DISCLAIMER: All characters herein found within the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling. The premise of the story was taken from Samurai Deeper Kyo (see Author's Note below).
SUMMARY: It is the year 2003, five years after the battle of Grinwald. The people try to recover from its aftermath and enjoy this new peace. Hermione Granger, an auror, is assigned to go after a two-bit crook. Little does she know that this was the beginning of a journey that would entwine her destiny with two prominent figures from the war: Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.
PREDESTINATION
By Pokk
CHAPTER 1
-Predicaments-
1998, The Battle of Grinwald
The air tasted of death. The ground shook in anger, lamenting the fallen that lay strewn across the battle-scarred landscape. A war, perhaps the last, was being fought. A war to decide the future, be it bleak or with promise.
Amidst are two men whose lives had been spent for this purpose. Two men who had accepted their intertwined fates, for neither can live while the other takes breath. Now they stood face-to-face, one embodying the light, the other the darkness.
"I hear many an interesting thing of you, young Potter," Tom Riddle, general of the Dark Lord's forces, said, stepping closer towards his adversary, a predatory grin creasing his already imposing face.
Voldemort, a name given to him by Lord Grindenwald, was, to say the least, quite a sight. He moved through the battlefield like an unbridled tempest pocking the landscape, exacting death to those daring enough to stand in his stead. Savagery at its finest. His, otherwise elegant, black robes wore a dark red sheen in testament to this fact, and none of the blood, assuredly, was his. In his hand rested Slytherin's weapon, Somitous, the sword glowed a faint green, a blood-thirst waiting to be sated. "How does it feel to kill a thousand, child? I bet you enjoyed it. You and I are alike," he said, a tinge of amusement evident in his voice.
Across from him, his rival, Harry Potter, stood still, eyes closed in seeming contemplation, the wind caressing his boyish features, a whisper of a prayer carried along its breath. If one were to look at Harry now, considering what was going on around him, he would have been described to be in utter peace. His countenance exuded that of a man in total ease and patience. He was regal. Strength flowed from him in volumes, no doubt empowering those who followed him. The state of his clothes, torn and soiled, did nothing to rob him of this effect, if anything it only enhanced it. A crimson cloak swirled about him as if it had a life of its own. The sword of Gryffindor gleamed deadly in his right hand. His body tensed ever so slightly in preparation. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes revealing the familiar hue of green he inherited from his mother.
Tom first encountered Harry when the latter was only a child of about eleven. The Dark Lord Grindenwald had ordered him to lead an attack on Hogwarts, which, back then, was a school for witchcraft and wizardry. It was a ruse, of course. The real objective was to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. He would have succeeded too if not for the sacrifice of James and Lily Potter. The death of those two, while in itself a victory, was at the same time a loss, it had bought Dumbledore enough time to erect stronger shields to protect Hogwarts. The Potters deaths also proved to bring an unforeseen factor into the war – Harry Potter, champion of the Order of the Phoenix. Not a moment had Tom just released the killing curse on Lily had he been surprised to see a boy with a wand coming at him. The child had managed to wound Tom then, forcing him to retreat. It was from then on that they would meet numerous times in the battlefield. Tom had seen this boy grow into a young man, a man who grew up in the throes of war.
"Nothing to say? The truth stings, doesn't it?" Voldemort had hoped to provoke the boy into making a foolish move. Instead, the only answer he had gotten was the boy readying his blade to strike.
"In a rush to die are you? Better not keep you waiting then," red, blood eyes peered through Harry with unwavering focus. Pain like no other seared through Harry's mind without warning. It felt like his very soul was being ripped away from his body. Death. Countless faces, both known and unrecognized flashed in his mind. His mind…yes, Harry thought, he was under assault – Legilimens.
Harry managed to shake off the attack just in time to see a blade coming down towards his face. He could not evade fast enough. A gash appeared across his left side near his ribs, forcing him down to the ground on one knee, leaning heavily on his sword. Towering over him was Voldemort, sword held high for one final swing. Harry gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. "This is the end Potter," Voldemort bellowed as the green blade came down in a lethal arc.
Memories, said to flash before one dies, never came. He didn't feel anything. The blow never fell through. The earth beneath them glowed a bright white. Neither knew what was happening. Looking from afar, one could see they were encased in a circle of pure energy. "What manner of magic is this?" His prey forgotten, Voldemort could only yell in unbelief.
