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Harry Potter and the New Order by JA_Japster
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Harry Potter and the New Order

JA_Japster

Harry Potter and the New Order

By: JA_Japster

Obligatory Disclaimer:

The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K Rowling and all that other good legal stuff that prevents me from being sued. This fanfiction and all original characters created are property of the author (me).

Chapter Four: Nightmares

Hermione

Harry smiled, but it was not the warm smile of innocence that he wore when he was a young schoolboy. It was evil. He flexed a hand and muttered an incoherent word, and I was suddenly propelled backwards as the courtroom exploded in flames. I blinked my eyes, refusing to believe them as Harry laughed; a cold mirthless sound that drowned out the roaring conflagration that burned around me. Another gesture of his right hand and the chains holding him sprang apart and fell uselessly to the ground.

The Auror closest to me scrambled to his feet, but did not even have time to lift his wand before a flash of green light claimed his life. I screamed in horror as the man collapsed, his wand rolling free from his slack grasp. Without thinking, I lunged for it, but suddenly it magically sprang from the ground...right into Harry's waiting hands.

"Stupefy!" The three Aurors bellowed in unison, but the stunners had as much effect on Harry as they did on a fully grown dragon. Harry laughed at their pitiful attempts, and then turned his borrowed wand on them. They never had a chance. Three more Killing Curses, three more bodies.

Wandless, I bolted for the chamber door; desperate to get away from this psychotic murderer who bore no semblance to the man I once befriended and loved. The doors seemed so far away, and with each step the distance grew. My hands were on almost on the doors handle when an invisible rope pulled me off my feet and dragged me backwards.

The strong smell of ash and burning sulfur made me cough as I struggled to stand. I made a frantic dash back towards the doorway, but a wall of fire sprang up to block me. I turned to head in another direction, but the fire rose again to bar my path. A swirling inferno surrounded me on all sides, imprisoning me in a cage of impenetrable flames.

Suddenly a blurred form appeared behind the wall of fire, and I froze, paralyzed with fear, as the flames spread apart, like an honor guard, to allow Harry passage. He walked towards me, his black cloak billowing ominously in a gust of wind.

"Hermione Granger, greatest of all my friends," He said, kissing my cheek in greeting. He reached down and caressed my cheek, brushing away the tears...tears of fear...tears of sadness. I recoiled at the touch, a touch as cold as the man it belonged to.

It now occurred to me why Harry had summoned me to this courtroom. He knew me, probably knew me better than I knew myself, and he knew I would want to speak with him. And in order to speak with him, the Aurors would have to remove his mask. He had used me. I was his willing pawn, a crucial piece in his bid to escape.

"Harry..." I whispered. My stream of tears intensified unconsciously. I was determined not to beg for my life, to retain some modicum of dignity in the face of death, but I also realized at that moment I really didn't want to die.

"Shh...quiet." He responded, running a gentle hand through my tousled brown curls, just like he used to back at Hogwarts during lonely evenings in the Gryffindor common room. Back then, the playful habit had annoyed me, and then it amused me...now it terrified me.

I could only watch helplessly as his wand rose. I stared into his eyes. The once beautiful, emerald eyes I daydreamed about back in Hogwarts were gone, lost in the fires of madness, and I could see no sympathy in them.

"Avada-" He began.

"No!"

I awoke with a loud gasp, breathing heavily, drenched in icy cold sweat. I blinked in the darkness, greedily gulping down the cold night's air to alleviate my rapidly beating heart. It took me a minute to realize it had just been a nightmare, another minute to realize I was still alive, and one more minute to remember that it had been ten months since the trial. Ten months since the Aurors dragged my best friend off to Azkaban for the rest of his life. Ten months since I had returned to my life of normality.

Ten months since the nightmares had begun.

The nightmare was always the same with Harry going mad and killing everyone. It would only end after he turned his wand on me, moments before the green light consumed me. The nightmare was my worst fear, that in reality my friend was just the crazy murderer everyone thought he was, and not the troubled man I had defended him as.

