AN: I've written another Tremors/Harry Potter crossover! After the last one I just couldn't stop thinking about this idea and just had to write it out. Hope you like it! :-D

Warning: there will be Dumbledore and select Weasley bashing in this story. So if you are a fan of Dumbles, Molly, Ron or Ginny turn back now, I'm not going to go gentle on them or give them good reasons for doing what they've been doing.

And let's all just assume that Hagrid gave Harry the mokeskin pouch for his fourteenth birthday instead of his seventeenth. The thing was just way too useful a plot device to not have here.

Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter of Tremors is owned by myself or anyone I know, though it would be really cool if they were.

§ parsletongue §

Fourteen year old Harry Potter raced across the cemetery, dodging curses and Death Eaters, grabbed Cedric's body and called for for the trophy-portkey; hoping to escape from the nightmare he'd found himself in.

He never noticed the last curse Voldemort shot at him as he was hooked behing the navel and spun away. It hadn't been meant to hit him anyway.

Voldemort smirked cruelly as the boy escaped. His last curse, one of his own design, ensuring that the boy would never make it home, or ever be found.


Harry spun for what felt like hours, losing his hold on Cedric's body at some point but unable to wrench his hand away from the trophy. By the time he slammed into a hard packed ground he was unsure if he had actually stopped moving or not.

Once the world had settled a bit and stopped trying to buck him off, Harry lifted his head and took note of the desert landscape surrounding him. The oppressive heat alone was enough to tell him that he wasn't in England any more.

Reaching for the trophy, hoping against hope that it would work for a third time and finally take him home, Harry could only stare in horror as it melted away into nothing as soon as he touched it. He had no way back now.

Wherever he was, he was stuck.

Attempting to stand so as to see more of the place he had landed in, Harry collapsed back down with a cry once he tried putting weight on his leg. In all the excitement of the Ritual and the fight with Voldemort he had completely forgotten about the Acromantula bite on his leg. Thinking about his leg made him remember his arm, which was still sluggishly bleeding, and take notice of all his other aches and pains.

He needed medical help and had no way to get it.

Laying on the ground, contemplating his situation and burning under the hot sun- he had to be at least halfway around the world for the sun to be still so high in the sky- it took Harry longer than it should have to remember the mokeskin pouch around his neck. A pouch that Hermione had been obsessively packing for him with more and more stuff for weeks now in order to try and help him prepare for anything the final task could throw at him. The only item he'd placed inside it himself was his Invisibility Cloak.

He had no idea what all was in there, he'd stopped asking after she gave him a three foot inventory list after her second packing session- mostly books borrowed from the library, he hadn't had the heart to tell her that he wouldn't be able to stop in the middle of the Task to pull out a book for reference and had just accepted it, and now he just hoped she wouldn't get into too much trouble with not being able to return them- and just really hoped she had packed at least one first-aid kit.

Pulling the pouch open Harry rummaged a minute before giving up, he had found nothing but books so far, and picked up his wand. If he was brought up on charges for Underage Magic use then he was fine with that, so long as it led to him being rescued.

A quick Accio had six different first-aid kits flying out at him, one specifically for venomous creature bites and stings. Harry sent a silent thanks to Hermione for her over-preparedness.

Dumping a potion on his leg Harry screamed as the poison bubbled out of his veins, more painful coming out than it had been getting bit. Swallowing a Bezor and a Blood Replenisher and putting Dittany on his arm, he waited until the bubbling ended before casting an Aquamenti to wash the poison away and clean the wound. A few drops of Dittany later and his leg was as good as he could make it.

He was going to have some new knarly scars to add to his collection.

What he hadn't counted on was the Magical Exhaustion to hit him so hard after his few spells and send his head spinning. Harry realized that after the Task and the fight in the graveyard that he must be running on the equivalent of Magical fumes.

He held on just long enough to get everything back in his pouch, shoving his wand in too so it wouldn't roll away on him, before he let himself passout as his exhausted body demanded he do. Not even caring that he was doing so exposed to the elements and the relentless sun overhead.


