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 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 VIII: Stray Cats
Fire surrounded him, engulfing his body and soul in a searing inferno. Burning, scorching, licking at his flesh like a thousand hungry tongues, the flames danced with glee, torturing his existence. He looked desperately around for a means of escape, but the world was blind to him. An eternal night ruled supreme, and in the darkness, a menacing cackle resounded endlessly.
Harry Potter was in hell.
He ran into the engulfing maw, trying to retreat from the ravenous pyre, but everywhere he went his world was filled with the blistering heat of a towering blaze. A deafening sound filled his ears, driving him to his knees at its piercing resonance. As he rolled on the ground in agony, he suddenly realized what the horrendous noise was. It was the sound of his screams.
He clambered to his feet and sped blindly onward. He ran and ran, but still the flames pursued him tenaciously, nipping at the hems of his robes. Blistering smoke filled his lungs and stung at his eyes, be he did not stop. He ran and ran for what seemed to last for an eternity, and finally his endurance was rewarded with the end.
Running before him was a river of lava, thick with fire, redolent with ash. Translucent white vapor, souls of the dead, fell from the sky and struck the surface with a brilliant flare. On the opposite bank was a horde of men, dozens of men who Harry recognized instantly. They were the dead. The men he had killed.
"Join us brother!" They called. The columns of dead advanced, stepping into the lava unaffected, trudging through the flames towards Harry.
Harry pulled out his wand "Get back!" He yelled. But they would not. He sent a curse slashing through their ranks, reducing some to dust, but for every one that fell, a dozen more arose from the sea of flames.
Again and again he attempted to destroy them with his wand, but it soon appeared futile that in this battle the strength of his wand would not prevail. Harry fell to his knees, his wand falling from his limp hands, and closed his eyes.
The dead surrounded him, looking condescendingly at the man who had slain them. "Murderer." They said.
"The cause was just." Harry whispered.
A face looked out from the crowd, a young face, a man Harry had killed early in the rebellion. "I was only twenty, newly married and prepared to live a life of happiness. But you ended it even though I had never harmed you. Was that just?"
"It had to be done." Harry replied. "I have no regrets."
"And me?" Said another voice.
"And me?" Said another.
The accusing cries echoed in Harry's mind, refusing to be silenced.
"And me?" Said one last voice, a voice Harry had never heard before. He opened his eyes and glaring down at him was the young lady whose name Harry did not know. "Why did I have to die?"
"Join us brother!" They cried, and then the mob closed in.
--
Harry awoke to the same darkness, bathed in sweat, gasping for air. His hands involuntarily fell to his wand, clenching its handle tightly, his eyes sweeping the room for any signs of danger. Slowly, when he verified that he was indeed alone in his room, he let himself relax, reclining back and resting his wand back into its sheath. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
It had been a nightmare, he told himself. Only a nightmare.
Then why does fear still clench your heart?
He stood up and with a flick of his wand opened up the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, bathing the dim room in the sun's rays. It was already mid morning. Harry smirked. It had to be one of the first times he had slept in that long in ages.
Harry quickly bathed and dressed himself in a fresh set of robes provided by Madam Rosemerta, discarding the blood stained ones from the night before. The robe was probably ruined beyond repair, but maybe the cleaning staff would be able to do something with it. He double-checked the room, ensuring that it was as tidy as he had found it, and then departed into the hallway.
"Good morning." Said a quiet voice.
Harry turned and his eyes widened. The young lady from the night before was standing there, dressed in the attire of one of Madam Rosemerta's cleaning staff, her long brown hair put up in a neat bun. She was holding a set of clean towels in her hands.
He bit his lip, trying to think of something to say, an apology, an explanation…anything.
"I wanted to…thank you for what you did last night." She continued.
"Wait, what? Thank me?" Harry asked confused. "Why?"
The young lady flushed. "My untimely arrival put you risk. And yet you still took it upon yourself to save my life."
"I almost cost you your life." Harry replied bitterly. "And for that I must apologize."
She smiled sweetly, and that same odd feeling clenched at Harry's heart, a sudden breathlessness and light-headedness…a strange sensation that he had never felt before. She touched his hand gently. "You are forgiven."
"Thank you." Said Harry.
The lady bowed politely, and Harry watched as she walked down the corridor, eventually disappearing around a corner. He suddenly recalled that he still did not know her name and felt a momentary impulse to follow her and ask her for it, but decided not to. There was something about that girl that made him feel different somehow…and Harry wasn't sure if he liked it or not.
"She sure is something isn't she?" Said Ron as he appeared from a nearby doorway. When his friend did not immediately reply, still staring where the stranger had departed, he leaned against the wall and snickered in amusement.