Then, a trill so loud rang throughout the battlefield. Everyone just stopped. All eyes were on the streaking ball of fire hurtling from the sky.
Using Godric's sword as a prop, Harry began to steady himself and stand up, his gaze toward the heavens. In his mind it was the most awe-inspiring sight he had ever seen. The sky was ablaze with dancing fire. In his heart he thanked whatever gods may have been looking out for him.
"So this is how it will be."
And with that, the fireball descended on them both, consuming him and Voldemort who still screamed in defiance.
The war had all but ended.
"See children, if not for Harry Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord's general, Voldemort, the war may not have ended in our favor," Albus Dumbledore paused.
"But professor Dumbledore, didn't Harry Potter sacrifice himself to defeat Voldemort?"
"You are quite right Ms. Matthews. Harry Potter gave his life so we may have a better future." A bell chimed to signal the end of class and Albus gave the students their assignments for their next meeting. Yes, he thought. Harry Potter had given his life, more even – his childhood, his innocence, but it wasn't of his choice. It was a choice made by others for him. It was a choice that weighed heavily on the old man's heart; he has consigned the boy to destruction. But he hoped, though small, there was a chance the boy had survived.
A hand gently tapped Dumbledore's shoulder, waking him from his reverie. "Albus?"
"Oh, I'm sorry Minerva. I did not see you come in."
Minerva McGonagal peeked over her glasses. It was clear that the headmaster was again thinking of Harry, and it worried her. It was five years ago that the war ended. Without Voldemort, Grindenwald's armies had fallen into disarray. Culminating with one final push against the Dark Lord's stronghold, Grinwald, the light side had won.
The following years had been spent in rebuilding. Both the muggle and wizarding worlds have unified to help in that venture. Hogwarts had become a symbol of this, now reverting back to its primary function of a school. Simply put, everyone had just been too busy getting their lives back on track. Albus had tried to search for Harry to no avail. It was no help that rumors circulated of Harry and Voldemort being sighted throughout the countryside.
"The minister and Shacklebolt have just arrived and are waiting in your office."
Albus scratched his nose lightly, "Ah. Must be pretty important for them to come all this way. We'd best hurry and meet them."
The old headmaster walked the passageways of Hogwarts for the umpteenth time; beside him was the deputy head mistress. Together, their years combined, they have seen many children pass through these very same halls. It was one of the allures of teaching, to reach out to young minds while they formed. They have personally met with each child that came here; and it was the same reason the war was so hard for them both. The war had ruined the lives of people on both sides, people who once were innocent students of the school.
"Do you think they have news of our other friends?" asked Minerva, breaking the silence. She was eager to know of the other Order of the Phoenix members, most of who had taken their own paths after the war.
"Perhaps. But I doubt it. They would have sent an owl for that rather than come here."
"Well I do hope it isn't anything serious."
"Alas we can only hope so," Albus said with a sigh. They stopped at the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office and uttered the password as they entered.
Inside, Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic, and Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted them. Both wore ministry uniforms, robes with cloaks of deep purple and trimmings of silver and gold.
"How good it is to see you Amelia. You as well Kingsley." The dark-skinned Kingsley returned the gesture with a nod.
"Forgive us for coming unannounced Albus but I'm afraid this is no social call. There's something happening in Grinwald," Amelia said.
Albus took a seat behind his table and stroked his beard in thought. Amelia assumed this was a sign for her to continue, "Two weeks ago we received reports of smugglers crossing the North Sea so we made appropriate actions. At first we thought they were just common pirates, most of the 'goods' seemed to come from the ruins of Grinwald. When we searched their boat we found someone who'd eluded us for years, Theodore Nott. You remember him don't you? We questioned him under veritaserum; and what he revealed is very disconcerting - Grindenwald, they're trying to resurrect him.
This earned a gasp from McGonagal. Albus merely looked on and asked if there was anything more they've found out.
"None of the details. We did, however, find this on Nott," Amelia pulled out a wand from her robes and placed it on Albus' table.
The headmaster looked at it carefully, taking in its features and the wood it was made from, then ran a finger over the wand. Yes, it was unmistakable. It was Harry Potter's wand.
