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Kiss of the Traitor

Chapter Six: Hogwarts Dreams

"…And so," concluded Professor Snape in his cold voice, surveying the small class of third-year Gryffindors as if he wished them nothing but the direst ill, "To sum up: it is therefore quite plain that the only way to repel a Boggart is to summon sufficient willpower to transform your greatest fear into something you find inconceivably funny, force laughter upon the creature, and to hence destroy it. Have I made myself clear?"

The Gryffindor students were staring at each other dubiously, as if they found it very hard to believe that their forbidding Defence Against the Dark Arts master was even capable of laughter. Hermione, standing half-concealed in the shadows at the back of the classroom, waiting for the lesson to end, thought she saw several grins and smirks drifting around the young faces. She found herself remembering exactly how she had felt as a thirteen-year-old, having practically the same lesson, only with a different teacher entirely. She looked at the fresh, curious faces in front of her and felt a twinge of sadness: the worst was yet to come. They would lose that innocence yet… or maybe they wouldn't. Thanks to Harry, and to the rest of them, perhaps children would be allowed to remain children this time around.

"Now take down notes until the bell rings," Snape went on to tell his students coldly. His black eyes flitted briefly to the back of the classroom, and Hermione wondered what he was probably thinking, seeing her here.

"Excuse me, sir?" said a young girl in the front row with a bossy sort of voice. She had two boys sitting on either side of her, one black-haired, and the other with unruly hair the colour of carrots.

Hermione had to blink and look twice to make sure it wasn't a delusion from her fevered mind that she was seeing. She had been back in London for a week now, and was getting slightly better with regular square meals and sleep and some laughter… but there was only so much natural improvement possible with something as deadly as the sickness spell. She was already feeling rather weak after the Side-Along Apparition with Harry and wandering through the familiar halls to find Snape's class. The emotional toll it had taken on her was worse.

"What now, Miss Posen?" asked Snape in a coldly weary voice.

"Well, sir, it's just that I think there's someone at the back of the classroom who would like to have a word with you…"

Hermione could have sworn she saw a gleam of only half-mocking amusement spring into Snape's eyes briefly. "I'm aware of that, thank you, Miss Posen. The young lady at the back, you might be interested to know, is as much of an insufferable know-it-all as you are."

Said without malice, this sentence did not reduce the girl to tears as it had Hermione. Struck by the unfamiliar note of familiarity in Snape's voice, the entire class turned their heads to look back at her. She felt a little embarrassed under their close scrutiny, specially unsettled by the three pairs of eyes from the front row, who reminded her just a little too much of herself, Harry and Ron at that age. However, she was distracted from these nostalgic thoughts by an exclamation from the boy in the back row:

"Hey! Your face is familiar… you've been in the Prophet, haven't you?"

Interest deepened in the faces.

"Wow! Aren't you Hermione Granger?"

"You were a Gryffindor like us, weren't you? So was Harry Potter!"

"You're Harry Potter's best friend?"

"No, dimwit, she's his wife – "

"No, she isn't – they're best friends, aren't you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was speechless. Who would have thought these young faces would remember pictures they had seen in the Daily Prophet years and years before? Then she smiled ruefully. Of course they would. They or their families would have cut out and preserved any articles or photographs of Harry they could find. And many of those pictures featured her as well, not to mention a few of her on her own. Her disappearance, too, must have been reported – and now, possibly, her reappearance. She was a little shaken by the young boy who was convinced she was Harry's wife.

"Is it true Harry Potter can do the Wronski Feint better than Viktor Krum ever could, Miss Granger?"

This last question made her smile; she looked into the hazel eyes of the black-haired boy in the front row, and asked: "Hmm… Seeker for the Gryffindor team, are you?"

"How did you know?" his jaw had dropped.

She smiled. "Magic."

