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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 XI: One Final Request


Icy cold wind nips at my exposed skin, like a saw tearing its rusting blades into my flesh. The torn robes that barely cover my nakedness prove inadequate to keep the bitter chill at bay as I awake, shivering on the rough cobblestone of some nameless road in London. Waves of nausea hit me as I regain consciousness, the kind of nausea that eats away at your gut and shoves bile up through your throat and into your mouth so you can taste it. My head spins like I had downed one drink too many; the inevitable after effects of magically teleporting hundreds of miles in the space of a few seconds. Just thinking of it makes me feel dizzy, and it takes everything in me to keep from retching on the ground. Painfully, every muscle in my body screaming loudly in argument, I rose to my feet and unsteadily lean against a nearby wall to keep from toppling over. One step at a time, I make my way out of the gloom of an isolated alley and into the city beyond. Loud noises assault my ears. The clangor of machines, the footsteps of pedestrians -the raucous ambiance of London is a jarring awakening, an unpleasant welcome to the reality of the world.

My head is not working right. I'm seeing doubles, phantoms dancing on the edge of my vision, taunting me for my failures with devious smiles and malicious laughter. As I stumble down these forsaken streets, people stare, horrified by the bloody monster that lurks down the paths of the civilization. I don't have the energy to care; sleep calls to me with promises of its warm embrace, but foolishly I deny with fervor born of purpose. The rancid stench of blood, Janus' blood, that imbues my cloak reminds me why I'm back in London and not standing at the gates of death. A lamb of sacrifice had earned me this opportunity, selflessly granting me what I did not deserve. I will not let Janus down.

A knot forms in my throat at the thought of the former Death Eater, a knot of guilt and regret. Tears blur my vision, and a muted sob demands exit from my lips. I mourn the man I killed, and I can not understand why. It eludes me. Because of his betrayal my parents are a mystery to me. Because of his betrayal I now hunt for the blood of my lover…

Because of his friendship…I'm alive.

I take another step when my left leg gives out. Too weary to even break my fall, my head slams into the uncaring concrete, and a chorus of bells echo inside my skull. I lie there for a long time, too exhausted to even move myself out of a pool of my own blood. Darkness hovers at the corner of my eyes, seductively offering an escape from my pain. A shake of my head and the darkness rescinds, but only for a moment. It will return. Like a bad galleon, it'll always come back.

I want nothing more than to storm the gates of the Ministry of Magic single handedly and find the bitch that has tormented me with her lies of love and loyalty. My hands crave to wrap themselves around her neck, to squeeze the living breath out of her traitorous mouth, but fortunately my mind has cleared enough to realize that this possibility is not in the cards at the moment. The Flames of the Phoenix technique might have repaired my shattered body, but it had also drained whatever energy I still had. I'm a walking corpse right now, useless to everyone until I get some rest.

My eyes close, and darkness engulfs me. When they open, the smog filled skies are replaced with a young face. A woman's face, pretty with red curly locks that poke from under the cowl of her robes. I've seen the face somewhere before, but it's a scrap lost in the archive of my memories, and I can't recall where. She knows me, and she kneels down and gently touches my face.

"Harry! Harry!" She whispers. Her eyes dart back and forth, full of fear and undisguised nervousness like she's expecting Aurors and Death Eaters to appear at any moment. "We need to get you out of here!"

An understatement, but I'm in no condition to say so. My legs won't respond and all I can do is bleed and stare at her, unable to help as she tries her best to lift me with her small arms. I want to tell her to leave me before the authorities get wise of the maniac that roams their streets craving blood, but the words die in my throat. As much as I hate to drag her into the mess I've caused she is my only hope right now. Lady luck is a real fickle friend, spontaneous and unpredictable One minute she's screwing you over, and the next she's the paragon of generosity. The girl's comrade arrives from nowhere, an angelic savior, and together they carry me.

I can no longer contain the darkness. As it eclipses my sight, the girl's voice reaches my ears, and I hear the first bit of good news all day.

"You're in safe hands, Harry. We're taking you in."

---

Harry awoke to a world of white. It took him a moment to realize it came from a dozen brightly burning lanterns that hovered above his head. He was in a bed, a clean white sheet pulled protectively over him, and thin tubes that lead from jars of green potions were plugged into his arms. His mind filled in the blanks and concluded that he must be in a hospital, not Saint Mungo's or any hospital affiliated with the Ministry, but an Order headquarters'. None of the other bunks were filled, but he could hear activity of passing nurses and healers on the other side of a nearby door.