She watched a child drag her mother by the hand towards the apple cart yelling, "Apples, mother. Let's get some apples."
The man tending to the cart was performing small cantrips with wandless magic, the colorful lights floating in the air never failed to attract attention, especially those of children.
This was how he operated. This 'cad', as she had come to call him, usually preyed on single mothers. First attracting their children, then he'd flirt with them like what he was doing now. Hermione Granger had tracked this man to every town he'd been in to. And in every town the story was the same. They would invite the man into their homes where he'd mooch off them, sometimes having sexual liaisons with them, and then leave without warning.
Hermione looked on in disgust as his newest victim blushed with his antics. She had vowed to bring him down for the sake of women everywhere.
She was convinced this man was nothing more than a trickster, although nowhere near the league of the Weasley twins. Still, something nagged her at the back of her mind. The head of her auror division handed her this case a month ago. It was neither a lucrative nor an exciting assignment but she was ordered to do it, mainly because of the amount of complainants coming forward. What puzzled her was the nature of the complaints. No one really wanted to press any charges. They just wanted him found and for them to be notified. They seemed to be genuinely concerned for him. Either he was a perfect con man or he was just a great escapist. Must be one heck of a sob story this man had been telling.
But what really riled her was that the man claimed to be Harry Potter. She had met Harry briefly when they were both first years at school. He had saved her from a troll when the dark lord's forces attacked Hogwarts. That was also the last time she'd seen him. She'd meant to thank him but he didn't return for schooling the following years, aside from a few visits to the headmaster; she never really had the chance. It was later she found out that Harry was the light side's champion, in direct opposition to the Dark Lord Grindenwald and his general, Voldemort. She would never let this lowlife scum sully the good name of Harry Potter.
Hermione focused her attention back on her quarry. Thankfully, the woman didn't fall for his tricks. Hermione followed the man as he moved on to a different location. She kept her distance, careful not to alert him of her presence. This was the closest she had gotten to him and, if everything went right, she'll have this guy in a jail cell before dusk. The person, she noted, was himself unassuming with his thin frame. His forehead was heavily wrapped in bandages, leaving his black hair jutting unruly at the top. He also wore wire-rimmed glasses. And judging the magic he used, he, at best, had mediocre skills.
They were now in the park; more children, more mothers, more victims, Hermione thought with annoyance. She sat at one of the park benches that gave her a wide vantage point of the cad's doings. It was the height of summer and the park was packed with people.
Children just seemed to flock towards this guy. Hermione saw his eyes for the first time; they were green just like Harry's. Just a coincidence, she dismissed.
She looked on as he gave away apples…for free? Now that's a new one. She concluded that the apples must have been going bad. Besides, one good act doesn't erase what he has done in the past. She stood up as the cad ended his day.
He had been in this town for a week and she had watched him like a hawk for that amount of time. She knew where he stayed. Hermione noticed he was heading out of town, probably going back to his hideaway by the woods. She quickened her pace to overtake him. She just loved it when a plan comes together.
The Marooned Mermaid was never known for its posh clientele. Indeed, the location itself should attest to what type of pondscum was attracted to this establishment. The pub settled between two rundown storage houses in the eastern docks of what was left of Ipswich, now a shady place notorious for smuggling and other questionable activities.
The owner, Mr. Randall himself, once known as Fish-knife Rand, was a pirate who preyed on ships crossing the North Sea during the Great War not five years long. His wife was even more feared. Known by her nickname, Half-nose Betty, the local patrons called her a 'Holy Terror,' for reasons that were only apparent when one would look at her face and listen to her voice.
On nights like this one, when the docks are full and the ships are moored, the pub catered to sailors and traders of some or other ill repute. Needless to say, the place was full. And when you mix a crowd wanting release and action with copious amounts of cheap ale, you get what is akin to the Romans of old – a lust for violence.
It was only a matter of time. The rabble was getting restless, waiting for the slightest excuse to cause trouble. Maybe a fight over a bawd, or a game of cards gone sour, or their preferred pastime: picking on hapless travelers unfortunate enough to enter the pub.
What they didn't know was that on this night whatever misfortune they wanted to bestow would be bestowed upon them, because it was at this moment that Alastor Moody entered the pub, his wooden leg thumping on the floor, his magical eye whirring around.