They laughed. Snape silenced the friendly banter with a few cold words and then, as the bell rang at that moment, dismissed the class. They left, chattering happily, many still staring avidly at Hermione as if they would have liked nothing more than to speak to her but didn't dare with Snape looming behind them like an overgrown bat. Once the class emptied, Hermione found herself standing face to face with Snape and feeling weaker and more ill than ever.

It must have shown, because he said coolly: "Perhaps you'd better sit down, Miss Granger."

"I'm fine, thank you, Professor Snape," Hermione said with a half-smile, straightening her back. However she might now feel about him, she had not forgotten his nasty treatment of Harry all their school lives and this was a question of pride.

"I see you've returned," he said coolly, "I'm surprised. I underestimated your courage."

"You must have expected me to come back, seeing as you provided Harry with the information to find me out on the moor, Professor."

Snape's mouth twisted slightly. "I gave Potter what I could. The rest was up to him. It seems I also underestimated his powers of persuasion. I also observe that you came in time to watch most of my lesson. Did you feel a sense of déjà vu, I wonder? You have not lost your talent of disrupting peaceful lessons."

Hermione smiled. "You still can't stand us Gryffindors, can you?"

"Let's put it this way," said Snape, "I think of Gryffindors as I think of rats: they rarely – please note, I said 'rarely' – serve any purpose to the world, and they are a constant annoyance that occasionally carries something more deadly within."

"Admirably put, sir," said Hermione, trying very hard not to laugh. "I'll keep this short, as I suspect you may have another class: I came here to thank you for finding me. I – well – I never expected you to do anything of the sort, and I suppose I appreciate what you did even more, because it was – um – well, actually, very out of character of you. As far as I knew." She shrugged a little. "I may have a chance now, so I want to thank you for that… that Harry found me means a great deal to me."

Snape looked at her with cold, fathomless black eyes for a long moment. She felt none of the old malice and irritation emanating from him, but she didn't feel warmth either. She felt a moment's pity for Snape, so alone and friendless in the world. Dumbledore had been the only man alive to truly trust him, to truly care about him.

Finally, Snape spoke:

"You know, Miss Granger," he said in his cool, emotionless voice, "In my entire life, I can easily count the number of people who have given me a second chance on one hand. In my entire life, only four people have made the effort to save my life, and succeeded. The first was, of course, James Potter – damn him. The second was Dumbledore. The third, yourself… and the fourth was Potter Jr., Harry, which might never have happened if you had not convinced him of my true loyalties in time. I will probably never like you because we have spent far too much time at loggerheads and despising each other, but I will always admire you because you have always shown an intelligence and strength beyond what anyone has expected of you.

"You probed deeper after Dumbledore's death, to find the true answer, for you couldn't believe he was wrong in truly trusting me. You discovered the true reason I killed him: simply because he wanted me to. When he pleaded with me, as Potter no doubt told you of, it was a plea for me to kill him and not to withdraw. I hated him then, for making me do that. You discovered why Dumbledore and I made that plot, why it had to be done, because by killing Dumbledore, I won the Dark Lord's ultimate confidence. He trusted me so completely then that he told me something he would never had revealed to anyone otherwise: he told me how he planned to destroy Harry Potter. Dumbledore's plan worked, as he had always known he would. That information might just have saved Potter's life. Of course, he finished the battle and defeated the Dark Lord on his own, but he might have been dead before that… had I not killed Dumbledore. Yes, Miss Granger, you saw the complexities and the way it worked. Because of you, the reputation and life I had sacrificed has been restored to me."

"It was the right thing to do," Hermione stammered, a little shaken by this cold, precise speech that nonetheless smacked of emotion buried deep within. "I realized you had done the right thing, that Dumbledore had wanted you to kill him – he was old, he never feared death, it was the "next great adventure" to him. I had to convince Harry and the others of your innocence."

"And for that," said Snape, "Perhaps more than any other reason, I believed that you deserved the same chance: a chance to regain the reputation and life you sacrificed three and a half years ago. Don't waste that chance in fear."

