Harry Potter and the New Order

Harry Potter and the New Order

By: JA_Japster

Rated: PG-13 (Language and Violence)

Once an Auror, Harry potter is now an escaped convict accused of the murder of twenty Death Eaters who he did in fact kill and feels absolutely no remorse. With the ministry and their Aurors ineffective against Voldemort's revived army of Death Eaters, Harry takes matters in his own hands to resurrect the Order of the Phoenix to help a world that does not want them…in anyway he sees fit.

Portrayed by the two main characters (Harry and Hermione) in their POV.

Prologue

Harry

When you are standing on the edge of life and death with a wand shoved in your face and the incantations for a killing curse on the wielder's lips, be careful not to blink. If you do, you might open your eyes only to find out that you missed out on the moment you died. That would be shame because you only die once.

These thoughts are going through my head as I lay there, battered and bruised, in the rubble of what was once the courtroom in the lowest dungeons of the Ministry of Magic. It was ironic and strangely appropiate that the story ends where it began.

The battle that had lead up to this point had taken its toll on the scenery. That was for sure. If a single pillar in the whole entire Ministry of Magic remained standing, I did not know of it. And if I did I would probably knock it down just to spite it. Bodies of the slain surrounded me. They bowed to me. I was their master because I was alive and they were not.

I coughed and tasted blood, my blood.

“How does it feel to die, Potter?”

“Not too bad.” I retorted, spitting out a mouthful of blood on the concrete. I tried to stand, but unsurprisingly, my leg could not take it. It was probably broken. “It would probably be better if you would shut up, though.”

A fist crashed against the side of my face and I collapsed into the uncaring ground, spots dancing across my eyes. More blood flowed through my cracked lips. I carefully rose to my knees. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I ignored it. Pain, it seemed, became meaningless once you have sustained enough of it. It becomes a dull throbbing sensation, the only thing that reminded me that I was still alive. Pain was good.

I could only partially see out of one eye; the other one was welded shut by dried blood. Everything is a blur. My hand reached out on the ground, feeling around for my dropped wand amongst the broken stones littering the ground. It was hopeless, like searching for a needle in a haystack, but when you are desperate, you do not need hope. You need miracles. And I was praying for a good version of one.

A foot kicked me in the side and I felt a rib snap. I groaned in pain, but forced myself to stay up. If I fell now, I would never get back up, and I could not die. Not yet anyway. Not when so many others had died to keep me alive.

”Just lie down and die, Potter.”

Maybe later, like when you're dead too, I thought. Suddenly, my hand came in contact with something on the ground. It was not my wand. It was something better.

Chapter One: Reflection

Hermione

Not for the first time I wondered what I was doing there, standing nervously before the Wizengamot, the judicial counsel of the wizarding world. A moment in the presence of the most respected witches and wizards in England validated what Harry Potter had told me about his trial before our fifth year: It was very intimidating. That time his crime was improper usage of magic. This time his crime was murder. I'm once again wondered what I was doing there, representing Harry's case, defending him in a court of law.

I was not a lawyer by profession. Truth be told, my field of expertise did not lie in law but in literature. I had become what I always wanted to be, an author, someone who wrote down their ideas and compiled them into stories. All that changed a week ago when I received a startling letter via a ministry owl telling me to report to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, as soon as possible. Suffice to say, I apparated there immediately and within minutes had earned myself assembly with Fudge.

It was not the first time meeting him. I had seen and spoken with him on occasion, though in recollection most of the occasions had been on less than pleasant terms. He seemed to recall as such because his message was as terse as it was surprising. The message concerned an old classmate of mine, a person who I once called my best friend before he disappeared off the face of the Earth shortly after graduation from Hogwarts.

Harry Potter.

Charged with multiple counts of murder, Harry had specifically requested me to represent him in court. Not an expensive lawyer who would be more than eager to represent the famous Potter, but me. Surprises, it seemed, came in pairs, and little did I know that this was just the beginning.

I was confused, and more than that, angry. I had not heard from Harry for over five years, since our graduation day to be exact. The last I heard he had accomplished his dream of becoming an Auror. Since then, the only hint I received of his continual existence came in the form of periodical articles in the Daily Prophet headlining his success in the capture of yet another felon or Death Eater. Not once did I receive a letter or a visit.

Reflection.

I once questioned my other good friend, Ron Weasley, who had taken up an office in the Ministry alongside his father about Harry. He too had heard little from their friend. He had only seem him once years ago, and that been from a distance during a visit to Hogsmeade.