Harry was adept enough at hiding his emotions not to flush with embarrassment, but he quickly changed the subject nonetheless. "Who is she?" He asked.
"Her name is Hermione of the family Granger. She supposedly is from the rural countryside, no real connections in London. She tells us she was just visiting, possibly considering relocating into the magical community here."
"Granger?" Harry inquired. "That's not a wizarding family. Is she muggle?"
Ron shook his head. "No. Her parents are muggles, but she's a witch all right. We found a wand on her and everything."
Harry nodded. It wasn't that uncommon for muggles and magical folk to marry, and their offspring might or might not possess magical talent. It was a mystery how one was determined to be magical or not prior to birth, and Harry figured it would probably remain that way.
"She's a looker isn't she?" Ron asked with a sly wink.
Harry didn't answer. "Is that background check thorough?"
Ron rolled his eyes at Harry's evasive rhetoric. "Pettigrew has contacts in the countryside, and independent agents have confirmed it."
"So she's clear?" Harry asked. Ron nodded. "What are we going to do with her?"
"Well for starters Madam Rosmerta has offered her a job at the Three Broomsticks under the same conditions that all her staff follow, namely forgetting that the Order operates here at all. Hermione accepted, and has been at work ever since Madam Rosemerta let her out of bed. Ideally, Dumbledore wants to eventually offer her full membership into the Order."
"I didn't know the Order was in the habit of bringing in stray cats like this." Harry muttered.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but wasn't it you who brought her here?"
"I didn't have much of a choice." Harry protested.
"Then live with it."
"I think we should just adjust her memory and let her back on the streets." Harry said vehemently. Get her as far away from us as possible."
"What?" Cried Ron. "You're being ridiculous."
"She's a security risk. A potential threat." Harry argued. "What if she's a ministry spy?"
"C'mon, mate. You know how unreliable memory adjustments are. Say the Aurors pick her up? Torture her? Break our memory charms. Find out exactly what happened from then 'till now? That's even more of a risk don't you think?" Ron asked rhetorically. "I think you're still a bit on edge from last night. We've done a background check. She's clear and Dumbledore trusts her."
Harry shook his head. "People make mistakes. There's something not right about this. I don't believe in coincidences, Ron. There is a reason why her coming into the Order and the assassination attempt occurred simultaneously."
"Harry, what the bloody hell are you trying to get at? You're not making any damn sense. Are you sure there's not something else you're not telling me about?"
"No!" Harry replied.
"Harry," Ron urged. "A little honesty here please."
Harry sighed. He looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought, and then finally spoke. "Last night when I met the girl, Hermione, I felt a sort of attachment to her. I can't explain it Ron, but this abrupt attachment made me act irrationally."
He swore and slammed his fist into the wall. "I should have never brought her here!"
Ron stared curiously at Harry. "You think her being near you will somehow affect you?"
"I don't know, Ron. But I can feel this…unexplainable connection between the two of us."
Ron was silent. He knew his friend's sudden concern was not the same rambling of some love struck fool about mysterious, and often unfounded, connections between them and their lover. Harry rarely spoke unnecessarily, especially about things like this, and if he spoke this strongly about something then it definitely warranted Ron's utmost consideration.
"This connection frightens you?"
Harry nodded. "More than I can say."
--
Night had fallen and the Three Broomsticks' usual frenzy of activity had subsided. Customers had returned home, and most of the staff had retired for the night as well, extinguishing the lamps as they made their way to their quarters. Few roamed the hallways at this hour of night, which made it unusual that Harry Potter was found lurking through the dark corridors, his wand held tightly in his hand.
He was trained in the arts of stealth, and his movement made only the slightest of noise, not enough for anyone to detect his presence. He was far away from his usual quarters, and was instead roaming the west wing of the tavern where Madam Rosemerta's waitresses slept. He crept slowly through the silent wing, stopping every so often to listen, and then continued on.
You should have never brought her here, Potter. Harry's mind scolded him. Her blood will be on your hands.
His teeth clenched and he froze, sweat dripping from his brow. He glanced at the doorway in front of him. It was the right one. It must be done. There is no other way.
He tapped the doorknob with his wand and a soft click announced it unlocked. He gently opened it, and stopped beside the solitary bed occupying the room. She was fast asleep, exhausted from the long day's work, completely unaware of the intruder's presence. In sleep, her face was so serene…so pure…
Hermione, I'm sorry.
He reluctantly rose his wand, its tip hovering inches above her head. He exhaled slowly, but was horrified to see that his wand arm was wavering. He tried to steady it, but despite all the skill he commanded he could not put himself at ease. His eyes kept falling to her face, beautiful and innocent, and his lips would not bring themselves to pronounce her death sentence.
