Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for QL, Final.

Harpies, Captain: Your character must put too much faith into something/someone.

Word Count: 1118

Warning: Character death, mention of blood and... death type things.

Misplaced Trust

He rounded the desk and she leant against him, almost automatically. He was good at holding her up; something she was relying on more and more as the days passed them and more news of Voldemort's army came to her desk.

Now that he was out in the open, it seemed like he and his followers were making up for lost time. Attacks on Muggles, attacks on the magical community, murders and threats and… the list was endless, and utterly exhausting her.

John ran his hand through her hair, messing up the strands, but she didn't care. She should have been home hours ago anyway.

"Come home," he murmured. "This can all wait until tomorrow."

"I have to try and get through them," Amelia replied softly. "Tomorrow will only bring more of them, John."

"Burning yourself out isn't going to get anything done, is it?" he asked, and with gentle hands, he helped her up from her chair. "Come with me. I'll make you feel better."

And she did, because if nothing else, she knew that he'd always look after her.

…

"I don't understand why Dawlish isn't taking the mark," Lucius muttered, clearly knowing he could be overheard but not caring.

John though it was probably deliberate, but given the state of the once proud man, he wasn't sure.

"I wouldn't question Our Lord if I were you," Rabastan Lestrange replied, though his lip was curled up in clear amusement. "I don't think you'd like the consequences. Your… standing with him is… lacking at best at the moment."

Lucius' scowl deepened, and John snorted.

He didn't need the mark to be loyal, and one day, they'd all realise that. Until that day… well, John knew that he was useful to the Dark Lord.

Passing the conversing men, John leant in close to Lucius. "If the Dark Lord isn't sharing the information he gets from me with you, I believe that says more about you, than it does about me."

…

"I think we've found one of their meeting spots," Amelia said quietly. John looked up from his own paperwork that he'd been doing on his lap on the sofa in her office so she wouldn't be alone.

"Oh?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "I'm worried about letting the team know. I think we've got a mole in our midst, John. I just don't know who."

"Where is it?" he asked, his head tilting slightly.

"Oxford," Amelia said, looking down at her parchment. "An abandoned building, as far as my informant can tell, though it's shrouded in strong magic. It's… potential."

John nodded. "Tell half of the team," he suggested. "And have them Apparate side-along. Then, should it go wrong, you'll know which part of the team the mole is on."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Thanks."

…

John Apparated in with the other Aurors, fighting side by side with them as they easily subdued the Death Eaters milling around. Amelia would be pleased, he mused to himself, as his colleagues hauled off their criminals.

John stayed behind for a few minutes, until he saw Rodolphus Lestrange standing at the top of the stairs.

"That seemed to go well," he said, stepping down. "Madam Bones should be satisfied, no"?

Smirking, John nodded his agreement. "Indeed. Our Lord is pleased?"

Rodolphus' eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "See you at the next meeting, Dawlish."

…

"Shacklebolt is getting on my last nerve," Amelia complained, letting herself into John's apartment.

He looked up at her from where he'd been lying on the sofa, and chuckled. "What did he do?"

"He thinks that I'm going to be a target," she huffed, joining him on the sofa. "He wants me to go into hiding."

"Fidelius?"

"Uh huh. I don't particularly want to do it though. It feels too much like giving in."

"At least you'll be safe. And hey, I'll be your secret keeper, you know I'd rather die than let anything happen to you."

She sighed and snuggled against his chest. "I know. I know you'll keep me safe. I just… really hate the thought of hiding."

"How did the questioning go?"

She groaned. "Useless, the whole lot of them. New recruits, I believe, and not a single one of them had anything of use to us. We had to let them go. It's technically not a crime to have the Dark Mark—an unspeakably stupid idea of Cornelius'—and we have no evidence of them being present at any of the attacks."

John rubbed her back. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. We'll get them next time."

…

"You have good news for me?" his Lord hissed, when Dawlish bowed before him.

"Amelia has gone into hiding," John replied, the back of his neck sweating. "The Fidelius Charm, My Lord."

"Oh. And her secret keeper?"

He hesitated. Only for a moment, but he did, because he was born for his cause and he'd never betray his Lord, but he did love her.

Just… perhaps not enough.

"I am, My Lord."

"You please me, Dawlish. We attack at dawn. Do be there, won't you?"

"Yes, My Lord."

…

"How are you holding up?"

Amelia scowled at him from over her paperwork. "I hate this, John. I should be out there, not safe here while all of my people are out there risking their lives."

"Amelia, you can't help them if you're dead."

She deflated. "Just… just make me forget for a few hours. Please, John. Just… make me feel something good."

He smiled and led her up the stairs. "I can do that."

…

She lay beside him, beautiful in her slumber. He'd tired her out, whispered words of love and affection and he'd meant them. He really had. He loved her.

He wished love was enough.

A noise by the door caught his attention, and he closed his eyes when the alerting charm she'd added to the doors went off.

She woke him, fearful but ready to fight, and he 'chased' her down the stairs, calling her name as she went to fight for her home.

It didn't take long. His Lord stood over her, blood covering the floor and walls, her pained screams still ringing in John's ears as she glared up at him, still alive but barely.

"I trusted you," she whispered. "I loved you, John."

"I love you, Amelia," he replied, crouching down beside her. "But my Lord… he can't have you messing up his plans. I'm… I'm sorry."

She died with her eyes on him and he knew that he'd have to see that every night for the rest of his life. Straightening up, he turned to the Dark Lord.

"My Lord," he murmured. "What would you have me do next?"