Harry stirred awake at the faint sounds of someone speaking, the feeling of something organic running along one of his outstretched arms pulling him even closer to wakefulness.

Opening his eyes Harry came face to mouth with a large, pale pink, snake. So Harry did what came natural in such a situation: he screamed.

§ Get back! § Harry tried to move away from the snake but found his movements sluggish, his body still too exhausted to follow commands precisely.

§ Speaker? § Harry looked up and around, wondering where the hissed question had come from as it hadn't been from the snake in front of him. His eyes then wided as the snake slide backwards into a hole in the ground and the ground just to the side of him heaved up and a giant creature made itself known. § Speaker? §

Harry's already stressed, and now heatstroke addled, mind couldn't deal with yet another problem on top of all the ones he'd already had to deal with. So with a quietly hissed § Bugger my life. § Harry slid back into the welcoming embrace of unconciousness.


It was blessedly cool when Harry woke up again, the coolness finally making Harry aware of just how dangerously hot he had been, but in utter darkness when he tried opening his eyes.

At first he thought he had either gone blind or was blindfolded, but after a few minutes his eyes adjusted enough so he could see faint green luminous... somethings up on what he had to assume was a ceiling. Feeling around for his pouch and pulling out his wand, Harry cast an under-powered Lumos- not wanting to pass out again from the drain of a fully powered spell- and took a look at his surroundings.

He was in a large cavern, no opening to the surface anywhere to be seen from his present vantage point, with a still lake maybe a dozen paces or so away from where he lay. He couldn't see the far side from where he lay with his weak light.

Something brushing against his ankle had Harry giving a shout and turning over, only to be confronted by the worm-like creature he had started to think had been only a heat induced hallucination sticking partway out of the cavern's wall, a part of the wall that looked like it had caved in at some point as it was surrounded by packed dirt rather than the rock the rest of the cavern looked to be made of.

Reaching up to clear his glasses for a better look at the creature, finally noticing they were coated in something slightly sticky that was drying fast, Harry wondered if the creature- whose tongue-tentacle was still caressing his leg- had brought him here. And if so, how?

Trying to find a clean spot on his robe to clean his glasses with was proving hard as Harry noticed it wasn't only his glasses that had been coated in the sticky-slimey-stuff.

Looking again at the creature, that had neither eyes to see him with nor arms to carry him with, Harry came to the horrible realization that the thing must have carried him in its mouth to bring him here. The thought was altogether horrifying, disgusting and trust building.

If the thing was big enough to swallow him whole, but hadn't, then it likely wasn't going to harm him. Right?

§ Injured Speaker is awake? § Harry jumped a little, having forgotten for a moment that the thing could speak Parsletongue.

§ I'm awake. § Harry hissed back, only then realizing how dry his throat was as he forced the hisses out. If he'd been attempting human speech he'd likely be croaking his words as he felt so dry. How long had he been laying in the sun unconscious? § Where am I? §

§ Speaker is safe now. § The creature then began backing out of the cavern and moving away into its tunnels.

§ Yes, thank you for rescuing me, but where am I?! § Harry yelled after the creature as it continued to move away, inciting himself to the coughing fit he had known was coming.

§ Safe. § Harry barely heard the creature's reply over his coughing, but heard it he did.

Once he had his breathing back under control Harry dug in his pouch until he found something to drink- silently thanking Hermione once more, especially after the first sip told him that he'd found orange juice- while thinking about how he was going to get out of this situation as it was obvious now that no one was coming to follow up on his use of Underage Magic.

He had no ideas and could only hope an opportunity presented itself at a later time.

Canceling his Lumos after putting the flask back as he was starting to feel the slight drain on his core from it, and then putting his wand in the pouch too so he wouldn't lose it in the dark of the lightless cavern, Harry lay back on the slightly rocky ground and watched the tiny green lights up on the ceiling until he fell back to sleep.

For now all he could do was wait and try to heal and get stronger, he wouldn't be going anywhere until he could hold a spell longer than a few minutes without it draining him.


Severus Snape, a man of two Masters, strode into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts after his first Death Eater meeting in thirteen years. He had bad news.

