Unofficial Portkey Archive

Trust and Betrayal

By: JA_Japster

Inspired and partially based on the OAV "Samurai X"

Copyright Notice: Harry Potter is copyrighted to J.K Rowling and Samurai X and Rurouni Kenshin is copyrighted to Nobuhiro Wazuki and Shueisha Jump Comics. The fanfiction is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any fashion without permission.

Trust

Part XII: The Worth of a Killer

As ordered, Harry reported to the Three Broomsticks alone. Dumbledore was not due back for another few hours at least, so he dropped off his report with one of Dumbledore's aides. Without anything else to do at present, and the night still too young to retire to his room, he then decided to head to the tavern for something to drink.

"Evening, Mr. Potter." Madam Rosmerta said. There was something different about the land lady, Harry observed. She looked more weary than usual, her voice missing its trademark cheeriness and her eyes marred by shadows. He elected not to comment on it.

"Good evening, land lady." Harry said, accepting the pint of ale Madam Rosmerta served him and taking a small sip. They shared a brief but polite conversation, neither of them doing much to hold up their end of it, and before long Madam Rosmerta excused herself to the backroom. That suited Harry just fine who returned to his drink.

He usually did not drink. He seldom touched ale and never dabbled in anything stronger than a taste of whiskey. Spirits was the worst enemy to a warrior, Sirius had told him, because even the most disciplined fighter could seldom resist its alluring taste. Right now, for some reason, Harry could not find the will to care and down the pint without hesitation. It was bitter to his tongue, but made him feel slightly better.

Harry set the glass down with a clank and slumped against the counter. His mind was still on the short but violent confrontation with Ron, and the unforeseen loneliness he felt now that he was gone. It was strange. He had always thought of Ron as a partner, but never really a friend. He could not afford friends, friends that might distract him in the middle of battle and jeopardize the Order. But if Ron was not truly his friend, then why did he find himself missing his partner's presence?

He tried to push the thought aside and filled up another pint. This one he rationed slower, enjoying the burning sensation. But the glass was soon empty, and again he had nothing to distract him from the dilemma he wrestled with.

He was angry. Not as Ron so much, but with himself. Should he have foreseen Ron throwing in with Yale's lot? Surely Ron could see that the violent, excessive aggressiveness of Yale's plan would only result in catastrophe. Or would it? He remembered what Ron's words, that Dumbledore's milder approach to the rebellion was just holding the Order back, and that all the assassinations Harry had carried out were contrary to his will.

Harry did not want to believe that. He had a sort of trust for the wizened wizard, and it disturbed him that the killings he committed might actually be in keeping not with Dumbledore's plan, but Yale's. He did not doubt Cyrus Yale's motives for reform, but he did question his methods. Raw violence could not settle England's problems.

Then what were the assassinations if not raw violence?

He wished Dumbledore would return so that he could speak with him. However, at the same time he was grateful that the old man was still gone. While he would benefit from Dumbledore's wisdom, the old wizard had a way of making Harry feel even worst, and often incited the sort of mental quandary that Harry was suffering with now.

Thoughts…complications…hesitation…death…

As a warrior he was supposed to keep his mind as free of thoughts and emotions that would slow him down in battle. But it was this war, this battle that seemed to conjure the very emotions and issues that troubled Harry's indecisive persona. Could the two be linked like Dumbledore believed? Could Sirius have been wrong?

He was about to call for another fill, when a familiar voice interrupted his

"Good evening, Peter."

That voice…Hermione.

Harry turned and surveyed the tavern out of the corner of his eye. He spotted her easily in the tavern's relative emptiness, speaking with a very inebriated Peter Pettigrew at a nearby table. The Three Broomstick's was always barer these days as more and more of its usual patrons sought else where to drown their sorrows. Now, it felt lifeless, its usual welcoming warmth absent.

"Evening, Hermione." Pettigrew slurred with a jolly smile, hiccupping periodically between words. "Well, guess I'd best be going now." He tottered to his feet and staggered outside.

Without evening realizing it, Harry had risen to his feet and was walking across the tavern to speak with Hermione. She looked up when he approached, smiling happily when she saw him.

"It's good to see you again, Harry." Hermione said.

"And you." Harry replied. He noticed a folded up piece of parchment on the table beneath one of Peter's tankards and reached for it. "Looks like Peter forgot something."

Hermione looked at the parchment, and she suddenly snatched it up before Harry could take it. Harry gave her an odd look as she pocketed it away. "I'll give it to him the next time he comes around." She explained quickly. Harry let it go.

"It's been so long since you've been here. I wasn't sure if you were ever going to be back. I trust you're not going to be leaving right away?" She asked hopefully.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Hermione frowned, trying to guise her disappointment by the ambiguous answer. "Where's Ron? Isn't he always with you?"

It was Harry's turn to frown. Still angry about the unexpected turn of events, he did not trust himself to speak freely about the sudden absence of his partner. So instead of saying what he truly felt, he merely said, "We had a difference in opinions."

