Okay, it's alomst two in the morning, but I got it done. *does the happy dance* I've edited it to the best of my ability, but I'm tired and I might have missed something. If you see anything that needs correcting, please tell me.
05/29-3:44pm: Okay, I've edited this thing again, catching everything Dakor pointed out, and a few other bits and pieces that bothered me. If anyone else sees anything, please let me know.
Title: Side Effects
Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy VIII or Harry Potter
Summary: After killing Voldemort, Harry had planned on taking a long overdue vacation. However, Harry is Fate’s favorite toy, and she has plans. Two hexes and an accidental portal later, Harry finds himself dropped in the middle of another reality where people fear magic, and a Sorceress is intent on taking over the world.
Pairings: eventual Squall/Harry
Warnings: Swearing, death, and eventual slash as the main pairing.
Chapter One:
Hermione stared at the first page for a minute, taking in Harry’s messy writing and the little notes and drawings scribbled in the margins. For one brief second it was like they were in school again, and she was correcting his Charms essays. But when she looked up to remind Harry not draw on his homework, he wasn’t there, just a half empty duffle bag, a stack of letters, and a dragon plushy that pulsed with his magic. She took a deep breath, wiped the tears off her face, and began to read.
This feels really strange considering I still have nightmares about that damn journal of Voldemort’s, but Xu told me the rumors about GFs eating the connection between memories, and it scares the shit out of me. After spending half an hour calming me down, she also helped me swipe a couple of empty notebooks from the storage room on the second floor so I could do this. I think she somehow knew the idea of not remembering I didn’t always live here would scare me senseless. Xu’s a lot like Hermione when it comes to these things. I kind of wish Squall or someone else had thought of that, but Xu told me GFs go for childhood memories first, the ones that tend to be hazy anyway, so I guess I can’t really blame them for not thinking of it. Still, note to self: yell at Squall later.
Anyway, this whole thing started one night when the six year Gryffindors decided to throw a party. We, the guys, were getting pretty sick of watching Ron get pissy every time Hermione went off to one of Slughorn’s parties. After talking with the Gryffindor girls plus Luna, we got the twins, Dean’s brother, and Luna’s father to send in some serious alcohol disguised as whatever they could. The twins also snuck in some other things, but that’s not really the point of this. Eventually we all got plastered enough to start discussing…odd things. While Ginny started the interesting (read embarrassing as hell) topic of why weird shit seems to converge around me, I thought Luna and Hermione’s discussion of alternate realities was much more interesting. I quickly lost interest, however, when Luna mentioned there could be a world out there where Voldemort is nice, Dumbledore is evil, and I am a girl, and I went back to the other group, just in time to hear Neville call me Fate’s chew toy. (Way to call Fate a bitch, Neville!)
If I knew then, what I know now, I would have stuck around for the rest of Luna and Hermione’s argument…
*~*~*~*~*~*~
During his time at Hogwarts, several people came up with theories for why Harry Potter seemed to always be in the center of strange and unusual events. Professor McGonagall said it was genetic, Hermione said it was his untapped magical power, Dean said it was because he was supposed to be dead, Ron believed his scar was a dark magic magnet, Luna said he had been blessed by a Blibbering Humdinger, but Neville’s was Harry’s favorite.
Neville said he was Fate’s favorite chew toy.
Gaping at the shocked man he had landed on, Harry decided Neville was right, because only Fate’s chew toy would survive killing Voldemort to get caught between Mad-eye Moody and Bellatrix Lestrange, hit with two different hexes, get sucked into the resulting vortex, and tossed into another reality to land on some guy with a leather fetish just in time to save him from getting speared by a flying chunk of ice. As Harry pushed himself up, he looked at the ice chunk stuck in the ground a few feet away, saw it was still perfectly frozen, and nodded.
Definitely another reality.
Harry’s eyes flew back to the guy whose legs he was sitting on, and frowned. If this was another reality, where was his alternate? The same party where Neville had first called him Fate’s chew toy, Hermione had gotten into an argument with Luna about the possibility of other worlds. Harry didn’t remember much of the conversation—Neville hadn’t been the only one completely wasted—but he did remember enough to know he should have landed near his double. Unless he had traveled past all the similar worlds…
“Squall! Are you okay?”
“Man, quit staring at the kid, and get up.”