Time past and things changed. Ron married an old school friend of ours, Luna Lovegood. I was certain Harry would attend. He might have been the world's largest prat by neglecting his friends for about forever, but he would not dare miss his best friend's wedding. Of course he would. He was Harry Potter, a man of infinite arrogance and ego as Professor Snape would put it. His absence ruined the wedding, at least for me. Ron seemed indifferent to it, as if he had gotten use to the fact that the famous trio of Hogwarts was now a duo, the third stooge lost somewhere in the flow of life.

It was another milestone on the road leading to the present without Harry.

And then came the funeral. Two months ago Ron was found murdered in an alley, a Dark Mark hovering over his head. He was another casualty, another sign of the war we fought against Voldemort, a war we were slowly losing no matter how much the Ministry attempted to disguise it. The Aurors did catch an occasional Death Eater who might or might not be jailed thanks to the endless miles of red-tape provided by the Ministry, but there was no stopping the killing. Not since the Order of the Phoenix had died...

Before, I tried to forget about it. I tried to run from the glaring headlines of murdered muggles and wizards, telling myself there was nothing I could do, but Ron's death showed me there was no escaping it.

Ron's funeral was everything he would have expected it to be. His pregnant wife, father and mother, brothers and sister, his entire family was there to bury him. Even Percy (or Percy the prick as we have now endeared him) was there. Friends from Hogwarts came from all over to attend, everyone except for Harry. The irritation I felt at Harry's prolonged absence bloomed into hatred as reality slapped me in the face. He really no longer cared.

Or so I thought...until now.

A week after Ron was put to rest; two men with alleged Death Eater activity were arrested and charged with the murder of Ron Weasley. While there was more than enough evidence to prosecute, someone up high, perhaps the Minister himself, seemed reluctant to do so, and it became apparent that in two weeks time they would walk as free men.

A week later, they and eighteen other Death Eaters were killed in their cells in Azkaban. Harry had killed them.

Welcome to the present.

Author's Notes:

Wow, first Harry Potter fanfiction published. Go me! If you have not noticed yet, my fanfiction takes on a slightly darker theme than found in the J.K Rowling's books, and the body count and violence only increases as the story goes on! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Second is already done and will be posted pretty soon.

Harry Potter and the New Order

By: JA_Japster

Obligatory Disclaimer:

The Harry Potter series is property of its respective owners and all that other good stuff that prevents me from being sued. All original characters are property of mine, blah blah blah, and have a nice day.

Chapter Two: Three Charges, Three Life Sentences

Hermione

And so there I stood.

I took comfort in the fact that I was not alone. Ron's widowed wife, Luna, and the rest of the Weasley's were somewhere in the vast sea of spectators, supporting me. They were perhaps the only ones present who did not wish to see my client, their friend, locked up for the rest of his life. While Mr. Weasley had publically spoken harshly against Harry's vigilante actions, I could tell, somewhere deep inside, he was proud of the man who had avenged his son's death. They all were. Justice, to them, had been served.

Now it was Harry's turn to face judgment.

"Bring in the prisoner." Fudge barked, and a team of Aurors scrambled to carry out his bidding.

I held my breath as I listened to the growing sound of footsteps. Silence reigned, the rhythmic footsteps echoing ominously throughout the chamber. The doors opened. Then, for the first time in five years, I saw him. They seated him. I nearly screamed.

The "added security measure", as Cornelius Fudge called it, was respect for how powerful Harry had become during the time since he had left Hogwarts five years ago. His arms were securely shackled to the witness' chair by lengths of chain that looked magical in nature, and an ugly formless mask with only slits for eyes had been fastened over his face to prevent him from speaking. Any movement of the hands or words spoken, Fudge had explained to pacify my outraged protest could allow Harry the chance to escape...or worse.

Other security measures emplaced for the duration of the trial was a full entourage of the Ministry's finest Aurors. Stationed directly outside of the courtroom, they searched everyone who entered the chamber. Not a single wand, not even the Minister's, was allowed inside the small, impenetrable fortress they were building for the occasion.

I watched Harry out of the corner of my eye, horrified that I no longer recognized my best friend. Underneath the chains and the mask, he looked like a monster taken straight from a muggle horror movie. The only semblance of the old Harry Potter, the Harry I knew, were the hint of emerald that poked through the mask, staring intently at me. For a brief moment I longed to be near him, to comfort him, to reassure him that his case was in the able hands of a completely inexperienced, amateur novelist who did not know the difference between civil litigation and a murder charge.