Those words seemed to convey the implicit message anyway, because Hermione nodded as if she understood which she probably did. Though Harry still did know the mysterious waitress very well, he knew enough from speaking with her before that she was smarter and cleverer than the average person.

"Did you need something, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry was momentarily taken aback, but he recovered well. "I didn't know I needed a reason."

She smiled playfully. "Everyone needs a reason for something."

"I guess it was just to say hello, then." Confused and feeling more than a little embarrassed, Harry was about to walk away when Hermione grabbed his hand. He instantly stopped in his tracks.

"I have a better idea." She said. "I'll be going off duty in a few minutes. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

"A walk?" Harry asked, his surprise not entirely abated.

"Do you always give every girl this hard of a time?" Hermione teased.

"You were the one who said everyone needed a reason." Harry reminded.

She chuckled at having her own words being used against her. "I don't know you very well, Harry. I'd like to get to know you better."

"That's your purpose, but not your reason."

"Let's just say you interest me."

Harry smiled inwardly. They were in the middle of a duel of words, each exchange as significant as a parry or thrust, probing the other's defense while revealing none of their own true intentions. However, he could see no real immediate harm in her request. A walk might help him clear his mind.

He nodded, and Hermione's eyes lit up with joy.

"It's a date then." She said. Harry meant to say something, but before he could think of anything profound, Madam Rosemerta called Hermione from the backroom. Hermione glance fleetingly at Harry again and then reluctantly pulled way.

A date…

--

Ron glanced at the piece of parchment he carried in his hand. Under the luminous light of the moon he could barely make out the hastily scribbled instructions on it, but he was pretty sure that the empty lot he stood before was the right place. He twisted the parchment as if looking at it from a different angle might give him a better perspective of its content, but when nothing was revealed he stuffed it back into his robes.

Just give it a go, he thought. Drawing forth his wand he bellowed, "Manor of Marche!"

Instantly, a giant building materialized magically in the empty lot. It was a manor, built in the fashion favored by muggles, grand both in proportion and detail. The front door opened, and a pair of wizards walked towards Ron, eyeing him suspiciously.

"What is it you want?" asked one of the wizards.

"The moon screams for blood," Ron replied, following the instructions that had been written on the parchment. "And the flames of hell shall deliver it forth."

The wizards hesitated, but then stepped aside, motioning for Ron to enter. "Hurry," said one of them. "The meeting has already begun."

Ron quickly obeyed. He stepped through the double doors, and almost gasped when he came out the other end of them. Instead of the traditional maze of corridors and stairwells that the exterior of the manor had suggested, he found himself in a relatively small room, Spartan in furnishing and with only a balcony leading outside on the other side. A dozen wizards, the leaders of different wizarding provinces in southern England, sat around the perimeter of the room, glaring at the intruder.

"What do you want?" asked an old wizard that Ron recognized as Cyrus Yale.

"To help," Ron answered.

Cyrus Yale stood, getting a better look at Ron. His eyes widened slightly. "You're one of Dumbledore's lackeys! What in the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.

"I am not a servant of Dumbledore, but of the Order of the Phoenix." Ron returned staunchly. "My faith in Dumbledore's methods has deteriorated, and now I offer my aid to you."

"Really?" Yale snarled disbelieving. "And what of your friend, the rude ignorant young man who had the audacity to stand against my proposal? What happened to your faith in him?"

"Harry is a coward," Ron said quietly. "And a fool. I can no longer rely on him to assist us in our needs."

Yale's harsh demeanor softened slightly. He gestured to a vacant spot on the wall. "Then you're welcome amongst us, the true members of the Order."

Ron nodded and sat down. He realized what he had done. He had forsaken the two people whom he had considered his most trusted friends, but he had no regrets. They would not bring about their dream of liberation of the weak. They had failed them. But he would not.

Yale also took his seat. "Now that we are all here, my brothers, it is time for us to carry out our final plan, a plan that will usher in a new era of prosperity and equality that the Ministry had long denied us. Before we act, however, I must have each of you confirm your loyalty to our cause. You must know from this moment on, there shall be no hesitation, and no turning back."

"We are ready." said a small wizard across the room from Ron. "When your order is given, Cyrus, my men are prepared to attack."

"I have a legion of dwarves at my call," said a different wizard. "They and I are prepared to die for you."

One by one the leaders gave their oath of fidelity to Cyrus, until only Ron had remained unspoken for. He stood, acknowledging the anticipating stares of the others, and firmly declared, "I only have my life and wand to give to the cause, but I give it willingly."

Yale smiled proudly, his gaze sweeping over the twelve other men assembled in the room. "Then tonight, London shall burn to the ground, and our long awaited victory shall be guaranteed!"

--

Lord Voldemort unfolded the piece of parchment that a courier had delivered to him. He read over its message, and a menacing smile, the sort of smile that sent chills up the spine of men, split across his lips. He turned to Malfoy who stood nearby.

"Gather the Death Eaters, Captain. Tonight we spill blood."

--

The night was cold enough to warrant the pale black cloak Harry for such occasions. He draped it over the plain black leathers he always wore, and waited patiently outside for Hermione. A few minutes later she appeared, wearing similar attire, though Harry had to admit it looked a lot better on her.