Hermione was silent, speechless. "I don't have much of a choice," she finally said a little bitterly. "Your case was very different, sir."

"I'm aware of the sickness spell, Miss Granger." Snape tilted his head. "A pity, to lose such a fine brain. A Gryffindor brain, but a fine brain nonetheless. I know much about the habits of Antonin Dolohov; I was once his communication partner during the time of the Dark Lord's reign. The spell he used must have been procured from Fenrir Greyback, who makes it a hobby to collect cruel and dangerous dark spells. It would be wise to consult Remus Lupin instead of a pile of books – an awful thought for you, Miss Granger, but important nonetheless."

"But Professor Lupin wouldn't go near Greyback if his life depended on it!"

"An unusually wise decision for Lupin to make," said Snape, sneering slightly, "Considering the filthy creature's reputation. What I meant was that Lupin, with his network of werewolves, will be able to find you a trail straight to Greyback and possibly to Dolohov. One or both will give you the answer or the antidote. I trust Potter will be willing to do a little persuasion of his own to get it out of them… Lupin probably wouldn't be averse, either…"

Hermione stared at Severus Snape for a long time, and wondered whether she was dreaming. But she understood why Snape was putting himself out for her, and by extension, for Harry as well. She understood that he despised Gryffindors, and he particularly disliked the two of them. As with James, to be in their debt was unbearable to him. He had to repay it somehow. This was his way, and to Hermione, it was more than enough. As far as she was concerned, Snape owed her nothing if this information proved fruitful. The fact that he was willing to help was startling enough…

And maybe, she thought with a faint smile, just maybe… there was a little nobility inside Severus Snape as well.

"Pathetic, Miss Granger," remarked Snape coolly, raising his eyebrows, "You begin to show the alarming tendency Dumbledore had of always believing the best in people. And equally pathetic is your clear inability to master Occlumency."

…

…

…

Hermione saw him walking some way ahead of her down the corridor, probably looking for her so that they could walk out of the grounds and Disapparate home. Unable to hurry and catch up with him, her muscles so exhausted she could barely walk, she merely cleared her throat and called out loudly:

"Harry!"

He turned, and jogged quickly back towards her. "There you are," he said, looking disgustingly vital and almost healthy, apart from the weary lines at the corners of his eyes and the shadows in his eyes. "I was half-convinced Snape had kidnapped you and tried to get you to plot some nasty little deed with him in the dark cloak of his dungeon, before he dragged you off and tried to relieve his lust for you, of course…"

"Oh, ha, ha," said Hermione, making a face at him and wondering inside whether it was the school and being back here that made them feel almost comfortable with each other again. "How you can say that, I don't know, when you know perfectly well the only woman Snape has ever cared about and probably ever will care about was your mother!"

Harry grimaced. "Touché," he muttered. "Can't get over that one. So, how'd it go?"

"He was as nasty as ever, but oddly touching somehow."

"Please. This is Snape. I'll bet he did a lot of touching, all right."

"Harry, stop being so silly," Hermione said, trying not to laugh at his sarcastic tone, noticing the grin flickering across his mouth. "Tell me what happened in McGonagall's office. Did you manage to speak to Dumbledore's painting?"

"Yeah," said Harry, nodding and sobering, "In spite of the time he had spent searching his sources since last week, he couldn't find anything much on sickness spells. They're really rare. The most he could tell me was not to try to use any magic to try and fix it unless we know it'll work specifically for the spell, because that would kill you. He suggested inquiring of the centaurs, because they've been around ages and would probably know of something as old as the sickness spell. Oh, and he suggested I ask Snape." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, if I hadn't known Dumbledore cherished a secret passion for McGonagall, I would have thought the two of them were going to get married sometime…"

"Very funny," said Hermione, snorting. "Harry, Snape already spoke to me. He told me something that may actually give us huge results."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What?" he said in disbelief.

Quickly, Hermione relayed everything Snape had told her.