The kid comment jerked Harry out of the staring contest, and, ignoring the teenagers trying to pull his seat up, he turned to look at the woman who had thrown the ice spear. Harry felt nauseous as his eyes met hers. He could feel power and hatred pouring off the immobile woman standing at the front of the float, and his own magic was rising in response to the threat. Harry would regret it later, but exhaustion, anger at his cursed luck, and just plain old annoyance that his life was not allowed to be anything close to simple caused him to say the first thing that popped into his head.
“Only I would be unlucky enough to land in a reality where a female Riddle is on the loose. If she’s pulling a Voldemort and I have to stop her from taking over the world, I’m so slitting my wrists so I can personally tell Fate to fuck off,” he grumbled as the portal above them flashed, cutting off his view of the woman, and a cowboy look-alike grabbed his wrist and dragged him off the guy he had landed on. He tried to pull his arm free and so he could try to jump through, but the portal flashed one last time before disappearing, leaving nothing behind but Harry to say it had ever existed.
Harry was so caught up in staring at the place his only way home had been, he didn’t notice when the cowboy dropped his arm. He did, however, notice when the cowboy fired his shotgun at the woman, and the shells exploded on a shield two feet in front of her. Harry stared at her, dumbfounded; he couldn’t think of one spell that could block a knife, let alone a shotgun blast. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see the teenagers around him weren’t faring much better; the girl looked like she wanted to cry, cowboy was swearing and looked like he wanted to break something, and leather guy—Squall, if Harry had heard right—looked pissed. Harry’s jaw dropped even further when the girl to his right raised her hand and a large ball of ice appeared a few feet above the woman. It began to fall, only to shatter before it ever reached her.
“Oh shit, powerful witch. Oh, fuck me, this is so not my day,” Harry muttered, backing away from the float and the woman, only to have Squall grab his wrist, and pull him back.
“Get Rinoa out of here, Irvine,” Squall snapped, pulling Harry away from the float and towards a door.
“Squall, I want-”
“And you’re taking the kid, why?” Irvine demanded, grabbing Rinoa’s hand and pulling her towards the gates.
“Until we regroup, Rinoa’s contract is more important, and that includes protection. Get her out of town,” Squall hissed, gripping Harry’s wrist tightly. The girl’s face fell, and she took a step towards him, but Squall shook his head. “Get Rinoa out off here before the Sorceress wakes up, Irvine!”
As Irvine and Rinoa took off, Harry looked around, Squall’s words having knocked him out of the daze he had been in, and he was suddenly aware of how messed up the situation he had landed in was. He was under a giant brick archway turned into a cage because of the lowered the gates, the woman behind him was a powerful witch, she was in a type of stasis, but was aware of what they were doing and powerful enough to cast a powerful protection spell while in stasis, and some guy with a leather fetish and a weird name was dragging him off to Merlin only knew where. But to Harry, the strangest part was the parade float; what kind of people fought on a parade float in the middle of the night? Fighting Voldemort for the last time in Malfoy’s dining room wasn’t much better, but…
Trying to wrap his mind around everything going on, he let Squall pull him through the small doorway, and silently climbed down the ladder when Squall pushed him towards it. Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell when he reached the bottom, but didn’t say anything, just pinched his nose shut. He had a good feeling he had just become a fugitive, and fugitives weren’t supposed to bitch when they got rescued. Or maybe that was damsels. Harry wasn’t sure, he never had taken getting rescued well as it usually led to someone he cared about getting killed.
Seconds later, Squall slid to the bottom, grabbed Harry’s wrist, and started dragging him down the sewer tunnels. They were running for what Harry thought was a good half hour before Squall jerked to a stop, and shoved Harry into a wall.
“Who are you?” Squall demanded coldly, one hand holding Harry against the wall, the other gripping the handle of his sword.
A tiny part of Harry wanted to be impressed it had taken this long for Squall to ask, but most of Harry was tired and wanted to pass out on the first flat surface—even the sewer walkway was looking good at this point. Hoping answering Squall’s questions might eventually lead to some place clean to sleep, and desperately craving the non-thinking state that would come with sleep, Harry decided to go with it, flipping his mental Hermione the bird when she started screeching this was a bad idea. “Harry Potter.”
“What was that thing?” Squall asked, and Harry sighed. How could he explain something he didn’t really understand himself, just knew? Harry chewed on his lower lip, wondering if this was how Hermione felt every time he and Ron asked a question about a spell she understood instinctively.