Mr. Randall stood shock-still. He knew "Mad-eye" Moody from way back and their acquaintance is anything but friendly. His wife started to open her mouth, obviously about to say something sour. He swiftly covered it with a washrag. "No need aggrav'tin' thee ol' man der, Betty," he whispered.
A burly sailor blocked Moody's path, around them the crowd jeered. "Ye got sum balls to come in 'ere, wizard. We don't like yer kind, so ye better drag yer own scrawny carcass outa 'ere before I do its fer ye."
"Stand aside! My business is not with you!" Moody growled; his magical eye now focused on the barkeep, Mr. Randall.
The sailor only sneered. He was now joined by his friends, six in all. Bets were placed on the brawl to come. It was rare that a wizard came into the pub; the crowd, not wasting this chance, very intent to savor the beating. "What if I don't want to? Watcha gonna do huh? Wizard?" the last word was laced with contempt.
Moody narrowed his eyes. Mr. Randall cowered behind the counter. He knew what was coming next and he wanted no part of it.
The burly man advanced on Moody and was about to punch him when the sailor stopped in mid stride. He looked down and saw a wand pointed directly at his groin.
With a toothy grin Moody uttered the spell, "Reducio!" This was followed by a loud scream from the surprised sailor.
"What did you do to me?" the sailor cried while clutching the place of his manhood.
"Just a 'little' lesson to teach you of your 'shortcomings'," Moody replied. Understanding dawned on the crowd. Some cringed in horror while others laughed, but whatever their thoughts were they knew it wouldn't be profitable to cross the wizard in front of them. The sailor's buddies slowly moved away from Moody not wanting to suffer the same fate.
"Now," Moody continued, "if you want to have your pride back I suggest you stand aside and let me conduct my business. Do you understand?"
The sailor gulped and did what he was told. Moody walked to the counter and tapped the barkeep, who had ducked to hide, on the head. "Quite a place you have here, Rand."
The owner of the pub straightened himself. "Y…yes it is. A…a drink! Have a drink!" He motioned for his wife to pour Moody a glass of ale, which she complied and put in front of Alastor.
Moody ignored the drink; it wasn't his custom to trust people with what passes through his mouth. "You know why I'm here don't you?"
Mr. Randall twiddled his fingers, a nervous sweat forming above his brow. "Ehe, p-perhaps i…if you'd remind me." The words came out like tumbleweed blown across a parched dessert.
Hearing the ex-pirate's answer, Moody slammed a fist hard on the wooden counter. "Damn it Rand! I'm not playing games with you! The sword! I want it now!" Sure enough, Moody's outburst sent the man scrambling towards his cellar. The magical eye constantly trained on him if he should try to flee. A minute passed and Mr. Randall came back up carrying an object wrapped in white cloth. Confirming the contents of the cloth, Moody grunted his approval and Mr. Randall heaved a sigh of relief. At the exact moment the door swung open to reveal a second visitor clad in dark blue robes.
"Took you long enough Longbottom," Moody greeted the young man framed by the pub's doorpost.
Neville Longbottom took a cautious glance around the room before stepping inside. Years of experience in the battlefield thought him this, that and the fact Moody had raised him since his family died.
"Well?" Moody asked impatiently, tapping his finger on the counter.
Neville answered with a stoic voice. "I've found Harry," he said. He drew out a candy wrapper from his pocket and extended it to his mentor.
"Good. About time too." Turning around he looked at the sailor he had cursed and pointed his wand. "Engorgio," he said. The spell hit the sailor while Moody got hold of the candy wrapper and Neville activated the portkey.
Before they totally vanished, the sailor screamed for the second time that night. "It's too big!" Moody heard the man cry. The ex-auror let loose a bark of laughter.
A beetle trudged through the sea of green common folk called grass. It slowly climbed the fabric that was Hermione's robes, finding its way into her pocket. Hermione contemplated on brushing it off but the cad was almost near and she wouldn't risk giving herself away.
She had made her way to this spot under a tree. This was the road he usually took to get to his dwelling; it would be difficult for him not to notice her. And oh will he notice. Hermione, though unaccustomed, opened her robes up at the top to expose a generous bit of cleavage and made sure to show a nice amount of leg bellow. And so she sat under the tree with eyes half closed. The wait was over. She could feel the man step towards her.