So the Order of the Phoenix was still active. That was good. Whether or not they were winning or losing the war remained to be determined. The door opened, and in stepped a young woman dressed in robes of white with the insignia of a healing witch clearly displayed on her sleeve.

"You're awake," The young healer said smiling pleasantly. It was a pretty face with eyes that bespoke of her obvious Asian heritage -a race of wizards and witches that hailed from the eastern regions of the world -and Harry was glad he recognized it.

"Hello, Cho." Harry said. He glanced beneath the covers of his bed to make sure he was decent, and was pleased to see he was dressed in a pair of white robes. He slowly sat up, careful not to disturb the lines that fed potions into his weak body. "It's good to see you again."

Cho Chang had a smile that seemed to light up the entire room. She placed a tray of food beside Harry's bed and sat herself by his feet. "It's been nearly two years since I last saw you, Potter, and that is all you have to say?"

"Yes." Harry replied simply.

Cho chuckled. She had only been teasing. Dumbledore had briefed her on Harry's situation and she had not been expecting him to be open to jest quite yet. If the reports and rumors that were circulating around headquarters like wild fires were true, Cho was surprised Harry's psyche was entirely unhinged already. She couldn't even imagine the trauma that he must be going through. "I'm sorry to hear about Hermione." She said quietly.

The reaction was unexpected and violent. Harry's eyes sprang open, and before Cho could react he reached forward and roughly grabbed her by her lapel. The tray of food was knocked aside and clattered on the floor, and bottles of potions toppled over and shattered on the floor as Harry pulled her face close to his. Cho was too scared to resist and could only stare into the wells of anger that had formed in Harry's eyes.


"Don't say her name again." He snarled.

"Harry, that's enough." A gentle voice said. Harry's head whipped around and spotted Albus Dumbledore standing framed in the door way. Harry blinked, and his rage subsided, leaving only shame in its place. Embarrassed, he muttered an apology and released Cho.

"That's enough Miss Chang," Dumbledore said. Cho nodded and hastily retreated from the room. The aged wizard crossed the room and stopped beside Harry's bed.

"I'm sorry about that, sir." Harry said. "I'm not sure what came over me."

"It is understandable considering what you've gone through. I'm sure Miss Chang understands." Dumbledore replied with a reassuring smile. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Potter."

"I'm afraid I could not fulfill my orders." The assassin reported monotonously.

Dumbledore sighed. "Forget the orders for a moment, Harry. I'm more worried about you right now. Please, tell me, what has happened since you left London?"

Over the next fifteen minutes, Harry related him the story, leaving out no details from the moment him and Hermione had fled London to the moment Janus died. Dumbledore listened attentively, never interrupting until Harry was content that he was finished.

"…and then I was picked up by Order agents and brought here." Harry concluded.

"Is that all?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I believe so yes."

"I was afraid of this." Dumbledore told Harry. His face was grave, and there was no hint of the usual friendliness that usually resided. "The Order has not one traitor, but two."

"Two? What are you talking about?"

"You say that Peter Pettigrew contacted you and gave you orders to kill Hermione?"

"Yes, sir."

"Harry, I never sent Peter to you. All this time I have not fully trusted him, but now your story confirms my worst fears. Peter Pettigrew was the mole in the Order. He's been leaking information from our meetings to the Death Eaters all this time."

"Peter?" Harry exclaimed. "What about Hermione?"

"She was his accomplice."

It took a few moments for Harry to master his anger, to keep him from impulsively smashing something like his mind craved. It all made sense now, and once again Harry was enraged that he did not see through Peter's duplicity earlier. He had been so obtuse to think he could trust a worm like Pettigrew, and his failure was catching up with him now. That would change. That would change very soon. Mentally, Harry added another name to the steadily growing list of people he needed to kill before he was satisfied.

"They orchestrated the ambush on the Three Broomsticks and on Yale's faction," Harry logically concluded. A sad nod from Dumbledore confirmed his guess. "I see. What must I do now?"

Harry saw the hesitation on Dumbledore's face, the voiceless conflict raging in the old wizard's mind, and this irritated Harry. Dumbledore thought he was too weak to still fight, that his emotions for Hermione had dulled the deadly blade that he once was. Costly mistakes had been made because of the woman Harry thought he had loved, but those would be atoned for with her death.

Revenge must be satisfied, and only blood can do that.

Casting aside his sheets, Harry tore the remaining lines from his arms and slowly climbed out of bed. Though he stood a foot and a half shorter than the leader of the Order, his green eyes firmly matched Dumbledores', telegraphing his resolute vow for retribution.

"I will kill, Hermione." Harry promised.

