Trust and Betrayal
By: JA_Japster
Inspired and partially based on the OAV "Samurai X"
Harry Potter is copyrighted to J.K Rowling and Samurai X and Rurouni Kenshin is copyrighted to their respective owners. The fanfiction is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any fashion without permission.
Trust
Part IV: The Death Eaters
The dock was bathed in crimson. Three bodies lay scattered atop the narrow woodwork, their lifeblood seeping through the cracks into the ocean below. Amongst the bodies stood a man garbed in black, splattered with the blood of the men he had slain. He was the grim reaper, deliverer of death, and the wand he wielded was his scythe, a conduit of his will.
Ron watched as Harry surveyed the bodies. Seeing Harry in practice, seeing the cold precision in how he killed, reminded Ron of the name the Daily Prophet had given Harry in the headlines this morning. The Slayer, a remorseless killer responsible for the string of murders that paralyzed London with fear.
The Slayer
Ron had not shown Harry the newspaper that morning in the tavern. He didn't know how his friend would react to the nickname, whether he would embrace it with pride or be angered by its demeaning innuendo. It did not much matter, though. Harry had a way of finding things out on his own, and if Harry already knew he showed nothing to acknowledge it.
Three lives had been extinguished in the space of a few moments. Harry had approached the men, told the bodyguards to disband if they valued their lives. The men refused, drew their wands, and then the blood bath began. It wasn't a battle. It was a massacre, a massacre only someone like Harry was potent enough to conjure.
Harry blurred as he charged the group, accelerating so quickly that for a moment his speeding form appeared only as an incoherent flash of motion against the darkness. He struck equally swiftly and with unparalleled viciousness. Three spells ripped through the air in the blink of an eye, ripping through the bodyguards like a knife. Blood spurted from the ghastly wounds in their chests, and before they could cry out in pain or alarm, they were already lying prone on the dock, scant seconds away from death.
When Harry slowed down and came to a standstill in the middle of the carnage, the battle was over. He lowered his wand, oblivious to the splotches of red that stained his face and robes, and turned his attention to Munro who was curled up in a ball, sobbing.
"Mister Munro," Harry said looking coldly at the criminal. "It's time."
"P-please. Spare me!" Munro begged. "I'll give you money! Everything I have! Just let me live! Please!"
"You've lived a life without honor." Harry spoke softly. "You can at least die with some dignity."
But Munro was not prepared to die. "See that ship?" He pointed at one of the large trading vessels that flanked the pier. "It's loaded with imported drugs from Asia. I know you work for the Order of the Phoenix. You can take it all! Sell it! Help fund your cause! Just please spare my life."
Harry looked at the ship that Munro indicated. It was a massive ship, capable of hauling tons of cargo. "Whom were the drugs intended for?"
"Fudge." Munro whispered, tears streaming down his fat cheeks. "He was going to resell them to foreign diplomats to help finance military operations against the Order. I didn't have anything to do with that! I'm just a go-between! I swear!"
Harry exhaled deeply, trying to control the anger that welled in his chest. If possible, his loathing for the Ministry increased. To endorse the trade in drugs, the very bane of society was unthinkable.
"Is there anyone on that ship?" Harry asked.
"No one."
Harry nodded, and then with a violent twirl slashed open Munro's neck. The fat merchant gasped and grabbed his neck, trying to staunch the flow as it bubbled between his fat fingers. He fought for life for a few moments, longer than Harry would have expected from someone of Munro's character, but finally gave in to death's luring call.
But Harry was not done. As soon as he was sure Munro was dead, he lifted his wand and pointed it at the trading ship hauling drugs. He muttered an incantation under his breath, and suddenly a violent explosion ripped through the docks, sending a wave of heat crashing over them. The cargo within the boat's belly ignited, and a series of detonations from within blasted upwards through the deck, sending fragments of wood soaring into the air. A dozen fires broke out, greedily consumed the great ship, lighting up the night sky.
Ron raised his arm to shield himself from the flame's intense heat. He whistled low as the conflagrated ruins sank into the ocean, like a burning tomb lowering itself into a watery grave. He spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye, and for the first time in a long while, Ron could have sworn he saw a satisfied smile on his friend.
Harry walked away from the burning wreck and slid his wand back into its sheath. "We're done here." He said.
--
"It's so good to see you again, grandfather."
Fudge smiled at the young lady sitting across from him. She was only eighteen; freshly graduated from Hogwarts. Just looking at her reminded Fudge of his own daughter. They both shared the same slim attractive features, hazel eyes, and long, curly brown hair. But his daughter was dead now, and the girl was all that was left.
In truth the girl was only distantly related to Fudge by blood. Her parents were muggles, people not blessed with the gift of magic, but in some way, shape or form, she fit into Fudge's own family tree. When Fudge's own daughter passed away after fighting an incurable disease, it became aware to Fudge that he only had one surviving relative left: a young girl born to muggle parents who resided in the remote countryside.
