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 XIII: Tears of a Child
Draco Malfoy glowered at the manor distastefully. It had been previously concealed under spell of cloaking that accurate instructions from Voldemort's spy and a potent counter charm had rendered useless, and now lay exposed to Malfoy and his attack squad. He did not need to examine the floor plans of the building to plan his assault; he knew the building from memory. He had seen it before; on one occasion he had even dined with its owner, Alfred Marche, within these very walls.
Alfred Marche. Up until three hours ago he was one of Fudge's closest supporters in the war. How mistaken they had been if a man like Marche secretly harbored the leaders of the rebellion within his home. It disgusted Draco that duplicity in the government ran this deep, that even trusted friends turned against each other over petty political differences. But it made little difference to him. Marche had decided where his alliances lay, and now he would pay the price with his life. Malfoy would see to that personally.
"What are we waiting for, Malfoy?" asked Brutus the Bastard gruffly.
Malfoy ignored the half-giant. He loathed Brutus' presence almost as much as he despised the mixed breed's existence. A firm believer in the pure blood ethic of the wizarding race, he viewed someone like Brutus as an abomination that had by chance earned the favor of Lord Voldemort. It irked him to no end that the fool was assigned at the last moment to Malfoy's meticulously assembled assault team, but he would by no means allow Brutus' habitual failure to endanger their chances of success.
As planned, he and a dozen of his most trustworthy soldiers would spearhead the attack against the rebel leaders, and Brutus would play rear guard during the operation. It was a humiliating assignment for such an important mission, but Brutus knew better than to argue with their shared master so soon after his earliest failure. The manor itself was lightly guarded according to their spy's reports; the rebels were relying more on anonymity than soldiers to protect them. But Malfoy did not underestimate the fighting prowess of the men they would soon face. There were around a dozen highly skilled wizards inside, one to each of Malfoy's elites.
"Remember, lieutenant," Malfoy said to the Death Eater beside him. "Strike swiftly. Everyone inside is our enemy. Leave none alive."
With those last instructions given, Malfoy stepped from beneath the spell of invisibility that disguised him and his troops and walked towards the manor. As expected, when he got within a hundred steps of it, the entrance's double doors split open and two wizards stepped forward. They walked towards Malfoy, wands out and at the ready.
"What do you want?" One of them asked.
Malfoy waited until the double doors closed, sealing out noise from the outside as well as the two men's fate.
The two rebel guards never knew what happened as a pair of Death Eaters suddenly appeared behind them. In one fluid practiced motion, they clamped a hand over the guards' mouths and in unison stabbed them through the back of the neck with a serrated dagger. The two wizards died instantly and without struggle, and their bodies were lowered noiselessly to the ground.
The first Death Eater motioned to their captain, who smiled with satisfaction. The death of the two guards meant they could not alarm the manor's occupants, giving the Death Eaters the element of surprise. Malfoy unsheathed his wand, and behind him a dozen other masked men did also. He pointed it at the targeted house, an unspoken death sentence to all those within.
"Attack!"
--
Hermione lagged a few steps behind Harry as they made their return to the city, watching him from behind pensively. Since their last words by the river, he had shown no inclination to continue their conversation, and Hermione had not persisted. Only now with a moment to reflect did she gain an understanding of the scathing nature of her previous words, and the wounds they may have inflicted on Harry. For his sake she did not wish to harm him further.
There was a grim irony to that. Harry Potter, an assassin who was unrivaled in battle could be so easily humbled by a sharp tongue aided by the truth. Even the way he walked, silent and brooding, was only an indication of the emotional beating he had sustained. Just watching him made her feel guilty about what she had done. She had tried to free him from the illusion he entertained, but had it been necessary?
Finding solace in deceit.
Harry had been content, happy even doing what he did. Hermione had threatened his happiness by voicing the questions that Harry had purposely ignored his entire life. Why had she done that? His sense of happiness might derive from something she found appalling, but why could she not find happiness in other's contentment?
Because men like him stole my happiness…
Theodon Locke was dead, and with it any chance of joy in her future. Her hopes had been buried with her lover, and now she was left as a wander in search of a new purpose…not that all different from Harry. Maybe that was why she found peace in his presence, knowing that despite the façade of a heartless assassin, deep inside he was just as lost as she. His cries of denial earlier had confirmed that, what a confused lonely child he truly was.