Hermione felt strong hands reach out to her back and support her. "Miss? Miss, are you alright?" She heard him say frantically. Fluttering her eyes open, she found herself nestled in her arms. He had knelt besides her, cradling her, and she could smell the faint scent of apple and sweat on him. His eyes were a vivid green, bearing deep to her brown ones. She was a bit surprised. Hermione was sure he'd be ogling at her, drooling. Instead, she felt something emanating from him – kindness. Could she have been wrong in evaluating him? No, she was never wrong.
She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. It's this heat. So dizzy," Hermione replied in the sweetest, softest voice she could muster. With dramatic flair she raised a hand to her forehead and feigned unconsciousness.
Firm, lithe hands lifted and carried her to what she assumed was the cart. Though she was laid on the uneven surface formed by the apples, it felt quite comfortable.
They arrived in an old barn, once used to house horses; small bushes and trees now surround it. The inside of the barn was as well as can be expected. The floor was swept even if traces of dirt and old hay can still be seen. The roof creaked every time a strong breeze went past. A rickety table and a spindly chair were the only pieces of furniture in the whole room. Atop it the table were a few bowls of earthenware, a paring knife, and a spoon. He strode past these and went further I the barn to put her in a makeshift bed of cloths and straw.
Hermione felt his fingers graze the skin near her chest and she readied herself to hex him from here to eternity if he ever decided to take advantage of her. But again she was surprised when he proceeded buttoning her top. He also placed a damp cloth on her forehead. He lingered by her bedside for a few minutes. Hermione can almost feel him staring down at her.
Finally he stood up. "You best get better soon, miss. It will do you ill to stay with me." With that, he made his way outside.
That's the nearest thing to a confession she'll get from him, she thought; and hoped it'd be enough to convict him. Hermione sat up from the bed; her eyes glanced around for any form of movement, ensuring she was alone. She patted her breast pocket to check she hadn't misplaced her wand. The man, Hermione had to admit, was beginning to interest her. A conversation with him would be no harm, but that will come after she had finished her mission. And once he returns, the trap will be sprung.
The castle of Grindenwald had, definitely, seen better times. After the war it had sat in neglect, and none were to eager to restore it to its former glory. It now lay in a crumbling heap.
No man or ghost has set foot in it for a good five years, for it was rumored to be cursed. Wraiths and foul creatures were said to haunt its torched grounds as well as the forest around it. Forest that forever seemed to loom over the forgotten battlements, a dispiriting presence that forebode of danger.
But as is the nature of most rumors, it was, to a certain point, untrue (depending on which view point one would take). Behind the walls of the castle was a room uncommonly seen and commonly passed upon by the eye. It was a room seen at the edge of one's sight but disappears when attention is directed to it. The room of shadows it was called, a room the dark lord Grindenwald frequented before his demise. Within it lay a flame, eerie in nature, crackling fierce and untamed; its black flames cast more darkness than it provided light.
The room was not for those who lacked courage. As the fire in the center flickered, shadows, mischievous, and some would attest to be alive - stalk the living with malicious intent - ran across the walls, ever watching, seething, and waiting to pounce upon those not wary.
Around the enraged flames sat three figures cloaked in night. Their faces hidden by white, featureless masks except for two slits that served as eyeholes. There they kept motionless, their sight trained on every quiver and spark the flame spat out.
"All goes as was foreseen," one of them said. The voice was neither man nor woman. The tone was that akin to ice, dead and cold. The shadows on the wall appeared as if laughing, rejoicing.
"The pawn has been caught. All will be in motion," another replied. This time the voice was bestial, with not a trace of humanity in it.
The last one not to speak raised a hand and reached forward, thrusting it into the black flames. "The sent female is in place, he will soon come to us."
And again the room fell quiet, the shadows giddy with pandemonium.
Her captive appeared to be stirring. Hermione had stunned him as soon as he came back and tied him to the chair. It was night and there was no sense in taking him in and bothering the auror office while they operated on a skeleton crew, she'd have to take him there in the morning.
He blinked once, twice, Hermione put his glasses on him. He had a certain look on him, his eyes searching for an answer to an unspoken question. "I suppose you'd like to know why you're tied up to that chair," she greeted him with a smile. He could only gape in response.