Burdened by guilt and believing to be partially responsible for his daughter's death, Fudge took it upon himself to become guardian over the last remaining heir to his family line. He was not deterred by the fact that she was a mudblood, and instead accepted her as the daughter fate had cruelly robbed him of.
From then on he had ensured that the girl had the best life had to offer. She remained living with her parents, however, much to Fudge's displeasure. At the time he was not yet Minister of Magic and did not have the authority to remove her from her parent's guardianship. Nonetheless, he financed her education at Hogwarts, watching carefully over her from his office in London.
"It's good to see you too, Hermione. I trust your travel went well."
The girl, one Hermione Granger, responded, "It was uneventful."
"Would you rather have it not be?" Fudge inquired with a small laugh.
Hermione also laughed, a hollow sound devoid of any real humor.
"I…I'm sorry about what happened to your fiancé. It is most regrettable."
"As am I." Hermione responded. She looked away from her grandfather and stared out a nearby window. "It was the terrorists wasn't it? They murdered Theodon and his father?"
Fudge nodded gravely. "We believe it to be so. They are determined to destabilize our government for their own selfish purposes at any cost. Tragically, they decided taking out a firm pillar in our society like Samuel and his son was the quickest means to do so."
"Did…did Theodon suffer?" Hermione asked. Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. For weeks now she had endured sleepless wondering these questions. Now she would finally find the answers.
"No." Fudge answered. "It is reported he fought valiantly against his attackers to defend his father before dying. I'm sorry."
"You haven't caught the assassin yet." Hermione said plainly.
"Why do you say that?" Fudge asked.
"There would have been something in the paper." She pointed out. "There's been so little good news over the past month that the ministry would print even the slightest of successes."
Fudge suppressed a smile. Hermione was clever for her age, possessing a quick and savvy mind that rivaled even some of the sharpest politicians he knew. More than that she was also book smart, brilliant some would even say, and highly skilled with the wand. She had been fast on the road to becoming a successful witch before this tragedy entered her life.
"You are correct. But now, enough of this depressing talk. You're probably tired from your travel. I'll have one of the servants show you to your room."
Hermione rose and smoothed out her robes. While living amongst muggles she wore muggle clothing, but she was still well versed with the customs of the magical world. "Thank you, grandfather."
One of Fudge's many servants appeared in the room and took Hermione's luggage. "Please, Miss. This way." He motioned towards the front door.
"I'll see you for dinner, tonight, Hermione." Fudge called to his granddaughter as she was escorted from his office. "And please, stay in your room until I call for you. These are dangerous times."
"Of course." Hermione answered.
"Oh, and please have my servant call in Mr. Bishop from the ante-chamber please. I need to speak with him."
Hermione nodded again and then disappeared from the office.
Fudge's façade of calm composure slipped as the doors to his office opened and Bishop stepped through. His eyes burned with fury, and he wished nothing more than to strike down the incompetent traitor standing before him. It had been years since Fudge had killed another man with his own wand, but so great was Bishop's blunder that he was almost willing to dirty his hands once more, just to gain a sense of satisfaction in dispatching the fool personally.
"Bishop, you disappoint me." Fudge said before the other man could speak. "I spoke with you less than twenty-four hours ago and already you have failed in your duty."
"Minister, there was nothing my men or I could do about Munro." Bishop responded.
"Munro's death I can forgive. The loss of that cargo I cannot. Munro was expendable and easily replaceable. The goods on that ship were invaluable to Ministry interest, Bishop, and its destruction will put our plans to stomp out the last of the terrorists months behind schedule."
"The Aurors received no information concerning the transportation of important cargo, Minister. There was no way we could protect something we knew nothing about."
Bishop and the Aurors obviously could not be informed of the cargo because of its somewhat… illicit nature. The Ministry outlawed the drug trade decades ago, and public knowledge that the Minister was financing his war against the Order using profits from drugs would cost him his job and only bolster support for the rebels. At the same time, the Ministry desperately needed the funds from the drug trade, and as long as no one knew where the flow of income originated from, no one else in the Ministry much cared.
"Your job is to protect the people and the Ministry." Fudge said. "And you have failed miserably."
Bishop shook his head, no longer bothering to restrain himself pointless formality. He slammed his hands on Fudge's desk and roared, "I refuse to resign my position and I will protest this outrage to parliament!"
Fudge smiled. "I don't think that will be necessary, Bishop."
The office doors opened again with a soft creak, and before Bishop could turn, an arc of magical light slashed across his back. The old Auror gasped in surprise, and fell across the desk, blood pouring from the wand across his back. He looked up at Fudge, reaching towards the Minister with the last of his fading strength, accusations forming on his lips.
"Goodbye, Bishop." Fudge sneered. "And good riddance."
He looked up and saw that two men had entered his office, one a man and the other little more than a young boy. "Greetings Lord Voldemort and Mr. Malfoy."
