirens went silent. Seven layers of metal doors locked down like vaults.

The guards barely had time to react before they crumpled under stunning spells. Harry reached out, grabbed the nearest scientist—a blonde female—and Apparated.

Sam Carter's POV

Captain Samantha Carter sighed quietly as she descended yet another reinforced staircase leading deep into the bowels of the mountain facility. Each step echoed off the cold metal walls, a reminder of just how far below ground they kept the alien.

She wasn't thrilled about this assignment. Not because she was scared—far from it. She'd stared down more than a few dangerous situations in her military career. It was more the feeling of… futility.

They'd had the alien for months. Five, to be exact. And in that time, nothing had come from it—no translation, no common ground, no tech interface. The alien looked human, sure, but whatever language it spoke was one they couldn't decipher. Half the time it responded in sounds that resembled hissing or clicks, like some sort of snake dialect.

The linguists were baffled. The anthropologists had theories. The rest of the scientists had grown bored.

But the brass hadn't given up. Orders had come down to keep trying—just in case.

So, someone had to check in once a month.

This month, Sam drew the short straw.

"Well," she muttered to herself, adjusting the lapel of her lab coat, "at least it gets me out of paperwork."

Two armed guards flanked her silently as they reached the final security checkpoint. She nodded to the technician in the control booth, who pressed a button to open Door Seven—the last in a gauntlet of seven 15-inch-thick blast doors designed to keep anything in.

The air here was colder. Thicker. More sterile.

She paused just before stepping inside, looking up at the security camera that always watched them.

"Let's keep this simple," she whispered. "Hello, test, maybe a snack, then leave. Easy."

Still… she was curious.

Despite the lack of communication, the alien was... fascinating. His body had healed from near-death wounds at a rate that defied medical understanding. His physiology was nearly identical to that of a human's, yet his blood carried anomalies that none of their instruments could fully explain.

And he had grown tall and lean, almost unnaturally so, in just a few months. Many scientists whispered about bioengineering or dormant alien genes. A few joked about growth hormones in the food. Sam wasn't convinced. She'd read his medical file, and something about it felt off… but she couldn't put her finger on it.

There were also the rumours—little things.

The cameras would occasionally cut out around him. Metal objects sometimes vibrated subtly when he was annoyed. Once, someone claimed to have seen his eyes glow faintly in the dark.

But no concrete proof.

All Sam had seen was a quiet, unreadable face and long silences punctuated by the occasional low hiss. He didn't resist. Didn't cooperate. Just… watched.

They said the alien's stare made you feel like he was reading your soul.

And now, here she was, walking into his cell.

"At least he's easy on the eyes," she admitted inwardly, a smile tugging at her lips. Objectively speaking, the alien was attractive—striking, even—with angular features and eyes too green to be natural.

She gestured for the guards to stay close but not too aggressive—no point in spooking him.

The door hissed open.

And that was the last thing she saw—a flicker of movement, a strange pulse of red light.

Her instincts screamed too late. A blast of energy hit her before she could react.

She had the brief impression of falling—and then the world dissolved into black.

Please review

PREVIOUS INDEX NEXT