“I-I’m not sure,” Harry said slowly. “I got caught between two people dueling, and I guess their spells mixed and created that portal or whatever. Of course it could have been their spells mixing with the spells Voldemort cast on me before I managed to kill him. Sometimes dragon hide absorbs spells instead of reflecting them,” he said, fingering his pants thoughtfully. His hand froze when he felt the odd texture of his pants, and he pushed Squall off him. He stared down at his pants in shock, then bent down to look at his boots. Leather. His clothes, the ones he and Ron had gone through hell with Charlie to get the shed skin for, were leather. Dragon hide only did that if all the magic had been pulled out. “Oh Merlin, I’m in a world without proper magic.”
“You’re a Sorceress?” Squall asked harshly, yanking Harry up.
“Do I look like a girl to you? No, I don’t,” Harry snapped, pulling his arm free of Squall’s grip. “The male term is Sorcerer, and yeah, I guess you could call me that. I am one of the most powerful of my generation back home. Oh God, I sound like a drunk Hermione. The male term…”
Harry leaned against the sewer wall, closed his eyes, and tried not to freak out too badly. He was exhausted, in another reality, Squall—the only person he kind of knew here—was looking at him like he was insane, he would probably never see home again, and he was in a sewer and thinking the floor was a good place to sleep. If anyone had the right to a breakdown, he did.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time.
“Sir, I found them!”
Harry barely caught a glimpse of the soldiers heading their way before Squall grabbed his arm, and they started running again. Just as they managed to make it around the corner, a ball of fire slammed into the wall right above Harry’s head.
“What was that?” Harry panted, looking back at the singed wall.
“Para-magic,” Squall said, not sounding at all bothered by the pace they were keeping. He slowed slightly, and looked back at Harry thoughtfully. “You can do magic, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Cast Reflect,” Squall said as they jerked to a stop in front of a thick metal gate. He pulled a small black case from his jacket, opened it, and pulled two thin pieces of metal out.
“What’s Reflect?” Harry asked, and he rolled his eyes when Squall looked up from the lock long enough to glare at him. “I’m from another reality. Where I come from you need to know what a spell does to cast it. And I could, um, unlock that,” he added, pointing at the lock Squall was picking.
“The bars are resistant to magic,” Squall muttered. “Reflect is a spell that creates a shield that reflects magic. You won’t be able to cast any other spells while it’s up, but-”
“It’s better than nothing, got it,” Harry said, searching his pockets for his wand. He suppressed a tiny groan when he came up empty, and closed his eyes. It was a long shot, but he had been able to shoot off one or two wandless spells before when he was in a tight spot, and his current situation absolutely qualified as a tight spot. Using his frustration and panic as fuel, he reached for his magic, imagined a shield around him and Squall, and whispered the word, only to feel his magic do something it never had before. His magic roared to the surface and wrapped around him, but only him. Clenching his fists, Harry fought with his magic, forcing the spell out further to cover both him and Squall. When it finally gave in, he groaned and collapsed on the floor, feeling his magic churning under his skin. The compassionate part of his brain, which oddly enough sounded like Ron, was trying to tell him it was just a part of doing magic in another reality, but Harry knew better. Magic was not supposed to rebel like that; it was supposed to do exactly what you told it to, not fight you.
The locked clicked, and Harry opened his eyes just in time to see a large bolt of lightning slam into an invisible shield inches from his face, twist around, and fly back to the soldiers coming their way. It spilt apart and slammed into the three men, knocking two in a wall and one into the water. If he hadn’t been so disturbed by his magic’s odd behavior, Harry would have felt bad for them. As it was…
“I don’t think I can do that again,” Harry said as Squall yanked him up, and they started running again. Well, more like jogging; Harry exhaustion from the battle with Voldemort and fighting his magic moments before slowing them down considerably. Squall glanced back at him, an eyebrow raised. Harry took that as a silently why, and said, “My magic’s acting weird, like it’s not even mine.”
Squall sighed, sounding both disappointed and resigned. “Sorceresses can’t fully control their magic on their own. They have to have a Knight to help them,” he said, stopping by a ladder. He let go of Harry’s wrist and started to climb the ladder. “I thought you might be able to control yours.”
“What happens to those that don’t get a Knight?” Harry asked softly, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of his magic playing by this reality’s rules. The possibility of never being able to control his magic again scared him more than facing Voldemort had. His magic had always been that one thing no one could ever take away or control, and now some guy he barely knew was telling him he might not ever be able to use it ever again without someone there to hold his hand. Harry once again felt the urge to cry, or maybe scream. Screaming sounded really good.
One hand on the metal panel above his head, Squall looked down at Harry. “Eventually they go insane.”