However, Dumbledore did not smile in response. Sorrow filled the old wizard's blue eyes, and when he spoke the reluctance was obvious. "Her betrayal can not go unpunished." He agreed.

"What must I do?"

"Something big is being planned a few hours from now, Harry, something that might prove to be a turning point in this war. For the last several months, ever since the attack, the Order has been campaigning for support from Yale's faction without success. They fear that raid has crippled us, and will not join us until we've proven otherwise. Yale's faction alone is several thousand wizards strong, enough to give us an advantage over the Death Eaters and Aurors."

"What do you have in mind?" Harry asked, fascinated. Only an hour ago he had feared that the Order would be on its last leg, but now…Could the war truly be so close to an end?

"Our spies within the Ministry have smuggled us several maps of the compound." Dumbledore explained, reaching into his robes and producing a sheet of parchment. He handed it to Harry. "In approximately three hours, that is 0300 hours; four squads of Order soldiers will storm it and attempt to assassinate the Minister of Magic. Either the death of the Ministry's leader or an attack that will evidence the Order's true strength will convince the Northern faction to side with us once again."

"You want me to assist in the attack," Harry said. He glanced at the parchment. Outlined on it were blue prints for the compound, weak locations in the walls, and even the patrol route for the guards. For years the Order had desired to launch a raid on the Ministry, to humiliate the elitists and show them the Order was not to be taken lightly, but the large presence of Aurors had vetoed any such idea in the past. But now, if the map was true, a swift night time raid would be more than possible.

"Partially."

Harry looked up and wrinkled an eyebrow. "I thought-"

Dumbledore cut Harry off. "I have on final request of you, Harry. I want you to lead Lion squad on the south gate. Badger, Serpent, and Raven squads will be taking care of the other gates. But while they're objectives are to locate the Minister Fudge, Lion squad will assist you in locating Hermione Granger."

"Hermione is Fudge's granddaughter. Won't they be together?" Harry wondered.

"The Aurors will try to split them up for security reasons," Dumbledore assured the assassin. "Now-"

The sound of the door opening interrupted Dumbeldore.

"Excuse me, Dumbledore, sir?" A calm sort of fatigued, sad voice came from behind the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore stepped aside to reveal a man in black robes. He was many years senior to Harry with black hair speckled with traces of gray, but his face possessed a weariness that belonged on a much older man. Dark shadows under his eyes marred his otherwise comely features, and Harry could not shake the impression that the newcomer might drop dead at any moment.

"Ah, Remus, thank you for joining us," Dumbledore welcomed the man warmly. "Harry, this is Remus Lupin, commander of Raven squad. He'll be coordinating the assault with you."

Remus extended a hand, and Harry was surprised to find his grip strong and healthy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I knew your father, James, and I assure you he'd be very proud of you."

Another of his father's old friends. Harry wondered how many more he would run into before the week was done. "Time shall tell."

Remus smiled faintly and then, to Dumbledore, he reported, "All members of Raven squad have reported in, sir. We are ready for battle."

"Thank you, Remus. That will be all." Dumbledore replied.

Harry waited until the door closed behind Raven squad's commander before asking, "Is he up for the task?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Don't worry about Remus. He gets a bit peaky around the full moon, I'm afraid. Couldn't ask for a better squad commander mind you. We still have a few more hours before we depart so I suggest you use it to rest."

"I have questions I need to ask you." Harry said.

"They can wait." Dumbledore replied. He held up a hand to cut short Harry's interjection. "They can wait, Harry. For now, I insist that you gain your strength. You'll need it for tonight."

---

The few hours of sleep Harry had managed while unconscious and in the sick bay, and the potions of energy replenishment had fully rejuvenated the young assassin. A quick bath had cleansed him of the stench of blood and sweat, and a little food and water had helped clear his muddled mind. Now he was in the Order's armory collecting the last of what he needed before embarking on his mission. Garbed in a new set of black robes, he sat at a table and studied his wands, carefully polishing them.

He did not know how Dumbledore had retrieved them. Harry was certain they were lost during his battle with Janus, but the older wizard had handed them to him in the sick bay without an explanation. Amazed, Harry had gratefully accepted them. It took sometimes days to find the right wand for a wizard, and Harry had not been looking forward to going through the arduous process again.

The doorway to the armory opened and closed, but Harry did not look up from his work. He knew who it was from the footsteps he had heard coming down the hallway. Each person's stride was different and could be distinguished with enough practice, but identifying the rhythm of a man whom he had spent fifteen years of his life with was easy.

"Sirius Black." Harry said plainly.

"Harry," Sirius replied. "Still as impertinent as always. I see your recent misfortunes have taught you nothing."