Do it!
His own words that he had shared with Ron that morning came back to haunt him. Security risk. Potential threat. Ministry spy. Harry knew he was being overly cautious, but it was necessary. He would not allow one person possibly endanger the entire Order. Thousands of lives and the entire future of England could be at risk if she was indeed a spy for the Ministry. It had been Harry's mistake to bring her within the Order, and so it would be he who would rectify it.
For the Order…for England.
But it was more than that. This girl, Hermione Granger, bothered Harry more than he could openly admit. He had spent a lifetime honing himself into a perfect killer, completely free of the liabilities of emotion. He did not even know the girl, but the mere sight of her sought to bring forth the very thing he had buried deep within his soul. She posed more than just a threat to the Order…she posed a threat to him. Not to Harry Potter, but to the Slayer he had become.
For me…
His wand steadied on her forehead. Her death would be swift. She would feel no pain. That was the most he could offer her now. His eyes closed, unable to witness the atrocity his hands were forced to commit. His mouth moved without thought, forming the words of killing that he had used countless times before.
"Avada Kedavra!"
--
Harry gasped as he snapped violently awake for the second time. Perspiration dripped from his brow, and his breathing was heavy as if he had just run a mile. Suddenly, a blinding pain shot through his forehead and he fell backward, his hands grasping wildly for the source of the pain. It was his scar; it felt like it was on fire, searing into his brain. But just as he was about to go mad with pain…it suddenly vanished.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He lay still, gasping for breath, trying to pull himself together. He rubbed his scar, but felt nothing. Never before had it hurt him so greatly, threatening to tear his skull in two. Could it's unprecedented reaction been a product of the nightmare? It was possible, Harry knew. Sirius had once told him most curse induced scars carried magical properties even after they'd been healed. Perhaps this was a random reaction…or perhaps not. With the pain gone, it no longer really concerned him. What worried him more was the nightmare itself.
He had been dozing lightly, killing time before the rescheduled afternoon meeting with Dumbledore, when suddenly his latest nightmare had struck without warning. It had been so real, like he had actually been there. It disturbed him that any part of him, conscious or not, might be willing to sacrifice Hermione for the greater good like.
A man like Cyrus Yale would not hesitate for a second, but I'm nothing like that. He thought. I would never do anything like that.
Time will tell. His mind whispered.
Never. Harry promised.
A soft knock was heard on his bedroom door. Harry sat up and propped himself against the wall, too weak still to stand. "Enter." He managed to say.
Ron walked in and spotted Harry's disheveled appearance. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Fine." Harry said quickly.
"It's time for the meeting." Ron said. "Dumbledore is really concerned about the assassination attempt on you yesterday; that's the main reason he wants to speak with us."
"But why?"
Ron's face suddenly became grim, the usual lighthearted wry grin vanishing, replaced by a mask of dead seriousness. "He thinks we have a traitor in our midst."
Author's Notes:
I'm glad I was able to finish this up so quickly and get it up before New Years. Let me say I was almost disappointed when in the first day of publication; chapter seven received only two reviews. Alas my fears that people were losing interest in this story were laid to rest when another eight came in within two or three days. Maybe it was the holidays that kept people away from their computers. I really appreciate the feedback. I'd like to say I only write for my personal pleasure and the reviews are just a bonus, but that's a lie. I honestly write to see what others think, to see if my writing is actually decent enough to win the approval of my readers. Thanks a lot for the steady stream of feedback. It helps a lot.
Warning: It gets pretty trivial after this. Feel free to skip it and drop a review.
Thanks to those who wished me will with recovering from my illness. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was and I recovered quick enough to enjoy Christmas with my family. I got several movies, two Xbox remote controllers, an awesome Master Chief figurine to adorn my bedroom, and A FREAKING BADASS KATANA from my friend. Let me reemphasize: A FREAKING KATANA! THAT CHOPS AND KILLS PEOPLE! HUWAAAAAAAAAAaaar!!!
On a more sobering note, if any of you have been following CNN, an earthquake/tidal wave has wrecked havoc all over Southeast Asia, killing around 20,000 people. This has me really wierded out since I was just in one of the southern islands of Thailand, Trang, three days before this. Had my vacation been scheduled just a little bit differently, I might be dead with a lot of those poor souls. It sure is humbling that either I'm extremely lucky, or there is someone up there watching out for me. It sure has put a damper on the festive atmosphere though.
Oh well enough of that. Happy pre-New Years folks, and remember, drinking so much that you can't remember what happened the night before really isn't a good idea.
-JA_Japster