There it was; his magic wasn’t his anymore. No more magic, no more spells, no more flying. But most importantly, no way home. Harry had been thinking it before, but hearing Squall’s words completely killed any hope he had. Because what was the point of using his magic to find a way home if he ended up insane and quite possibly dangerous in the attempt?
There wasn’t one.
If he made it back, he might turn into another Voldemort; and if he wasn’t able to leave, he’d be a danger to this world. Neither was an outcome Harry liked. Feeling completely numb, Harry wrapped his arms around himself, and watched Squall push the panel up and climb out of the sewer.
A few minutes and some muffled shouts later, Squall’s voice drifted down. “Are you coming?”
Harry could barely see him, but he could tell it Squall was kneeling by the hole, holding the panel up with one hand. Harry blinked at him for a few seconds before slowly climbing the ladder. As soon as he climbed out, Squall carefully lowered the panel, and silently shut and locked it while Harry looked around the small alley. Although it was hard to see anything in the badly lit alley, he could make out a few men in the same dark blue uniforms as the soldiers from the sewers lying on the ground, and was tempted to check if they were alive, but he quickly nixed the idea before it completely formed. Harry didn’t care to become a hostage, or possibly left behind so Squall could make his escape if they were alive. That thought led to another, and Harry frowned. Why was Squall helping him? He had been the one to point out Harry’s magic was a ticking bomb, after all. There was the chance Squall was lying about the whole magic thing, but Harry could still feel his magic swimming under his skin, looking for an opening, and decided to trust his first gut instinct to trust Squall for now. Still, it didn’t make sense for Squall to help him.
He turned away from the soldiers, and was shocked to find Squall pulling a medium sized duffle bag out from behind a dumpster. Harry was even more shocked when Squall pulled a small pack of disposable wipes out and tossed them at him. “Um…”
“We just spent over an hour in the sewers, we smell. Those will get rid of some of it,” Squall said, opening his own pack. He dropped his jacket on the bag, and pulled off his shirt.
“What about our clothes?” Harry asked, copying Squall. He quickly wiped the sweat and some of the smell off his skin, and tossed the wipes in the trash. He jumped when Squall tossed a dark brown shirt at him, and barely caught it before it hit the ground. Confused, he looked at Squall for an explanation.
“It was for Zell, but it’s the only thing in here that looks halfway decent with those pants,” Squall said, his voice muffled as he pulled a clean white T-shirt over his head. When he had that on, he grabbed a pale blue button up from the bag and slid it on. Harry thought it looked a little odd with the leather pants and sword sheath, but it was no where near as noticeable as Squall’s fur lined leather jacket.
“Won’t he need it?” Harry asked as he pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up. He didn’t tuck it in, though. Whoever Zell was, he had enough muscles to make the shirt hang loosely on Harry, and it looked more natural if Harry left it out.
“If they were going to be here, they would have made it long before now,” Squall said tightly, shoving his jacket and shirt into the bag. “Their path from the other tower was quicker.”
“Oh. What about-”
“If Irvine has half a brain, he’ll have used the distraction to get himself and Rinoa out of town by now. Give me your old shirt,” Squall said, holding his hand out. Harry silently handed it to him, finally getting the clue his questions about Squall’s friends were not welcome, but he still had one more question.
“Um, why are you helping me?” Harry asked quietly as Squall picked up the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. Squall sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, before focusing on Harry.
“Because, fluke or not, you saved my life earlier,” Squall said, and Harry blinked at him. There was more, and Harry knew it; his life was never that simple. He crossed his arms, and frowned at Squall. Squall rolled his eyes, and grabbed Harry’s hand. Tugging him down the alley, Squall added, “And if what you say is true, and you are a Sorcerer from another world, Edea could kill you and take your powers, making her that much harder to kill later.”
“Oh,” Harry whispered, wanting to have a breakdown now even more than before. But it wasn’t the time for that, and he shoved the feeling aside. Harry, better than anyone else, knew how to put off a breakdown when something needed doing, and the possible magic induced insanity problem needed to be taken care of now. “What’s your name?” he asked as they reached the end of the alley. “I know your first name, but…”
Squall stopped and spun around to stare at him. He looked puzzled for a second, before shaking his head, and said, “Squall Leonhart.”
“Um, Squall, don’t be offended or anything, but if I go crazy because of, well…you know, promise to kill me?” Harry asked. Squall frowned at him, and Harry glanced back at the bodies hidden by the gloom at the very end of the alley. “You’re the only person I know here…I mean, I’ve seen what you can do, and…” Harry’s voice trailed off. Squall was looking at him like he had never seen anyone like him before, and was determined to understand him; the intense scrutiny was making Harry nervous.