This time Harry did look up and Sirius did not miss the momentary flash of anger in his former student's eyes. They were quickly brought under control, and Harry shrugged off Sirius' comment. He returned to polishing his wands. "What are you doing here, Sirius?" He asked.

"I'm here to see you."

"What for?"

"I thought we should talk."

Harry snorted derisively. "About three years too late for that don't you think?"

"Maybe."

An awkward moment of silence passed between the two men. Neither could stare at the other in the eyes, and instead they cast their gaze down at the floor.

"I met Janus O'Meara." Harry said. "Did you know him?"

"I did." Sirius replied.

"I killed him." The assassin continued.

"Really." There was nothing to Sirius' voice that aided Harry. No delight to hear that his best friends' murderer was dead. No impressments at Harry's achievement. Nothing.


"Before he died, he told me my father was a Death Eater. Is that true?"

Sirius's eyes widened, and the master duelist frowned deeply. Sighing, he sat down on the bench opposite of Harry and crossed his arms. "I had hoped you would never ask me that question, Harry."

"You were afraid of me knowing the truth, the truth about my own father?" Harry asked angrily.

"Whatever else James was, he was my very best friend and I did not want his own son thinking that he was associated with a band of murdering scum!" Sirius shot back.

"Then it is true." Harry whispered. "My father was a Death Eater."

Sirius leaned forward and grasped Harry around his shoulders. "You need to understand, Harry, that there was a time when being a Death Eater was not synonymous with being an assassin. Once, to be a Death Eater was a badge of pride; it meant you were the elite of the elite -the best law enforcement wizards and witches that were assigned to handle missions too dangerous even for the Aurors."

"You were a Death Eater too." Harry realized.

"Yes…yes I was. Your father and I were both recruited out of Hogwarts to become Aurors, and from there it was only a short while before we were accepted into the Death Eaters. Our wands helped guarantee peace for England."

"What happened then?" The young assassin demanded. "If the Death Eaters were so glorious and noble, why did my father betray them?"

"For the same reason you betrayed the Ministry, Harry. Steadily, our missions became centered on assassinations. Not of deadly terrorists or criminals, but of political leaders with ideas adverse to the current Minister. Your father saw the growing corruption in the Ministry, and decided he could no longer stand for it. That was when he joined the underground…"

"You didn't try to stop him?" Harry asked.

"I did." Sirius assured the younger man. "By God I tried. I begged James to be reasonable, to see that he had a wife and a year old son, but he would have none of it. He joined their lot, and shortly after…"

"Janus killed him and my mother."

Sirius nodded sadly. "Yes, that was what happened. The underground movement James was trying to join was crushed, and all members were subsequently executed. I resigned from the Death Eaters in protest and managed to steal you away from the orphanage."

Harry smirked. "So that's why you didn't want me to join the Order. You didn't want me to end up like my father."

"Yes. I failed."

"It was my decision," Harry disagreed. "And I made it."


"And now look at you." Sirius sneered. "You have the blood of dozens of men on your hands, and you're out to kill a girl! A girl, Harry! Look at what the Order had turned you into!"

Harry stopped and looked down at his hands. He could almost smell the bitter essence of blood that had seeped into his skin. Theodon's blood…Janus's blood…and soon Hermione's blood. Standing from the bench, Harry crossed over to the doorway and paused there. He looked at his teacher. "It's too late for me, Sirius. I have chosen my path, and now I must walk it to the end."

"It's never too late, Harry. You can still decide." Sirius urged. "Turn away now and come back with me."

Harry smiled. All this time, Harry had wondered if his mentor every truly cared about him. The harsh, cold exterior had just peeled away, revealing the true nature of one of the most hardened men Harry had ever met. "I thank you, Sirius, but I know what I must do."

"Goodbye, my foolish pupil." Harry's teacher said coldly. "I doubt we shall ever see each other again."

Harry simply nodded and left the room.

---

Author's Notes:

The beginning of this chapter somewhat pays homage to Frank Miller's Sin City. A casual fan of the graphic novels, I recently saw the movie in theaters and to be frank, I was astounded by the boundless creativity and artistry utilized by Robert Rodriguez, one of my favorite directors. It is highly recommended if you can legally see it and can stomach intense violence and incredibly gritty themes. Anyway, the grim sort of first person noir-esque type of writing was adopted for the beginning of part eleven. If you like the writing style, my other incomplete fanfiction Harry Potter and The New Order (featured in my writer's profile) is written entirely in it.

Thank you for your kind reviews. Please, continue reading and reviewing, and mostly, enjoying the story. It's almost over now.