Seeing the man was currently at a loss for words, Hermione produced a piece of parchment from her pocket and showed it to him; the whole action caused a small beetle to be dislodged from its hiding place, it landed unnoticed near the man's foot. "Here is a list of wanted criminals in the British Isles. From the most wanted to the least. You," she pointed at him, "are at the bottom of this list."
"You're an auror?"
"How perceptive of you."
He looked hurt with this revelation. He glared at her with accusing green eyes. "How could you do this? I – I helped you."
"Not really. I was never in any need of help."
Then he let his gaze drop and remained silent, pondering the situation. He seemed to comprehend what had happened and sighed in defeat. "It can't be all that bad right?"
"What is?"
"Me, at the bottom of the list."
Hermione gave a light-hearted laugh. What was it with criminals and their rank on the most wanted list? It was like a badge of honor for them. "Depends. It was more an insult to you than anything else."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
"So what's the charge?"
Did he honestly not know or was he playing her, Hermione thought. Either way, at least he was responding to the conversation civilly, which was more than she can say about her past captures. "Let's see," she began ticking one finger at a time, "there's running away from paying bills at a few inns, scamming locals from here to London, and - "
"Wait! I don't remember doing any of those things!"
"You expect me to believe that?" she said, raising her left brow. "Besides, that's not the real reason your in trouble."
His facial expression was priceless. It was akin to a stumped little child.
"You're under arrest for impersonating Harry Potter." Her words had the effect of a bombshell to him. If he weren't bound, Hermione was sure he'd be standing now outraged.
"What do you mean impersonating? I am Harry Potter!"
"Please. You and I both know you're not. Now drop the act and save us both the trouble. Who are you really? What's your name?"
"But I'm telling you the truth. I am Harry Potter and I've no idea of those other charges you were pinning on me."
"You mean to say you're the war hero who defeated the dark lord's general, Voldemort?" Hermione had decided to humor the man.
"Yes! I mean no! I don't -"
"And how can you explain being here now, alive, when the real Harry Potter is dead?"
"I – I…"
"That's right! You can't. Because you're not him."
"But I am!"
Hermione advanced on him and grabbed him by the collar, her teeth grit together. "Listen here. Harry is a noble and honorable man. You are nothing like him, so don't you dare! You've no right to use his name!"
She let go and composed herself. "Now, let's start again. What is your name?" Her wand was pointed at him. However there was no hesitation with his reply: his name was Harry Potter.
"Fine. Be that way." She turned her back to him. "I was going to take it easy on you but if you insist on being difficult I think a jail cell is a better place for you."
"Watch out!"
Hermione was about to face him and find out why he had shouted at her when a blasting curse hit her full-force, sending her crashing to the wall.
"I'm afraid I can't let you take him. It won't do good for my career," a woman said.
Her head was bleeding, the blood crawling down her face. Hermione saw her assailant about to send another curse at her; it was her auror training that caused Hermione to automatically raise a deflecting shield. But when she noticed the color of the spell heading towards her, she forced herself to dive out of the way. There was no known block for the killing curse.
"Awww. I missed." Hermione heard her attacker say. She hid behind a bale of hay as a spell went overhead and hit a wall, a hole now adorning it.
"Miss! Get out now! Save yourself!"
"Oh do quiet down Harry. It'll be your turn soon enough."
Hermione listened to the exchange and paled when the cruciatus was cast, filling the room with the screams of the bound man. She needed to act fast.
She was about to launch herself and engage the woman in combat when a hand reached out and slammed her to the floor.
"Sorry about that missy. Can't let you ruin the scene." It was a man whose face Hermione recognized from books and who was now beside her. The face belonged to the famed auror Alastor Moody. Behind him was his ward Neville Longbottom holding a long object wrapped in cloth. However, awed as she was that they were here, this was not the time. She also frowned at the fact there was nothing between them and the woman except the tied up 'cad', now being used as a cover and hostage.
"If it isn't 'Mad' Moody. Come to get your savior?" The woman had grabbed the non-conscious man by the hair and pulled his head up.
Neither Moody nor Longbottom made a move and it unnerved Hermione. Were they just going to stand there and do nothing? She was already going through planned scenarios of attack when Neville spoke a simple, "No."
"Sad isn't it?" the woman continued, "The champion of the light reduced to this weakling."