“I promise,” Squall said eventually. “Anything else?”
“Thank you, and no, I don’t think so,” Harry said, a little happy he hadn’t offended Squall. But exhaustion overrode the happy feeling, and he yawned and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, stopping when Squall glared at him.
“Guards are going to be out in force around the city. I need you to stay with me, and let me do the talking. If the guards get suspicious and come after us, I’m going to hand you the bag. Use the money inside it to get a train ticket to Balamb. Ask for directions to Garden, and when you get there ask to speak with the Headmaster, Cid Kramer. If you can’t get to Balamb, go to Timber and look for a guy called Zone. Tell him I said to look after you as a return favor for me watching out for Rinoa. Can you do that?” Squall asked, and Harry nodded, silently mouthing the names to help himself remember. Squall looked down at their hands, and sighed. “Don’t act surprised by anything I say to get us past the guards and out of the city, alright?”
Harry blinked at him, mildly confused. Why would he care what it took to get them out of a city where a Sorceress who quite possibly wanted to kill him for his magic was? Then Squall cast a longer look down at their linked hands, and Harry understood. He blushed, not feeling all that comfortable about the idea, but nodded anyway. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Don’t take it seriously,” Squall muttered.
Before Harry could even think of saying “Not a problem”, Squall was gently pulling him out onto the crowded sidewalk, a crowd that, oddly enough, didn’t have too many soldiers in it. This seemed to make Squall just as nervous as it was making Harry, because right as Harry started to speed up to keep pace with Squall instead of walking behind him, Squall tugged on his hand to pull him forward, then loosened his grip on Harry’s hand, like he wanted to be ready to grab his sword.
Harry wasn’t sure what Squall was looking for as he scanned the crowd, but Harry was looking for signs of glamour or illusion spells Edea could have cast on soldiers. While Harry didn’t feel safe using his magic to check, being extremely worried about Edea sensing him and possibly losing control, he could and did look for the visual cues such spells normally produced, but he couldn’t spot anything. No one looked too perfect. No one’s skin was too uniform in color. He couldn’t even tell if anyone was dressed oddly, because there didn’t seem to be any uniform style. There were women, both young and old, dressed in old fashioned skirts and blouses like Molly Weasley, teenagers in what looked like school uniforms, old men in leather cowboy outfits, little girls and boys in jumpsuits that ranged from cute plaid numbers to out right disturbing leather and chain combos, and the occasional strange person who looked like they belonged in at a tea party with Albus Dumbledore. There were even people in glowing purple, pink, and silver costumes that Luna Lovegood would have sold her proof the Crumple-Horned Snorkack existed to own.
It wasn’t until they were reaching the end of the shopping district that Harry finally noticed something that stood out as an unusual, especially since it was night: the smell of fresh tar. Trusting Squall to not let him bump into anyone, Harry started looking at the street, and eventually found what he was looking for, a recently smoothed patch of fresh tar in the middle of the street, and standing next to it was a man dressed in a work uniform. Harry narrowed his eyes, studying the man. He looked ordinary enough, but the uniform wasn’t moving in time with his movements, and he kept grabbing at something in the air by his waist in the same spot where a sword would hang. Harry glanced at Squall from the corner of his eye, and saw Squall’s eyes pass over the man like he wasn’t even there. Coming to a quick decision, Harry nudged Squall’s shoulder.
Squall shot him an annoyed look, and Harry glared back. With a frustrated sigh, Squall stopped in front of a bookstore with a large window so he could still watch the streets via reflections, and hissed, “What?”
“See the man standing in the middle of the street?” Harry asked softly. Squall frowned at him, then looked at the reflection again. Harry could tell by Squall’s surprised expression the exact moment he finally saw him, and said, “I think he’s under an illusion, and maybe a ‘notice me not’ spell. His uniform’s hanging all wrong, and no one seems to see him.”
Squall nodded, and motioned to the window display. “You still want to get the book, or wait until we get home?” he asked in a normal voice.
“I’ll wait,” Harry whispered, suppressing a wince at hearing the annoyance in Squall voice. Harry was determined to keep his mouth shut as Squall started pulling him down the street again, but he did notice now that he had brought the man to Squall’s attention, Squall seemed to see things he hadn’t before. Harry didn’t know what they were, but they bothered Squall enough that they picked up the pace, only slowing down when they reached a large building.