I felt like crying at the hopelessness of it all. Maybe later, when it was all over; when Harry was shipped off to Azkaban, leaving me feeling responsible for not saving him from that hell. But not now. Now, I needed to be strong and try my best, like anyone would expect of their best friend.

The trial began and the nervous chatter died down immediately. The head of the Wizemagot, still Cornelius Fudge, seemed to take vindictive pleasure covering the charges being brought against my client. I could understand Fudge's intense loathing for Harry; he had after all almost unintentionally ruined Fudge's ambitious career twice, but my blood still boiled watching him smirk as he placed unnecessary emphasis on each word.

Having been given a briefing a week before the trial, I was familiar and yet completely unprepared for the presented charges. According to multiple witnesses, Harry had entered Azkaban to interrogate two men suspected of Death Eater activity and the murder of one of my and Harry's closest friends: Ron Weasley. As was procedure, he surrendered his wand and entered into the interrogation chamber with two ministry officials to supervise the interrogation. He waited until the suspects were brought in and chained down. That's when everything went to hell.

Without using a wand, Harry stunned and rendered unconscious both ministry officials, and then killed the two defenseless Death Eaters with two Killing Curses. Ignoring the alarms, Harry then proceeded to march down the aisles of Azkabans, stopping at the cells of other incarcerated Death Eaters, killing the occupants, then moving on with the cold, meticulous rhythm of a butcher. He made it all the way down the second tier, twenty dead prisoners in his wake, when the guards finally overcame him.

Three charges, three life sentences.

The first was using wandless magic, a practice outlawed by the Warlock Confederation of 1757. Wands, as everyone knew, were magical tools used to amplify and channel the user's innate magical abilities, more or less like a muggle bullhorn. Using magic without a wand was as incredibly difficult as it was dangerous and unpredictable. An unfocused, improperly cast spell by a potent wizard or witch could cause unheard of destruction, to others and themselves. There were horror stories of wizards of old accidentally engulfing themselves, and their village, in flames while attempting to light a candle without their wand.

The second charge was the assault on ministry officials. While the two officials inside the interrogation chamber had only been stunned, several of those that had attempted to subdue Harry had been subject to a number of vicious, but non-lethal, jinxes and hexes and were still recovering in St. Mungos.

The third charge, and the only one that could warrant a death sentence if the counsel chose, was the use of an Unforgivable Curse, not once, but twenty times on twenty different individuals. I was aware of the facts concerning Unforgivable Curses, thanks to a Death Eater in my fourth year as ironic as that may seem, and also knew how unwavering the counsel was on this issue.

I had trouble believing these charges. It was Harry Potter they were talking about after all, the Boy-Who-Lived; someone who fought against the dark arts, not used them! Sure, Harry was a powerful enough of a wizard to accomplish what they were accusing him of- he had proven that countless enough times having survived his school years- but he was an Auror for heaven's sake! Someone who upheld the law, not broke it.

But then I stopped to think, stopped to remember the sadness and rage I felt at the news of Ron's death four weeks ago. I remember how when I was at Ron's funeral, gazing at his coffin as it made its descent into the ground, I would be willing to do anything to avenge his death. At the moment, my thoughts were just that: thoughts. The Harry she knew, on the other hand, was a man of action, something which five years had not changed apparently. Storming into Azkaban suddenly seemed very characteristic for a man who threw caution to the wind and broke into the Ministry of Magic to rescue his godfather all those years ago.

But the uses of the Unforgivable Curse? Harry had always despised the dark arts, just like his father. He once confessed to me during our sixth year about what exactly happened during the fated battle in the Ministry of Magic after I had been knocked unconscious; how he had used an Unforgivable Curse on Sirius' killer, Bellatrix. No matter how justified it may had seemed at the time, there was no escaping the shame and guilt that he had done something despicable and evil. Weeks later, he told me, he still had nightmares.

So why now?

I involuntarily found myself answering the question. A slew of memories unconsciously came forth. Memories of Harry yelling in incoherent rage at being left in the dark, memories of Harry's reclusive behavior and apathy in the weeks following Sirius' funeral, memories of Harry's duel with Malfoy during our seventh year which left Malfoy bloodied beyond recognition.

"How do you plead?" Fudge's impatient voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Not guilty." I replied on Harry's behalf, for obvious reasons. His case was hopeless, pleading one way or the other would make little difference.

Fudge sniggered mockingly, and I realized that he was not the only one. Other members of the Wizengamot obviously shared Fudge's belief in Harry's obvious guilt, and so did much of the audience. He reached into a folder and withdrew several sheets of parchment.