Hermione can't believe that the man was going to lose his life because he claimed to be Harry Potter. "You're wrong. He's not Harry Potter. He's just an imposter so let him go."
"But it is you who are mistaken, my dear, not me."
"Shut up, Skeeter!" Moody half growled as he took aim at the Skeeter woman.
Skeeter? Where had she seen that name, thought Hermione. Could this woman be the same with the Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet?
"Uh, uh, Moody. Don't even try." Skeeter held the man at wandpoint. "Maybe something to remind you of our current position hmm?" Skeeter cast the cruciatus on the man she believed to be Harry.
Hermione was again about to spring into action but she was held firm by Alastor.
Hermione watched as the bound man's eyes open, pain evident as it passed throughout his body. His green eyes were directly looking at her and she can only, in futility, stare back. Then there was a change she never expected. His eyes began to change from green to blood red. The Skeeter woman was oblivious; she was laughing her head off. Hermione felt the air ripple with raw power. She heard Moody whisper something but her attention was on the sight unfolding in front of her.
The ropes holding the man snapped, and in one fluid movement he stood up and backhanded Skeeter with such strength that she was flung outside through a wall. The man turned around to face them. There was a glint in his red eyes, an edge full of malice.
Moody gave a snort. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm glad to see you alive Voldemort," he said. Hermione couldn't believe what she'd just heard but decided to stay quiet.
"You."
"Yes, me. And I've brought a present. Neville, give it to him."
Neville tossed the object he'd been carrying towards the red-eyed man who caught it with a deft hand.
The man, Voldemort, removed the cloth and was soon holding a sword radiating a faint green glow. He took a moment to admire it, a smirk forming on his lips.
"Thought you might find it handy." Moody gestured outside where the Skeeter woman was getting up.
Sword in hand, Voldemort strode towards Skeeter. "I'll deal with you later, old man."
The threat had no effect whatsoever, Moody stepped forward after Voldemort, Neville not long behind. Hermione followed them, intent on seeing what would happen.
Skeeter was back on her feet, cursing under her breath. "You'll pay for that," she said to the advancing foe. She unrolled her left sleeve to reveal a luminous mark of a snake coiled around a skull. Using a severing charm, Skeeter made a cut on the mark and blood started to ooze out. Then she convulsed, her body beginning to bend in unnatural angles. Spikes of some sort protruded from her skin that seemed to harden and blacken.
Hermione watched in horror with the inhuman transformation before her. Skeeter's back now sported beetle wings and her face… her face had mandibles and beetle eyes. "Merlin. What -"
"A death eater. Started appearing after the war," Moody explained, like it was nothing but a normal occurrence.
"Now you die," the creature shrieked as it sped and swiped at Voldemort, who, on his part, met her straight on. He managed to stay clear of the spikes and made to thrust the sword at the creature's chest.
It wasn't always that Voldemort was caught surprised, however, nothing had stopped the blade of Slytherin before - not even the Potter brat. The steel blade slid off the hard exterior of the creature's skin. He had given the creature an opening and it had capitalized. He was thrown a few feet back, a gash appearing across his stomach.
In a split second Voldemort charged again, landing multiple blows but having the same fruitless consequence. He was breathing hard but his face told he'd never give in.
"What a pity. Is that all?" The creature opened her back to unveil it wings. The wind generated by the wings was a gale; it created an area of high pressure, the air acting as a blade. His arms shielded his face from harm but Voldemort's clothes were being ripped to shreds, his body slashed a hundred times over.
"We have to help him," Hermione pleaded to Moody and Neville. Even if this man were Voldemort or Harry or whoever, she wouldn't let anyone suffer a needles death. It frustrated her even more when all she got out of Moody was a simple 'just watch.'
Hermione was about to take matters into her own hands but when she looked at Voldemort she knew it wouldn't be wise to interfere.
Despite the biting wind, Voldemort stood at the ready, the green blade intensifying. He ran once more at the creature, the sword held high, a deadly crescent that halved the creature from shoulder to waist.
"H-How?" it gasped with a final breath.
"Don't you know? In a battle only the strong will win."
The man had won. What now? Hermione thought. She looked at Moody, only to find that he and Neville have disappeared.
"I'd run too if I were you."
