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Trust and Betrayal by JA_Japster
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Trust and Betrayal

JA_Japster

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.

Betrayal
Part IV: Strangers in the Dark

The sensation of the open sea hit Harry like a physical blow. He grinned out at the sky, enjoying the relaxing eastward wind whip through his newly cut black hair, tickling at his skin as it bathed his body in its cool embrace. A howl of jubilation threatened his lips, and he fought hard to maintain the pretense of composure. Standing at the bow of the rented fishing vessel, surrounded by the peaceful aquatic paradise, Harry felt for the first time in his life peace with the world.

"It's great isn't it?" Harry asked Hermione. She glanced up from a book she had been reading and smiled the same sort of smile that always served to relax any trepidation Harry might have had. He jumped down from the bow, landing gracefully beside his companion.

Contrary to the low opinion Harry and Hermione had formulated about Janus' questionable fishing business, there was nothing about the vessel either of them could complain about. Though he was no seafarer, Harry knew admirable craftsmanship when he saw it, and there was no question in his mind about the quality of the boats structure. It was state of the art, seamless in construction, so perfect that Harry had momentarily entertained the thought that it might have been the result of magic. A lot of love and care had been invested into the boat, and Harry was honored to rent it from the white haired fisherman.

Hermione chuckled. She would have never thought Harry, the once cold hearted assassin for the Order, could be capable of acting this way, bursting with barely constrained excitement. And what more was that a smile on his face, just begging to be released?

"You can smile, Harry." Hermione said. Unable to keep his happiness bottled up any longer, Harry obeyed, laughing and dashing back to the front of the ship with a cry of bliss. The dream that he had desired for years now had finally come true, and he did not want to miss soaking up a second of it. Hermione smiled faintly, and settled against the back of the boat. Despite the contagiousness of Harry's glee, something else unsettled Hermione's soul and kept her from sharing in his happiness.

He's so happy. Hermione thought. He's finally found something in his life that he can genuinely enjoy.

He lives in a fantasy world built on deceit and misconceptions. Her conscious replied. That is the only way he can ever truly be happy.

Harry has found something worth living for. How can I disturb that?

You will have to.

I can't, and I won't.

You fear losing him as you lost Theodon.

No, that couldn't be the truth…could it? Had her short ventures with the assassin someone how replaced Harry with Theodon's place in her heart? She had loved Theodon, more than anything else in the world. But now he was dead, slain by the people she despised most of all.

How much longer can you keep living for the dead?

But to betray Theodon's memory?

But to betray yourself? Your true feelings?

What were her feelings for the mysterious Order assassin? There was no denying that she felt something for him, but what was it? It was far more than that of a casual camaraderie between allies. It delved deeper than friendship, perhaps love? How could she love him, a man whose every facet she found revolting?

Every facet?

No…not every. He killed for a cause, not for money. For an ideal not for fame. For the greater good instead of selfish ambition. Beneath the killer, Hermione knew was an emotional wreck of man who desperately sought nothing else than to find purpose in his distraught existence. He did not want to be an assassin, but life had given him a curse which he could not elude, and given no other option had succumbed to it.

But are you any different? Did you not kill to protect him?

I killed a man who wanted to hurt Harry. There is no comparison.

No murder can be justified.

Can it?

He risked his life to protect me, and I will return the deed.

But at what expense will you protect your sworn enemy?

He is not my sworn enemy! The gutless assassin who took Theodon away from me is!

The voice laughed mockingly. You are both living in an illusionary world, my girl. Only the truth will set you free, but I fear neither of you will like it very much.

Harry returned to Hermione's side shortly after, carrying with him two wooden rods that Janus had thrown in with the boat. He handed one to Hermione, and then sat down beside her, studying the instrument carefully. It was amusing watching the young wizard fumble with the simple rod, obviously searching for some crucial intricacy he had overlooked. Finally, Hermione took pity on him and mercifully took it. While no angler herself, her father was devout fisherman, and she remembered enough to successfully thread their lines.

"Amazing," Harry whispered in awe. There was something astounding about the sophistication behind something so simple, that a basic piece of wood, string, and hook could become the foundation for an entire community's survival. He reached into box full of soil and removed a small earthworm, and neatly speared it on the end of his hook.

"Do mine." Hermione said, handing her rod to Harry. "I can't stand worms."

Harry grinned, but obliged and returned the rod. "You had no problem curing my wounds, but you're squeamish about a couple of worms?"

"It's different. Worms are gross and icky, the way their squirm and-" Hermione began, but stopped when Harry laughed in response. "It's not funny." She remonstrated. Apparently he did not agree the way his laughter persisted.

"What a pair we make." Harry remarked, grinning roguishly. "A coarse assassin and a delicate girl who can't stand worms."

Hermione scowled irritably. "There's nothing delicate about me, Harry Potter." She said, slugging him hard in the shoulder. Harry only chucked in amusement.

They spent the rest of the morning and afternoon fishing, casting out their lines again and again in relative silence. Occasionally one would declare a catch or a groan of disappointment, but primarily the only sound that could be heard was the rushing wind and gentle lap of waves brushing the side of the boat's hull. It was simultaneously enjoyable and relaxing, and both found themselves wishing the day would never end. It did of course, and far sooner than either wished the sun began its gradual descent through the sky.

"Had fun?" Harry asked as he adjusted the sails so that the wind would return them to the beach.