But now Harry was gone. The truth of the matter was no longer relevant. Crazy or not, Harry was imprisoned in Azkaban, but regardless, the nightmares persisted. When logical reasoning failed me, I tried denial. I told myself I did not care about Harry, that he was just apart of my past, a man who did not care for the rules and only did what he thought was right. I told myself I hated Harry for what he had done to me that I was better off forgetting that he ever existed...so then why could I think of nothing but him?

It was bad enough that Harry haunted my sleep, but now he also haunted me during the day. Everywhere I looked, I saw an evil, cackling Harry, his wand out, blowing people away. On the train, I Harry sat across from me, telling me about his plans to take over the world. In the library, he searched the shelves intently for books about dark magic. Maybe I was the one going crazy now.

I even once consulted a muggle psychiatrist to help me banish Harry's phantom presence from my mind. His suggestion had been simply, "Go see him and put your fears to rest." The problem was I had not seen Harry since the trial.

It was not as if I had not made any attempt to visit Harry. Every week I made it a point to travel to Azkaban (not a horribly daunting task anymore with the absence of Dementors), but each time the amused warden would report that Harry had no wish to meet with anyone. I had not been overly surprised at the news. It occurred to me that there was still so little I knew about Harry, and so now his unveiled eccentricities did not come as much of a surprise. I expected to be surprised.

Maybe he was ashamed to see me, or maybe he was just returning to his reclusive behavior. Perhaps the former, because he still corresponded to me regularly. Every month or so, I would send Harry a long letter (a novel called it) through his, now my, owl, Hedwig. He would always respond in a concise letter, full of monosyllabic words that were just enough for me to decipher that he was still alive.

I groaned as I looked at the digital clock on my bedside table. It was still early morning. At this rate, I would be asleep at my desk, my writing untouched, and another day would go to waste. Thanks to Harry, I was falling behind on my work, and the publishers were beginning to complain.

Awake now, I knew I could never fall asleep, so I reluctantly rolled out of bed and turned on the lights. I lived in a simple apartment in an all muggle neighborhood in London. It was furnished with muggle furniture, though there was the occasional touch of magic here and there. A laundry machine that washed clothes instantaneously, a television that mysteriously received free cable thanks to Fred and George, a collection of quills and parchment at my desk- it was not as if I had forsaken my entire magical heritage.

It was Ron had said after seeing my apartment, "You can take the witch out of a muggle, but you can't take the muggle out of the witch," or something to that sense. Muggle adages were never his strong suit, despite a year's course in Muggle Studies.

I made myself a pack of instant coffee and tapped the side of the mug with my wand. Instantly, it began to boil. I took a sip and sat down at my writing desk, waiting for the effects of caffeine to kick in, a habit I had acquired from memories of my parents early morning routine. As far as I was concerned, there was no better substitute, magical or otherwise, than good old caffeine.

I set down the mug and picked up my quill, tracing it lazily across a piece of scrap parchment. The current book I was writing was a little story that I had started two years ago when I first became an author, but never finished. It was about a girl's life in Hogwarts. I smiled, remembering my own fond memories…back when everything was right in the world.

I closed my eyes, lost in thought, unaware that my writing hand was still moving with a will of its own. When I opened my eyes, I groaned at the mess. The word "Harry" was scrawled all over my current, half complete page of text. Once again, it was all Harry's fault...

With a snarl, I tapped the parchment with my wand until the offending words vanished, and then, picking up my quill, started once again.

Author's Notes:
Thanks to Kristin for proof-reading chapter four! A few reviewers remarked on the legnth of my chapters, and I have to agree with you. It's not because I'm lazy or just want to recieve as many reviews as possible (well...they might play some part in it) but because if I want a perspective shift, I usually try to wait until the next chapter. Some chapters may be pretty long, others might be short. Thanks for the feedback!