"Did you find out what happened to Harry, Severus?" The old man behind the desk asked, his face set in a worried frown.

"I found out what happened, yes, though not what has become of the boy." Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows drew together as he tried to work out the riddle behind the answer. "It seems that after being used in a Ritual to return the Dark Lord to a physical form, suffering under multiple bouts of the Cruciatus Curse at the Dark Lord's own hand and managing to shrug off the Dark Lord's Imperius the boy still somehow managed to beat the Dark Lord in a duel, fight his way through the dozen or so Death Eaters that had been there to see it all happen, get to the body of the already deceased Mr Diggory and call for the trophy that, as you know, was a portkey." Severus paused dramatically, enjoying for once being the one to draw out the reveal of information and give the old man a taste of his own medicine.

"And then, my boy? If young Harry had got hold of the trophy it should have brought him back to school grounds as the other destination would have already been used up taking him away." Severus hid his suspicions about just how the Headmaster knew that the portkey destinations had been layered on top of each other rather than one replacing the other and carried on with his report.

"Mr Potter did indeed get hold of the trophy, but at the same time it was activated the Dark Lord sent a curse of his own making towards it." Severus frowned then, secretly impressed with the ingenuity behind the curse but not wanting the Light Lord in front of him to know that. "The Dark Lord was in a gloating mood and explained that the curse was designed to overwrite the destination of the activated portkey and send it off to any number of random locations that meet its criteria before disintegrating the item used so it could not be used to get back. Its set criteria being that the place must be exceptionally dangerous, meaning it must have a high mortality rate, be an environment the victim has little to no experience with and be a Magical Deadzone." The old Headmaster clinched his fists at that last bit of news.

A Magical Deadzone was a place that Magic could not see into. No tracking spells- not even the powerful Dark ones that use someone's blood- owl mail, Magic detecting devices or even Divination scrying techniques could find someone when they where in a Magical Deadzone. No method known or used by Wizarding-kind could find someone in one of those zones. It was as if they had ceased to exsist.

Even the Wizarding Wireless and Floo connections were blocked in those places, and Apparating only worked if you had an incredibly large Core, they were completely cut off from all outside Magical influences save for Portkeying. Though using Magic while inside one was no problem, something that confused Magical researchers to no end.

And there were thousands of known Deadzones all over the world, and possibly thousands more uncharted ones. It would be a guessing game to try and find which one Harry Potter had been sent to, and there was no guarantee that they would find the boy in time before something killed him.

"This is tragic news, Severus, very tragic. Without Mr Potter's testimony I fear we may not be able to convince the Ministry that Voldemort is back, and if he has been taken to as dangerous a place as you say he has then," he let out a world weary sigh, "I fear the worst." Dumbledore dismissed his Potions Master and spy, looking as old and tired as a man who had just been given such grave news should.

But once the door was closed and he was alone again the Headmaster sat up straight with a devious smirk on his lips.

Oh, it was tragic that the Potter Heir had been killed so soon, that was indeed true, but only as it had happened before the Marriage Contract to young Miss Weasley could be finalized. But still, they may not have the Lordship tied up but they still had the fortune due to Harry having 'written' his Will when he was eleven to leave everything to his 'beloved' Headmaster and updated it at twelve to include his 'good friends' in the Weasley family.

Now all he had to do was have the Ministry declare the boy dead and then those nasty Goblins, who had never allowed him to take more than a few thousand Galleons or a handful of rare artifacts from the Potter Vaults per year even though he had paperwork from the Ministry stating he was allowed to take it all if he so wished, would have to give him everything he deserved and had been denied for too long.

And as for Voldemort? Well, Tom would be no challenge.

Two of his Horcruxes had already been destroyed, one by his own design no less, and he knew where the others lay. Once they were gone Tom would be weak enough to kill, and just like before the Dark Faction would disband with the fall of their leader and peace would be had once more.

Only this time it would be he, Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore, that would be revered as a hero by the people, not some sniviling baby still dirtying his nappies, and all would be as it should have been all along.