You find comfort within his pain…
After a half an hour past with only silence passing between them, Hermione quietly, but whole heartedly said, "I'm sorry I said what I did. I had no right to judge you."
"Men must all face the truth one day. What they do when confronted with it reveals who they truly." Harry replied. There was no anger in his voice as he spoke, but then there was nothing else either. No emotions. He was closing himself up again, Hermione saw, trying to revert back into the Slayer.
"Then what will you do?" Hermione asked.
"I do not know." Harry said.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps from in front of them assailed their ears, and Harry cautiously drew his wand. As the noise grew closer, Hermione could make out the form of a small pudgy man race towards them in the darkness, heaving in exhaustion. Harry also obviously recognized the telltale signs of Peter Pettigrew because he relaxed and stowed away the wand.
"Harry!" He gasped when he reached them, falling to his knees. He looked up at them, and the look of fear in his eyes relayed his message clearly. An ice cold chill ran down Hermione's back, and she involuntarily grabbed hold of Harry's arm
"What's the matter, Peter?" Harry asked.
"There's trouble! Death Eaters have attacked Marche Manor!"
"What? Why?" demanded Harry, suddenly alert. Then it occurred to him. "Ron?"
Peter nodded. "Yale was holding secret talks there to secede from Dumbledore's faction. I saw Ron heading in that direction."
"Damn!" Harry swore.
"Go and support them!" Peter urged. "I'll go get reinforcements."
Not needing any additional encouragement, Harry nodded, and before Hermione could stop him, he broke away from her grasp and broke into a sprint down the path. Hermione took after him. Neither saw the broad elated smile break across Peter's face as they left him behind.
--
Malfoy's relish of his first taste of combat in London was short lived as he slew the third wizard in only a few moments' time. He had been the first man through the manor's door, leading the attack. Honor dictated nothing less. As predicted, the Death Eaters had caught the rebel leaders completely by surprise, and at least four of them were struck down by an array of spells before they even moved to arm themselves.
Draco normally found battle enthralling, the smell of blood and cast magic stimulating him like nothing else, but he could not bring himself to enjoy this mindless slaughter. Combat was an honorable thing, but there was no glory to be found in this massacre. If it were not for his orders from Lord Voldemort, he might have assigned his lieutenant to finish the job. None of these wizards had the talent necessary to challenge the captain of the Death Eaters, and without a worthy opponent he quickly became…well…bored.
He swung around, parrying an attack from the left, and retaliated, cutting off the wielder's arm with his wand. Unable to defend himself, the offending wizard could do nothing as Draco came in for the coup de grace, neatly taking off his head in a fountain of crimson. He turned away from the decapitated man, already preparing himself for the next opponent.
It came soon enough. Another of the wizards, a younger man this time with flaming red hair, lunged at him swiftly. The new wizard's speed was unexpected, and surprised Draco when his opponent's spell managed to rip the side of his robe. He fingered the small tear and smiled wickedly.
Finally! Someone who can entertain me!
Draco surged forward at the red-haired man. Curse after curse rained down mercilessly upon the young rebel, overwhelming him. He backpedaled clumsily, holding up his own wand in a futile attempt to ward off the onslaught.
"Not good enough!" Draco cried. The wizard attempted a clumsy blow at Draco, but he sidestepped it and lunged, plunging an invisible magical blade into his surprised opponent's chest. The young rebel gasped, his eyes widening as he gazed in wonderment at the blood flowing freely from his chest. He looked up at Draco.
"Damn you, Death Eater!" He hissed. The defiance and hatred in his eyes still blazed as he fell to his knees, never extinguishing until death finally claimed him.
--
Harry and Hermione found the Marche Manor without complication. The problem lay in the giant blocking their path. Hermione had never seen a pureblood giant, but the man was large enough to have been at least a half-blood of the mountain race. Foul and disgusting, the brute barred their path to the manor with a battle ax easily the size of four men put end to end.
"Stay back, Hermione." Harry said as he stepped forward to meet the giant, drawing forth his wand.
Hermione looked fearfully at the ax-man's towering form. He was easily the largest man she had ever seen, and suddenly even the lethal fury that Harry was capable of seemed small and insignificant in comparison. She clenched a handful of his sleeve in her small fists. "You don't have to fight him, Harry."
"I am Bane the Bastard!" The half-giant roared. "And you shall not pass!"