Hermione wasn't sure of what to do. If this man held as much power as she had seen and if he truly were Voldemort then she'd never stand a chance. She stepped away from him but in her hesitation she fell on the ground. Voldemort stood above her; in desperation she pointed her wand at him.
"Do you think that can stop me?"
"No."
"Then why do you resist?"
"Because it's not my time to die."
Hermoine held her breath and closed her eyes in defeat as the sword came down to stab her at the head. She opened her eyes. Could he have missed? The blade was embedded on the ground, touching the skin of her neck.
She glanced upwards and met red eyes. For a brief moment it was like she was in a trance until humorless laughter brought back her sense.
"Interesting reason for living," he said. "Interesting indeed."
"Are you really?"
"Yes."
"But that's impossible. Harry Potter killed you."
Voldemort snarled at the name of Potter. Then he laughed again. "Be glad that I've decided to spare you. But if you ever mention that name in my presence again it will cost you your life."
He grasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it from the ground. "That foolish boy couldn't kill me even if I were in my sleep. But I'll tell you the truth, the brat did something far worse than try to kill me and I'll send him to hell for it."
"Far worse?"
"Still haven't pieced it together? I'm disappointed. Maybe you deserve to die after all." Voldemort raised the sword.
Hermione could do nothing. Her only thoughts were those of her parents. She was sorry.
A scream pierced the night. Voldemort was kneeling on the ground clutching his head; the sword lay forgotten by his side. "No," he kept screaming.
Hermione stood up but didn't run. Instead she peered at him and listened.
"You've had your chance," he said. "Not fair. Four years… four!"
His eyes flew wide. Voldemort grabbed Hermione and yanked her to face-level. "Remember girl, I'll always be watching. I'll always be here." He let her go with a shove and he went face-first to the earth.
She crept to the limp form and turned him around. His hand shot suddenly and grasped her elbow. He was awake and searching her with green eyes. Hermione knew that this was a different man.
"Did he hurt you," he asked her.
"No."
He enveloped her in a light embrace. "I'm glad," he whispered into her ear, even as he began to pass out.
"Sir, do you think it wise to leave her with him?"
"No Neville. Not at all."
Neville raised both eyebrows and shook his head sideways.
"Look, if you want a 'wise' decision go to Dumb'ol'bore. Otherwise, stop bothering me."
Neville knew not to press on. Especially when the name of the old Hogwarts Headmaster came up. Moody and Dumbledore had a falling out after the war. A difference of opinion, Alastor had said.
It was against his better judgment to leave the girl with Voldemort when Harry wasn't in control but Moody always did have a different look on things. And no matter what others may say of Moody, his viewpoint often hit the mark.
And so he followed his mentor to wherever their destination might next be. He unwrapped a chocolate frog and began to munch on it. If he knew Moody, this was going to be a long walk.
Morning had come, and for the life of her Hermione couldn't understand why she was following him; she just knew she wanted to. She'd been chasing after him for a good hour carrying the sword Voldemort used which she wrapped in a cloth. He didn't make any effort to retrieve it, so she brought it with her.
She had spent the night taking care of his wounds after he fainted. The fight had taken a lot out of him. But not enough, she thought. He woke up so early he would have left her at the barn if not for the perimeter charm she had cast.
"Why are you following me?" He had stopped and rounded to face her. "I told you I'm sorry for what happened last night but I can't allow you to take me to the auror office."
"I know and I'm not trying to."
"Then why?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Because!"
He ran a hand in his hair, his brow furrowed in clear irritation.
"Just give up and accept it: we'll be traveling together," Hermione said, hopeful he wouldn't pose any more objections. "I'll even carry your sword for you."
"Its not mine." He resumed his walk and Hermione hurried to keep in pace with him.
"Uhm?"
"What is it?"
"Since we'll be together for a while, lets get to know each other."
"If it suits you, miss."
"Hermione."
"Hm?"
"My name. Hermione Granger. And you?"
"Harry Potter."
Author's Note:
The premise of this story revolves around the first two episodes of Samurai Deeper Kyo but will not follow the entire storyline of the said anime.
I just thought it interesting to put Harry and Voldemort in a predicament similar to the anime's protagonists.
It is my hope you'll at least find this fic even mildly entertaining. Please take time to review. I would like to hear what you people think.