"Loads." Hermione responded cheerily. "Did you?"

"I would have had more if you hadn't caught all the fish." Harry grumbled half heartedly. Hermione had caught almost the entire portion of the day's catch, leaving Harry with only a couple of insignificant miniscule fish to show for himself. He did not seem to mind, however, judging from the smirk on his face and the silent laughter communicated in his words.

"Sure you didn't use magic?" Harry asked with mock suspicion.

"Of course not." Hermione responded. She smiled wickedly and asked, "Is the great and mighty Harry Potter upset because a delicate girl who is scared of worms beat him?"

Harry shrugged off the jibe good naturedly. He turned his attention back to fixing the sails like Janus had taught him earlier that day. "I think I enjoyed myself today more than I ever have in my life." He said in a pause from his work.

"I did too." Hermione replied. "And it was more than just the sea and the fishing that made today so special."

"What else then?" Harry asked.

"Being with you," Came her answer.

Harry's hands fell to his side and he stepped away from the sails. He looked over at Hermione, and his emerald eyes gleamed with a life that she had not seen before in them when he spoke. "I enjoyed being with you too, Hermione."

Janus inspected the fragmented pieces of pottery resting on the table before him. A passing glance at just a piece told him that it had been an exceptional piece of artwork, created by a master of the trade and easily worth a half year's income from a good fishing vessel. Poor folk of the village could seldom afford pottery of its caliber, and that meant it worth a lot more than just money to the person who owned it…it was a priceless treasure.

An elderly lady from across the village had walked all the way down to the cottage to give it to Patrick. She had been in tears, grief stricken by her carelessness that had lead to the destruction of her late husband's final anniversary gift. Rumors of Janus' uncanny talent at repairing things had one day found her, and so the desperate old lady had braved the long journey to the cottage. She would not return home disappointed, Janus decided the moment he met her.

The damage done to the pottery would be irreparable by a normal man. It was too extensive, and Janus was certain the dozens of shards that was left of it would be impossible to place back together. But Janus O'Meara was no normal man; his abilities not limited by the frailties of the muggle blood that ran through his veins. He had long since learned to overcome the boundaries of his mortality, and had learned to tap into the infinite pool of magic that burned within his soul.

Slowly, he relaxed the mental restrained he constantly enforced, the only thing that kept the magic from freely flowing out of him. Blue flames leapt to his fingers, spreading down his skin until it covered both of his hands. He could feel it; he could feel the overwhelming power as it coursed through his body and mind. The omnipotence that filled him was intoxicating, blinding him with a euphoric light, and for a moment his control almost slipped.

Hastily, Janus recalled the magical flames so they burned faintly on the tips of his fingers. His entire body shook and sweat poured down his forehead, dripping loudly on the table in rhythmic drops. Taking deep a deep breath, Janus wiped the perspiration away, silently chiding himself for his loss of focus. He knew better than anyone else the danger that came attached with his incredible powers, that one mishap no matter how trivial when wielding it could be catastrophic. Better spell casters than he had died in such a way.

Returning to the task at hand, Janus pressed his fingers against the pottery. Instantly, the flames spread from his fingers into the pieces of pottery, transferring some of the magic into. They disappeared momentarily in a blaze of blinding light, and when it faded the shards had vanished. In its place stood the finished product, a ceramic bowl it seemed, completely restored to its original form without mark or blemish.

Janus smiled and set the bowl aside. There would be no money for his work, but he wanted none. The joy that the old woman would experience when returned the repaired pottery was reward enough. Villagers like Patrick had done so much to embrace Janus as one of their own; this charitable act was a small way to repay them.

"Close the door," he suddenly said. "You're letting in the bugs."

A door behind him slammed shut, and from the shadows emerged a man cloaked in a dark robe. He pushed back the cowl, revealing a young man with light blonde hair who laughed softly. "You're instincts haven't waned the slightest, Janus."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" The albino Irishman asked darkly.

"Is that any way to speak to one of your old comrades?" Draco Malfoy replied, feigning hurt.

"I'm going to ask again. What do you want?"

Draco laughed again, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "I have a message from our master. He wants you to kill him."

Janus sneered unpleasantly at the Death Eater. "He has a thousand assassins, get one of them to do his dirty work."

"The Slayer is different. Already he has killed almost a dozen of our own, including Twin Blades and Brutus the Bastard. Lord Voldemort insists Potter require special attention."

"Why me?" Janus demanded. "I'm sure you were begging the Dark Lord for this task."

Draco nodded shamelessly. "I won't deny it. However, Lord Voldemort thought this a more apt task for you." A cruel grin formed, and he added, "Especially given your interesting past relationship with the target."

The fisherman glared at Draco. "Get out, Draco."

"You refuse the Dark Lord's orders?"

"I'm not the man I used to be seventeen years ago. I've moved on."

Malfoy chuckled disbelievingly, and backed away until he merged with the shadows once again. As he left, though, his parting words permeated the veil of darkness and were clear. "You can't deny who you are. Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater."

Author's Notes:

What's this? A short chapter and a long delay between updates? Sorry about that, but with the press of homework, still recovering from semester finals, dips in internet connection, and helping my family pack up our house to move closer to school, I'm somewhat pressed for time. Ok, that's not entirely true. I've also become obsessed with the anime Naruto (it kicks copious amounts of ass) and my eyes bleed from long anime marathons.


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