"I see, Miss Granger, that you filed a plea of insanity on behalf of your client, Mr. Potter." Fudge said, glancing at the parchment with undisguised disgust.

"Yes, I did." I said, my voice firm.

"Please explain."

"Mr. Potter's mental sanity was obviously destabilized at the news of his good friend, Mr. Ronald Weasly's death. When he learned of the capture of two people linked to Mr. Weasley's death, my client, clear judgment clouded by anger, sought vengeance."

"So you admit that Mr. Potter did in fact kill thirty-five people at Azkaban?" Fudge asked. "You're not going to suggest that Mr. Potter's twin in fact murdered those people and then miraculously disappeared?"

I breathed deeply and silently counted to five before I could trust myself to formulate a civil response. "I think the evidence speaks for itself."

"Well then," Fudge said gleefully. "This shall indeed expedite matters." He ruffled his papers importantly.

"Mr. Potters record as an Auror also outlines a career built on the apprehension of multiple Death Eaters." I continued. "Never during his career did he resort to lethal force to bring them in even though it permitted. The sudden massacre of Death Eaters, several of which whose arrests he participated in, seems out of character for a man who's co-workers describe as 'dedicated'."

"The act of using Unforgivable Curses and murder completely contradicts who my client is," I finished. and can only be explained by a lapse of sanity."

This, I was happy to see, created a slight stir in the crowd as neighbors exchanged quiet murmurs.

"Miss Granger," an elderly witch sitting beside Fudge said. "There is much proof pointing that these murders were a spur of the moment decision, but the product of methodical planning...something which is a prerequisite of any efficient Auror."

"Mr. Potter did not use a wand to slay the prisoners," continued the wizard sitting on Fudge's other side, “but used an ancient form of wandless magic, a practice which is outlawed. Miss Granger, do you realize how difficult it is to cast a spell without a wand?"

"No." I answered.

"There are only four wizards and two witches over the past five hundred years who have been reported to successfully wield magic without the aid of a wand. Your client is number seven. To be able to cast a simple spell without a wand takes weeks, perhaps months of practice, and the fact that Mr. Potter used magic of the most advanced without any difficulty only shows that he had planned the attack for quite some time. The murders were in fact quite premeditated."

If there ever was any hope, it just went straight out the window. I opened my mouth to speak, to pull a miracle out of the air, but none came. For the longest moment of my life, I stood in silence, feeling the piercing gaze of the counsel, but more importantly, my best friend. At that moment, I knew I, Hermione Granger, top student at Hogwarts, had failed.

Author's Notes:

Second chapter done and third is being re-edited from when it was posted on ff.net. It'll probably be finished with it in a day or so. Thanks for the reviews! Comments, criticism, flames, chain letters, horoscopes, love letters, and spam can be sent to JA_Japster@hotmail.com

Harry Potter and the New Order

By: JA_Japster

Obligatory Disclaimer:

The Harry Potter series is property of its respective owners and all that other good stuff that prevents me from being sued. All original characters are property of mine, blah blah blah, don't steal them, blah blah blah, or I'll hunt you down with a knife, blah blah blah.

Chapter Three: Guilty, guilty, guilty

Harry

We all saw Hermione falter. It was a rare and unsettling sight to see Hermione at a loss of words, to not know the answer to a problem.

Fudge seemed to notice this and smelled triumph. He seized the moment. "For the multiple use of an Unforgivable Curse which led to the deaths of twenty inmates of Azkaban, I suggest a sentence of death. All in favor?"

Hands were raised. More than half. More than three-fourths of the council actually. But not all. The council had to reach a unanimous consensus to pass down a sentence of death. Fortunate for me; not for Fudge though who looked like child deprived of a special treat. I would have laughed out loud if the thrice-damned mask permitted. Haha, Fudge, you can't get rid of me that easily. The thorn in his side would remain, untouchable behind the stone walls of Azkaban.

I saw Hermione breath a sigh of relief, and that comforted me ever so slightly, to know that she was still on my side. I hated myself for dragging her into this, to make her feel responsible for a case that was doomed to failure. I might have outwitted death this time, but there would be no escaping a life sentence.

Fudge took a moment to recover, and breathing heavily in frustration, he labored on. "For the multiple use of an Unforgivable Curse which led to the deaths of twenty inmates of Azkaban, I suggest a life sentence of incarceration in Azkaban without the possibility parole. All those in favor?"

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

"For the assault on multiple Ministry officials?"

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

"For the use of unauthorized wandless magic to cause disruption of the peace and death?"