"Thanks for waiting for me." Hermione said, giving him a radiant smile that only she seemed capable of creating. "Shall we go then?"

They walked together in silence for an hour or so, far away from the Three Broomsticks, reaching the outskirts of the city. Buildings and street lamps faded away and were replaced by trees and fields of grass as they progressed further away from London. The air became cleaner, and the atmosphere seemed lighter, devoid of the political scheming and deadly strife that gripped the heart of England. They walked even further until the noise of the city had vanished, and suddenly only the stillness of night could be heard.

They finally came to a stop at grassy embankment bordering a clear stream of water. Hermione sat down on it, and Harry followed suit. Neither spoke content to let the river's flow and the night's chorus fill the void between them.

"I stopped by this river when I first came to London." Hermione said at last. "There used to be a field of roses here. Now look."

The grass around them looked healthy, but the lack of flowers was evident. Their roots lay strewn about the decomposing corpses of other flowers that had once possessed their own unique glory. This field would be the next target of the muggle's industrialization; already the botany was being destroyed to make room for their expansion. However, amongst the graveyard of flowers, one rose remain alive, a beacon of life in the middle of a field of death.

She touched the petals delicately, careful not to injure it. "This field was once beautiful."

"Do you still think so?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I do. This one rose retains its essence. But it won't remain beautiful forever."

"Nothing ever does."

Hermione smiled. "But if I were to never see this rose again, it would always remain beautiful in my memories."

"But that would not be the truth."

"The truth is ugly."

"Would you rather live a lie and be happy?" Harry leaned back and rested his head in the cool grass. "To find solace in deceit?"

"Maybe. We only have one life, so why not live it in happiness? But if I find contentment in lies, where do you find your happiness, Harry?" Hermione asked, lying down beside Harry. He suddenly realized how close she was to him, but did not found it at all unpleasant. He found a strange comfort in her warmth.

"Fighting for the Order," Harry said automatically.

"You find happiness in killing others?"

"Saving others." Harry corrected.

"Taking lives to save lives. A logical paradox."

Harry stirred uncomfortably. He did not like where this conversation was going. "I try not to think about it. I follow orders. If the death of a person contributes the ultimate goal of liberation of the oppressed, then so be it."

"And if your death is necessary?"

"Then I would have no remorse."

Hermione laughed, but it did not contain any humor. Instead it was full of something akin to pity. "You're a rare person. You have found what most men search their entire lives for and never find: a cause worth dying for. And yet, at the same time, you lack what most men find."

"What is that?"

"A cause worth living for," Hermione whispered in the darkness.

"I look at you, Harry, and where other people only see an assassin," continued Hermione passionately, "I see a child who found acceptance in the Order infused with your confused sense of fundamental morality. I look in your eyes and I see a scared little boy who has never known love or real friendship."

"Other people just complicate my life." Harry replied uncertainly. His voice shook, rattled by the unprecedented verbal assault that hit so close to the truth that he'd been denying his entire life. Did he have any friends? Did anyone truly love him?

Ron…

Your partner, but not your friend…

Dumbledore…

You're leader, but not your ally…

Sirius…

You're mentor, but not your father…

Suddenly feeling very tired, Harry finished weakly, "They bring out emotions that impair my ability to fight."

"And if you can not fight then you lose your worth as a friend, as a soldier, as a human."

"That's not true!" Harry yelled, sitting up, making no effort to conceal his emotions any longer.

"You exist only as the Slayer. Without the killer in you, you are worthless."

Worthless…

Rejected…

A man without value…

A man without need…

"I am not the Slayer!" Harry said fiercely. "I am myself! I fight for a purpose!"

What purpose?

Definition?

"I am not a killer! That is not my only worth!"

Then what is your worth? You're entire life you've trained for only one thing: To kill. You've immersed yourself in this world; you can not do anything else.

Killing is your only value.

Killing is your only worth.

You are the Slayer.

And that is why you fear her…

You fear your emotions for her…

That they will take away your gift of death…

And then take away your purpose…

Harry collapsed back into the grass, feeling lost and confused. With the introduction of Hermione Granger into his life, the world no longer seemed so simple. She was destroying him…

They lay there for a long time, and for a moment the rose and their worries were forgotten as they found comfort in each other's company. Hermione touched Harry's hand and squeezed it caringly.

"You're sad, lonely man, Harry Potter." She whispered in his ear.

--

Author's Notes:

I wrote this chapter surprisingly quickly in a little under two days, but while there's very little action I like it. If any of you have seen Samurai X, I'm pretty sure you have an idea of what's going to happen next. The next chapter will be the last part of Trust, and then the next after that will begin Betrayal. I've already mapped out two alternative endings (both of which I feel are very original and dissimilar to Samurai X's) but they're so substantially different I'm having trouble choosing which path to follow. Oh well, plenty of time to think about that later I suppose.

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review. It is impossible to relay how much I appreciate your feedback.

-JA_Japster