"Wow," muttered Harry, sounding impressed.

Any feelings Harry might have had about Snape as a person were put aside for the time being (but only the time being). As far as Harry was concerned, any lead that might save Hermione's life was worth checking at least four times, and if Snape was the man who provided it, who cared? (Well, all right, he cared a little but at least he wouldn't have to worry about being in Snape's debt. This was Snape's own debt to him repaid!)

"That – that means," Hermione said slowly, stopping and looking into Harry's green eyes because for the first time it truly struck her; "That means I might have a chance."

Harry's expression softened, and he squeezed her hand. "You have more than a chance, Hermione. I'll make sure of that. As soon as we get back home, I'm going to visit Lupin and we'll come up with a strategy together, all of us. Greyback and Dolohov won't know what hit them. This'll give us all a chance to settle some old scores, and wipe out two of the last Death Eaters left."

Hermione swallowed slightly at the feeling in his voice. "You don't have to do this for me, Harry," she said softly.

"I know," he replied quietly, "But I want to. Besides, I do have to do it in a way – for me. I'm not doing this out of guilt for you, Hermione, if that makes you feel any better. I'm doing this for me too. My life means absolutely nothing without you."

He turned around and began walking down the corridor. Hermione stared after him for a very long moment, watching him walk slowly but fluidly, his wand sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, a habit he had never gotten out of. She knew that they had no future, because they would never truly trust one another again, and their betrayals of each other, the kisses of traitors, lay far too heavily over their heads. But she knew, with absolute clarity, that life was not made out of futures, but of the present. They had today, even if there was nothing else.

"Harry!" she called, hurrying after him in spite of the weariness in her muscles. "Wait, don't leave the castle."

He stopped and turned back, grabbing her arm so that she didn't fall over. She was filled with a sudden, strange energy that she knew would only drain her terribly eventually, but which, for now, begged to be used. Harry frowned at her. "But I thought you wanted to get back to London. You look like you could use some rest."

"I could," she said, not bothering to tell him that she would prefer it if he could at least try to pretend that she was fine; she knew that was stupid. "But, if you don't mind, I'd like to stay here a little while. See our old common room, visit the lake and the trees we used to sit under, go and see Hagrid at his cabin for a little while, maybe… I just… I just want to be young again, Harry, young the way we used to be. Happy the way we used to be. I just want to remember Hogwarts as the sanctuary it was, and the home it became to all of us. I just want to be here with you again, and try to remember the dreams we once dreamt here, within these walls."

Harry squeezed her arm, and then let it go, holding only her hand. "I'd like that too," he said, and his voice was a little hoarse. "We can go back to McGonagall's office and get the Gryffindor House password from her. Or we can ask Lisa Turpin if we see her. She's Head Girl now, and she'll remember us."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, and Hermione realized that he looked just a little happier than she had seen him in a very long time. It nearly broke her heart.

They duly got the password and entered Gryffindor Tower and the common-room, red-and-gold in theme colour and so warmly inviting that Hermione had to restrain herself from sitting down at one of the desks near the fire, her old homework spot. A few Gryffindors enjoying a free period inside looked at them curiously, and then with excitement as they recognized Harry and hence Hermione. Very embarrassedly, Harry signed three autographs for burly seventeen-year-olds who were his height and size, and they left the common room, Hermione giggling almost light-heartedly.

"Oh, come on, Harry, you must be used to this by now!" she said.

He shook his head, smiling vaguely. "I don't get out much, so people don't have many chances to ask for autographs. You'd think the novelty would have worn off."

"Gratitude doesn't wear off so easily," Hermione told him earnestly.

"Hermione, that last guy was taller than I was! Do you have any idea how weird that is?"

"Viktor used to say the same thing to me," reflected Hermione with a smile, "Only he, of course, didn't have the widespread awe and gratitude you have. He was just a Quidditch star. I must write a letter to him. He wrote so often while I was on the moor, I think he was worried about me."