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

All composure lost, a victorious Fudge slapped his hands loudly on his desk and boomed, "The Wizengamot find Mr. Harry James Potter guilty on all charges presented, and hereby sentence him to three life sentences of incarceration in Azkaban! May you rot there, Potter!"

There were no cheers of joy as the sentence came down. No applause as the Wizengamot filed out, nor the flurry of gossip as the spectators followed. To them, the law had been carried out, but little could assuage the lingering guilt that they had condemned the once savior of England to an eternity in damnation. Soon, the courtroom was empty, save for Hermione.

She stood there, frozen in time, locked in the moment when the reality of the situation came crashing down. The look of shock and denial was still etched in her features, an objection that would never be spoken poised on her lips. Finally, she slowly turned and looked across the chamber at me.

At that moment a team of Aurors came storming in, wands held at the ready. One quickly unbound me and dragged me to my feet while another conjured a fresh set of cords to bind me. They moved to take me away, to drag me off to Azkaban, but suddenly Hermione rushed to block their path.

“I want to speak with him.” Hermione said.

"Sorry, miss. Can't let you do that. Minister's orders." The lead Auror replied. They tried to push past Hermione, but she was unyielding.

"I want to speak with him." She repeated, slowly this time, the menace in her voice evident. Her words were underlined by an unspoken threat, a threat even the most powerful wizard would not take lightly. I had seen charging Hipogriffs look nicer than Hermione at the moment.

The Auror licked his lips nervously and glanced at the doorway where the council members had exited from. When it became clear that Fudge was not going to pop out of it and catch them, the Auror reluctantly nodded. "You have two minutes."

Wordlessly, one Auror magically unlocked my mask and removed it. The other three took flanking positions around me, their wands leveled at my head. The slightest twitch, I knew, and they would fry me without hesitation, just like any good Auror.

I heard Hermione gasp as she stared at my face. There was no mask to hide behind, nothing to conceal the ugliness and the horrors that the past five years had inflicted. My hair was long and untamed, my skin pale from too many sunless days, and a plethora of scars kept the famous lightening bolt on my forehead company. I was not ashamed of my appearance; I had paid for it and bore it with pride.

I half expected Hermione to launch a tirade, to scream at me for not being there for five years. For turning my back on her and Ron. She could scream and accuse me, and I would not respond because she would be right. But she did not. Instead, she hugged me, and I could see tears forming in her hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry, Harry." She whispered into my chest. An Auror hastily pulled her away from me, as if I was about ready to go crazy again and kill everyone here, a walking time bomb just waiting to go off.

I tried to smile, but I could not. I had not smiled in years, and the gesture no longer fit on my face. Like a glove that you once wore, but now was too small. "Did you try your best?" I asked.

"Of course I did." Hermione responded, resentful that I would even suggest that she had not tried her best on anything.

"Then what do you have to be sorry for?"

Hermione sobbed silently, confused and overcome by the wave of emotions that assaulted her. Anger, spite, love, pity, all combined into a moment of heart-wracking indecision that distorted into a river of tears as she tried to find words to speak.

“I don't understand…” She whispered.

I did not have explanation, because I didn't fully understand either. Maybe I never would.

"Look, Hermione, I don't have much time.” I said. “I'm sure Fudge will move to seize my assets and claim them as Ministry property, so I moved them."

"To where?" Hermione asked.

"To you. Everything I own is now yours. I have a feeling I won't be needing them anyway."

"Y-you can't," Hermione protested. "It's too much."

God knew how many galleons were in my vault under Diagon Alley. Already rich from my parent's and departed god-father's inheritance, my lucrative career as an Auror only added to my assets. It was enough to make anyone dizzy.

"It's already done." I said. "You can do anything with it that you want. Anything."

Hermione became suddenly angry, those familiar flames leaping to her eyes. "Is this your idea of compensation?" She spat venomously. "For ignoring your best friends for the last half-decade? For forgetting about Ron? For forgetting about me?”

I had prepared myself for this moment for over three and half years, and yet her words still felt like a dagger plunging deep into my heart, tearing apart whatever little of Harry Potter still remained inside. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. “No. Nothing I can do can make up for that.”

Author's Notes:

I already have chapter three complete, and chapter four is about 75% done. Some reviewers have commented on the apparent lack of H/Hr in the fanfiction so far, and to that I have to be patient. I'm not much of a romance writer, and while I know that juggling a love plot with the darker storyline will be difficult, I'm going to try my best to make sure it's included. I'm also looking for anyone who would be willing to proof read future chapters, so if you're interested; drop me a line at JA_Japster@hotmail.com or in the review section. Thanks!

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!