"I don't care what your name is!" Harry screamed. He effortlessly shrugged off Hermione's hand, and with a wordless battle cry, he rushed at the giant ax-man.
With a roar that seemed to shake the earth, the half-giant hoisted his battle ax and swung it at the charging assassin. Hermione screamed in terror, but the gargantuan blade passed cleanly over Harry's head as he ducked under harm's way. Not to be discouraged, Brutus let momentum bring the ax halfway across his back, and then brought it around for another swing. Again, Harry quickly dodged out of reach, but this time it was enough to break Harry's wild charge and force him back a step.
"I am disappointed in you, Slayer!" Brutus crowed gleefully. "I expected more."
The raven-haired assassin charged again, faster, but the half-giant only laughed and swung at his diminutive opponent.
"Harry! Look out!" Hermione screamed.
Harry barely saw it coming out of the corner of his eye. It was only because of Hermione's warning was he able to shift his weight to the side at the last possible moment and avoid the brunt of the blow. Still, he felt the razor sharp edge of the battle ax as it whipped past, painfully grazing his shoulder.
"Harry!"
Blood splattered the cobblestone, but the Slayer ignored it. The pain was excruciating, spreading through his body life fire, but he willed it away. The half giant was faster with that battle ax than his humongous size suggested, and Harry knew that most of the curses in his arsenal would not penetrate Brutus' armor-like, thick skin. Anger filled him as he cursed himself for rushing into battle so blindly and unprepared, allowing his concern for Ron to let his guard down. He heard the giant's mocking laughter, and it only fueled the flames of fury that grew within Harry's mind.
"Harry!" Rushing over to Harry, she gently dabbed at his wounded shoulder with a strip of clothe she had torn from her sleeve. "Please," she begged, tears forming in her eyes, "Reinforcements will be coming soon. We can still go."
"I can't." Harry replied through gritted teeth.
"You have a choice, Harry." Hermione insisted. "You don't need to throw away your life now!"
Harry shook his head. "I never had a choice. Please, get back Hermione."
But Hermione would not listen. She grabbed his hand, wishing she had the strength to pull him away from this fray, away from the inevitable bloodshed, away from the death. But she did not. No matter how much Harry denied it, the outcome of this night was entirely Harry's decision.
"Where does your worth lie?" She asked.
Harry did not reply and slid into the dueler's stance Sirius had taught him all those years ago. Please help me, Sirius. He closed his eyes, tuning out his surroundings. The fear, the anger, the passion -all these emotions that raged around him he channeled out of his body, drawing serenity from the void in his soul. And there, amidst the chaos of battle, Harry Potter found peace.
His eyes snapped open, and he grinned. Hermione could only stand and watch helplessly as Harry charged once again at the half-giant. Like before, the ax man waited until Harry was almost upon him, and then with a bone-rattling bellow brought his ax down with his entire strength. This time, the earth did shake as concrete crumbled and broke under the force of the blow, but Harry would not be deterred. He continued his attack, dancing out of range of the half-giant's ax as it slammed into the ground over and over again, like a man attempting in vain to squash an irritating insect.
"Damn you!" Brutus yelled. He feinted at Harry, and his heart soared as the Slayer fell for his ploy. Mustering his energy into one final blow, his battle ax came crashing down on the assassin. He cried triumphantly, but his joy was short-lived, for when he glanced down at the ruined cobblestone where the head of his ax lay imbedded, he found no sign of his opponent's body.
Panic and confusion overtook the half-giant's small brain and he glanced around frantically for his adversary. But he was nowhere in sight. Finally, he looked straight up. He almost screamed in surprise. Descending from several meters overhead, the small wizard soared through the air like an arrow, his wand pointed directly at his face.
How the hell…Brutus wondered stupidly. It was the last thing he thought or ever did, because a moment later a flash of green filled his vision.
The curse tore right through the half-giant's eye, exiting out of the back of his head in a spray of blood and bone. Brutus stumbled backwards, dropping his precious ax from his loose fingers, and then fell to the ground with a tremendous thud. Harry landed casually beside the half-giant, rising and wiping his wand clean. When that was done, he glanced at Hermione. Too stunned to speak, Hermione could only shake her head slowly, affirming that was safe.
