HP, Summer before Fourth Year

And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start. Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (p. 6). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Thankfully, he hadn’t made a noise during the whole thing and sat up against the wall his bed was backed against. Thinking.
The song he heard from the windows of a car passing the school came to mind:
We gotta get outta this place
If it’s the last thing we ever do
We gotta get outta this place
Girl, there’s a better life for me and you
Believe me, baby
I know it, baby
You know it too

Yup, gotta get out. His family wasn’t dummies, and he had been raised as a survivor. And to actually use his brain to survive. It was time to start doing that.

He called Dobby and told him it was time and to start by taking his key and empty his vaults to the Gringotts in Belgium, then scrub everything that might contain anything of his from the castle, the Weasley’s and this place to keep anyone from using it against him.
He would see him at the house in the country. And released his owl with a note to the elves at the house in Belgium, finished getting dressed, grabbed his bag with his dual magical and muggle passport and went to flag down the magical cab.

Leaving everything and Dumbledorians behind him.