“Train station, don’t speak,” Squall said softly, as he pulled Harry up the stairs. Harry nodded, and meekly followed Squall inside and to the ticket window. He smiled weakly at the sales woman behind the window as Squall purchased their tickets, and she smiled back, sending him a sympathetic look as Squall dragged him towards the escalators. As they passed the gift shop display window, he saw his reflection and realized why the woman had given him such a pitying look; his face was almost bone white, magnifying the dark circles under his eyes and making his eyes seem an even darker green than they normally were. Harry looked down at his free hand and saw it was shaking. Harry wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion finally catching up with him or delayed shock, but he was determined to ignore it.
Squall, however, took advantage of it. When the guards standing at the bottom of the escalators stopped them to find out why they were leaving town, Squall spun a very pretty lie about them just finding out Harry’s parents were in a car crash. Harry wanted to punch him—he did not need to be reminded of the Dursleys—but instead, he leaned against Squall, and tried to look as pitiful as possible. Squall stiffened at the contact, but he wrapped his arm around Harry in an awkward one arm hug, and kept talking. The guards eventually let them pass, and Harry had to bite back a panicky laugh when one of them said he hoped his parents were alright.
Squall kept his arm around Harry until the train arrived a few minutes later, and then he went back to dragging Harry around by his hand, shooting the occasional worried look his way as they boarded the train. By this point Harry’s whole body was shaking slightly, and he knew the looks weren’t just for show. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care; he was back in the same numb place he gone when Squall had told him about Sorceresses going insane. Everything—from finally killing Voldemort, to missing Ron and Hermione, to being in another world, to being on the run from someone who might want to steal his magic—had begun to sink in, and Harry, now more than ever, wanted nothing more than to collapse on the first semi flat surface he could find. He was even past caring if it was clean or not.
Harry blinked when he felt Squall wrap a blanket around his shoulders. He looked down, and frowned in confusion when he saw how close the floor was. When did he sit down? No, better question, when did they get in the compartment? He looked back up, and saw Squall was kneeling in front of him, looking worried. Shit, no one else was around, and Squall was still frowning at him like that. Not good.
“Where are we going?” Harry asked in an attempt to make Squall think of something besides his imminent breakdown. Squall didn’t look any less concerned, but Harry still got the feeling he was grateful for the distraction.
“A town about three hours away. Rinoa and Irvine should already be there,” Squall said, helping Harry lie down on the bench. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
“Three hours doesn’t really seem worth it,” Harry muttered, but his eyes were already closed. By the time the train pulled out of the station a few minutes later, he was asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Squall stared down at the teenager sleeping on the bench across from him, running the few hours through his mind. No matter how many times he tried to dismiss it, one thing in particular kept standing out.
“…promise to kill me?”
That had always been something he had expected to hear from Seifer one day if the bastard had ever made it into SeeD, and the chances of a clean death on a mission were low, or maybe from a fatally wound Zell, so whoever reported his death could honestly tell his mother he had died quickly. He hadn’t, however, expected to hear it from someone he had known less than a day. It took a special kind of trust to ask someone kill you, and the idea of earning it in less than a day was…odd. How he and Harry had been introduced—Squall snorted; yeah, introduced was a good way to refer to that—didn’t really matter; what mattered was the way Harry had taken the news people like him were stacks of C-4 waiting for the right trigger by quietly asking Squall to kill him if he ever lost control. Harry hadn’t even put limits on his request, leaving it completely up to Squall to decide how he died, and what the exact definition of magic induced insanity was. With the way the request was worded, Squall could kill him for simply messing up a Fire spell, something every SeeD or SeeD in training who ever attended a magic class had done more than once.
And for all that, Squall still thought the strangest part about the request was Harry asking after he knew why Squall was really helping him stay one step ahead of the Galbadian soldiers. Harry had looked resigned, and, oddly enough, hurt after hearing Squall’s true reason for bringing him along, but he had still asked. Of course, Harry had pointed out Squall was the only person he knew, but the request and its timing showed an amazing amount of trust.
Squall was determined to never abuse that trust.
When Harry started floating a few inches off the bench, Squall rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Squall put his hand in the middle of Harry’s chest and gently pushed him back down. A few minutes later, Harry started floating again, and Squall came to two decisions. Not only did he need to help Harry learn some control, but when they finally made it to town, he was going to either get Harry his own room, or, if they ended up bunking with Irvine, make him sleep in the same bed so he could hold him down.
Tags: crossover, ffviii, hp, side effects, squall/harry