An Act of Betrayal
By Erythros

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You sit up straight upon his entrance, feeling quite sad and happy at the same time that he had come after all. You flatten the wrinkles on your skirt, tuck a loose curl behind your ear and stand up to meet him; you know that you're standing up rather confidently, but why do your legs seem wobbly that you feel like you're going to fall anytime soon?

Your heart races at the sight of him – he is as beautiful as you remember, and somehow you're glad that the War has not affected him in any way. His hair is still that resplendent gold, his silver eyes as bright as they were before, his smile as handsome as the way it was the last time you had seen him. He has spotted you and he makes his way to where you are sitting; in some strange and painful way, you wish that you could run away from him – or rather, run away with him. But you know that that's impossible, so you just stay frozen on where you're standing and stare wordlessly at him.

Is it too awkward to give him a kiss on the lips? Maybe so; after all, the last time you've seen him was a year and a half ago. So instead, you reach out for a handshake of sorts, but what you get in return is a quick, soft peck on the cheek and a more-than-a-minute hug from him. As you sit back on your seat, the touch of his lips still linger on your skin and subconsciously, you touch the spot he has kissed – suddenly you feel warm and as you steal a glance of him, you are glad that he's looking over the menu because you do not want him to see that after almost two years, you still get flustered by him. Rather, you still have feelings for him.

The waiter comes and he gives his order; he includes yours and you are surprised – he still remembers your favorite meal in this little Muggle restaurant. After the waiter leaves, he gazes at you and smiles. You smile back, but your heart isn't into it. Somehow, watching him in front of you, obviously very ecstatic to see you after such a long time, makes this all the more harder. He isn't supposed to be happy. He isn't supposed to kiss you. He isn't supposed to embrace you in greeting. He isn't supposed to look as if he still loves you. After all, you are enemies in the War.

You aren't supposed to be affected by all this. You aren't supposed to feel all those feelings you thought you had lost resurface once more. You aren't supposed to feel anything tonight. But you cannot help it; after all, absence makes the heart grow fonder and you guess that that is exactly what is happening right now – you have missed him terribly even if you deny it. Maybe you shouldn't have agreed to do this.

He asks how you are and you reply that you've been doing rather well. You tell him that being an Auror is hard work, but somehow you enjoy it and you love your job. He nods and grins, teasing you that you are still the little girl he once knew who loved being useful to the world. Somewhere along the way of your conversation, his hand slips through yours and his fingers entwine with your fingers; you are surprised, but you make no motion to pull away. You've missed holding hands with him; the last time you did so, you were only sixteen. A voice in your head tells you to wrench your hand away because this is not part of your job – but you ignore that nagging voice, reasoning that this may be your last time to do so.

Somehow, you've reached some personal topics in your little talk and you mention that you're currently dating Ronald Weasley; you notice that his face hardens and his hand grows stiff in yours. Yet another reason to let go, says the same little voice in your head, you're dating Ronald Weasley. It wouldn't be nice to your boyfriend that you're holding hands with another man.

He smiles rather stonily. Perhaps he thought tonight was supposed to be your night of reconciliation. But that's impossible because you are both in the middle of War and you are both on different sides. Like you've said, you are both enemies – you were both meant to kill each other, so what are you doing in a Muggle restaurant one night during the War, holding hands?

The waiter comes back with two glasses of red wine. He takes a sip and smacks his lips, making a positive remark on the taste of the wine. You smile and bring your own glass to your lips – indeed, the wine tastes expensive, exquisite. As you each sip from your glasses, you are still holding hands and you are not making any attempt to let go. Neither is he.

Your time is running out. You must accomplish your job. He, however, is not making it any easier. You never should have agreed to this! You should have known that it would be hard to face him yet again and – perform an act of betrayal. He loves you – you can perfectly see that in his eyes, and you begin to hate yourself for what you are about to do. He was much safer under the protection of his own side; you shouldn't have called on him to see you. You cannot do this to him, you cannot; you love him, for crying out loud!

Your hold on his hand grows tighter and tears threaten to spill out from your eyes. He is important, but the safety of everyone else is much more important. He is merely an enemy, a terrorist who unflinchingly kills and destroys. You must forget that he used to be the young man you loved (and still love) from when you were younger. He is no longer that little prat you longed for; he is now someone you must –

And just at the time that he is about to speak, you give out the signal and all of a sudden about ten Aurors surround him, their wands out threateningly. You are still holding his hand, and you dare not look at him. You feel horrible, luring him out like this, selling him out. You have betrayed him.

Someone cries out, "Expelliarmus" and his wand flies out of his pocket and into the hands of an Auror. Still, he does not move; his hand is calm and warm, and you wonder why he is not reacting at all. He is to be captured and it is because of you, the woman he loves. Surely he must feel angry!

But when you dare look into his face, you realize his eyes are closed and he is slightly smiling. Sadly smiling, but smiling all the same. He quietly asks everyone else to hold on and wait a while; he is going to come with them as their prisoner, but all he is asking is a little more time with you. After all, this is your date, and he wants nothing more than to finish it properly. Reluctantly, suspiciously, the Aurors lower their wands and step back to give the two of you privacy. You bite your lip and stare at his strangely placid face.

Finally he opens his eyes and gazes at you wordlessly. Those gray pools in his eyes hold nothing of the contempt or anger you were expecting – instead, they are filled with his love. For you. He is not angry; he is not hateful against you. But then your eyes unknowingly brim with tears as they widen, and those tears silently roll down your face.

He has known all along.

How you wish that he had instead lashed out in anger and indignation; it would have been better off if he spat at you, condemning you, cursing you for betraying his trust and love. It might have been better for him, and for you.

With a kiss on your hand and a kiss on your forehead he finally lets go of your hand and stands up to meet those who are to arrest him. You sit numbly on your chair, still crying silently, unable to know what to say or do. Without words, he has told you that he loves you. With his sacrifice, he has told you that you mean more to him than his own glory.

You feel horrible, absolutely horrible. You can no longer do anything, for you have betrayed him. All you can do is just to watch as they bind him with charms and disappear into thin air, hating yourself for what you have just done to the man you love.

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End