The older of the men was tall with light brown hair that hung over his eyes. His skin was unusually pale as if it had never seen the sun, and his face clearly reflected his personality. His face was not unattractive, yet there was something about his eyes that made it disturbing to look at. On the surface he looked calm, yet his every movement gave off an unmistakable aura of death and fear. There was something more ominous lingering beneath the surface, of that Fudge knew for certain.
This was Lord Voldemort. He was the leader of the Death Eaters, a man unrivalled with his skill in the wand and his gift of killing. No one knew quite where the man came from, and no one bothered to ask. A path of blood followed wherever the man went, a trail of dead residing in his wake. He quickly became the thing of legends, a dangerous government killer who would wipe out you and your entire family without a second thought.
One particular story chronicling his infamous exploits came from nearly twenty years ago when Fudge's predecessor had ordered Voldemort and his Death Eaters to wipe out a small, poor, rural, farming community who had refused to pay their taxes. It was said after the initial raid, Voldemort went from house to house, executing everyone inside. Men, women, and children -no one had escaped the Dark Lord's wrath.
"Minister." He said.
The younger man nodded in greeting as he stowed away his wand. He was a head shorter than Lord Voldemort, and his hair was a light blonde that was neatly arranged in a short ponytail. His light blue eyes seemed to shimmer with glee as they examined his own morbid handiwork, and a small grin formed on his lips.
"Exceptional wand work, Draco." Fudge commented.
"Thank you, Minister."
"I trust you're prepared to take your father's place amongst the Death Eaters?"
"He is." Lord Voldemort said. "We were pulled away from pressing government work in Ireland, Minister. I presume this is important."
Fudge sighed. "It is. If you're not aware we have a rebellion on our hands. A lone proficient assassin is wrecking havoc amongst our ranks, striking without warning at some of the Ministry's most valuable assets. He's killed as many as five important personnel in the past three days, and God knows how many during the war so far."
"One man?" Voldemort asked. It was hard to tell if this impressed him. His voice conveyed little.
"Yes. We also believe him responsible for your father's dead, Draco."
Draco Malfoy's eyes widened. "He killed my father?" He laughed. "He must be good then."
Fudge blinked surprised. "You seem rather un-upset about the mentioning of your late father's demise."
Draco shrugged. "He's dead. There's nothing more I can do for him. But my father was a powerful wizard. If he was slain with such apparent ease that must mean his killer is most skilled. I would delight in the chance to fight and kill such a man."
Truly a Death Eater, thought Fudge, bloodthirsty and completely indifferent to the memory of the dead.
"Our Aurors have had little success in tracking down this man. That is why I am forced to assign the Death Eaters to find this assassin as soon as possible and kill him."
"Kill the killer." Voldemort mused out loud. "Consider your little problem taken care of." He said to Fudge. "I have just the man for the job."
"Just one man?" Fudge asked skeptically. "Let me remind you the assassin wiped out an entire security squad of Aurors."
Voldemort laughed, a cold sound that echoed throughout the office and sent a chill up Fudge's spine. "Aurors, Minister, Aurors. Believe me, your assassin won't defeat my Death Eaters so easily."
Author's Notes
Thanks a ton for the positive feedback I'm getting. Don't be afraid to say anything critical though. I need
critical feedback! Trust me, no matter what you say (well to a certain extent) I probably won't be offended.
Writing this is so much fun because of its intrinsic dark nature and for some reasons its compatibility with the Harry
Potter universe. It's proven to be quite simple to match up characters so far, and a lot of the characters'
personalities were pretty much in synch as well. Have I mentioned I love getting reviews? There's nothing better
than coming back home from a grueling day at school and seeing what people thought of my stuff. But you guys are tired
of hearing that by now I'm sure.
I personally felt this chapter was simultaneously easier and harder to write. The dock scene was a blast to write, but the lengthier dialogue scenes between Fudge and Hermione and Fudge and the Death Eaters were a bit more challenging to craft without making it sound too stagnant. I hope it came out OK. That and my vocabulary is becoming more and more limited if I don't want to become repetitive. What's another good word for "nod"? I notice I've used that a lot.
Oh and can someone explain to me why Portkey sometimes recognizes the bold and italics and sometimes doesn't?
Now for some author feedback to some of the reviews and emails I've received:
Anthraxus the Decayed inquired if Hermione and Tomoe (her obvious Samurai X parallel) would share the same fate by the story's end. To answer that, I'm not entirely sure what will happen her. I refuse to say one-way or the other because while I wish to remain faithful to the Kenshin storyline, I also want to keep this story as fresh and original as possible.
To everyone who commented on my incomplete stories don't worry. I'll finish this one. I swear. Unless I get killed or something, this will get finished. I already have a story to work with, there's no real reason why I shouldn't complete this story.
Thanks to Carla who gave me a recommendation in the forums. Thanks. That made me want to do a back flip, but I can't so I was content with just being happy.