Harry returned the nod, and turned to head to the house when he tripped and fell to one knee. He gripped his shoulder hard, blood spilling through his fingers. Hermione moved to help him, but he waved her away. Struggling, he stood, and holding his wand with one hand and applying pressure to his wound with the other, he stumbled towards the manor.
I need to help, Ron.
I may not have been his friend…
But he was mine…
"Harry! Please, don't!" Hermione called after him.
Hermione…
Before he could decide what to do, the manor's closed doors burst open and out spilled three of the masked men Harry had fought before. They looked at Harry in surprise, obviously not anticipating his arrival, but when they recognized the Slayer standing before them, their mortal enemy, they were all too obliging to draw their wands for combat.
Harry did not even remember the fight. One moment the three Death Eaters rushed at him, and the next moment two were dead. Somehow he had sustained another injury, this time across his chest, and he assumed it was responsible for why he was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He groggily opened his eyes and groaned when he saw the third Death Eater, his face hidden behind their hideous masks, pointing his wand at him.
"Die, Slayer!" He yelled. But before he could form the words to finish the curse, a flash of light tore off his arm. He screamed in pain, grasping at the bloody stump, but he did not suffer long because another blast of light took him in the chest, killing him.
What the hell?
He must have blacked out. When he opened his eyes, he saw Hermione kneeling beside him, her face grim and serious, and her wand out. Had she killed the Death Eater? He did not have long to dwell on it. He passed out again, and the next time he came to he was floating on a magical stretcher that Hermione had conjured.
"We need to leave, now!" Hermione told him.
Harry groaned and tried to rise. He was too weak to protest, but he could not just leave Ron behind to die. Pain shot through his entire body, and he collapsed back into the stretcher's soft embrace as it carried him away. He could not do anything. He was helpless. Through his waning vision he could make out the manor in the distance engulfed in flames, thick clouds of smoke filling the night sky.
Forgive me, Ron.
He passed one last time, slipping back into a blissful world of darkness.
--
Hermione watched Harry rest. Dried tears from hours of crying streaked her face, and more would come later. A crumpled piece of parchment lay next to her, but she dared not touch it again. She had read it once, seen the damning message it contained. In one night everything had fallen apart. In one night everything had been lost. In one night the world had been destroyed.
I'm so sorry, Madam Rosmerta.
I'm so sorry, Ginny.
I'm so sorry, Harry.
Harry smiled, and Hermione realized that it was the first time she had ever seen him do so. He could because he did not yet know the painful truth of the horrors last night held, able to relax peacefully in his rest. She did not want to wake him up to this cruel world they lived in. In sleep was the only place Harry could be free of the pain that followed wherever he went. He deserved to sleep, to reside in the happiness and contentment he had been continually denied his entire life.
More than anything she wanted to be with him, to feel his reassuring presence beside her, to have someone to comfort her sorrow…but no, she would not awaken him.
She had dragged Harry's unconscious form for over two hours after her spell had worn off. Too tired to conjure another stretcher, she had spent the better part of the night making her way through London with Harry until she found the sanctuary of a remote grassy field several miles away from the city and the prowling eyes of the Aurors who swept the city for the remnants of the Order.
It was not until several hours later when the first glimpses of the sun could be seen on the horizon did Harry finally regain consciousness. He awoke slowly, stretching like a cat under the rays of the rising sun, sitting up and ruffling his blood stained hair.
"Good morning, Harry." Hermione said shakily, afraid she might burst out in tears again.
"Good morning, Hermione." Harry said. He looked down at his bare torso and noticed the numerous clean bandages adorning it. Slowly, his eyes wandered back to Hermione's. Gravely, he asked, "What happened?"
She could not hold back the tears anymore. Gently, she lifted the piece of parchment that had been delivered by owl the night before and handed it to Harry. He took it and unfolded it. He read it. He read it again. The letter dropped from his hands. With unsteady legs, he stood and walked off into the distance.
And then Harry screamed, a blood curling sound full of pain and despair that shattered the calm morning's silence. Hermione shut her eyes and covered her ears.
I'm so sorry, Harry…
He screamed until his lungs could stand it no longer, and then only his pitiful sobs of grief could be heard.
Tears flowed freely.
Tears of sadness…
Tears of pain…
Tears of a child…
Author's Notes:
That's the end of Trust. I'm going to take a short break while I prepare the first chapter of Betrayal and the plot that extends from there. Might be a little while until I upload again. Thanks for reading and reviewing!