Harry glanced at her as they made their way out into the sunlit grounds. Hermione realized that it must have been a long time since Harry had come to their old spots; they must have held too much pain for him. She felt a surge of affection and compassion for him, and squeezed his hand tighter. She also realized that for the first time in a very long time, she wasn't cold. As she looked back at him, they footsteps echoing softly in time across the grass, she realized there was a tiny spark of humour in his eyes.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Did you use Krum to make Ron jealous?"

Hermione gasped. "Of course not! I genuinely liked Viktor, he was terribly nice, you know, even if he never could get my name right."

"Herm-own-ninny," Harry reminisced, grinning, "I nearly popped a rib trying not to laugh out loud first time I heard that at the Yule Ball. I mean, of all things to pick up for you… ninny. I remember thinking about it quite a bit during our fifth year, about what you probably saw in Krum, and I don't think I liked it much, only I was hung-up on Cho and didn't bother to consider the significance of what I was thinking."

"I remember being irrationally pleased when Cho got angry with you over Marietta, because you defended me in spite of your feelings for her."

"Ah, well. They were both idiots. You weren't. It wasn't a hard choice at the end."

"Ginny was never an idiot," Hermione said quietly, smiling a little.

Harry looked at her, the sparkling water of the wide lake looming in front of them. "I was never in love with Ginny. Call that a boy's monster crush, if you want. She was pretty and popular, if you remember. I think all of us – except Ron, of course – had a thing for her at some point. But I also seem to recall being more concerned about saying goodbye to you, and not to her, when I left for the cave with Dumbledore that night."

"What really made you give her up so easily, Harry?" Hermione asked, leaning against the trunk of one of their old trees, as they stood below it with the stretching lake before them, and looking over at him.

"I think it was the fact that when I told her I had to do something dangerous, she didn't tell me to be careful. At the time, I was relieved she didn't. But I think, somewhere deeper inside, I always felt happier and better somehow hearing the person who always did tell me to be careful."

Hermione felt tears creeping into her eyes, and blinked them away. "We've had some good times, here, haven't we?"

"Yeah," said Harry, standing beside her and following her gaze across the water. "We have."

They stood beside the lake for nearly half an hour, talking about the many memories each of them had of Hogwarts, the good and the bad, the funny and the heart breaking. They talked about their dreams and how they had changed from each passing year, how Hermione had considered a job with Gringotts, and how Harry had wanted to be an Auror for the Ministry… and how other things had become more important to both of them… friendship, unity, loyalty… and each other. Now, they treasured different things from the material, child-like fantasies they'd once had. Harry treasured his magic, for it had protected and guided him through the darkest of times. And Hermione held close to her heart her independence and dignity, for both were her only defences against the cruelties and prejudices of the world.

Fear had drawn them both from each other; Harry, afraid to hurt her again and, by letting her in, letting the self-preservation he so valued fall apart. And Hermione, terrified of loving him once more, of trusting him once more and depending irrevocably on him. Neither would survive a second beating. Neither knew if they could overcome their fear enough to risk themselves once more, to make that ultimate sacrifice.

Again.

These words went unspoken, but they remained a shadow stalking them as they left the lake and strolled together to Hagrid's cabin. Harry was laughing at Hermione's description of her reaction to the Exceeds Expectations she had gotten in her Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL.

"It was the one subject you always beat me in, Harry," she said with a rueful smile, but she never had nor would she ever feel resentful of him because of that. Harry had always had the right, somehow, to be better than everyone at that one subject. He deserved it. And he was the only one for whom she would not compete against, because she did not want to be better than him. She had always been happy being his equal.

"Except when I started beating you at Potions," he grinned.

"That was cheating!" Hermione said aggressively, gripping his arm a little harder as her energy began to expend itself. "I was only ever resentful of your being better than me because you didn't do that on your own!"

"Fair enough," he said, clearly trying not to laugh at her heated reaction. She bit back a smile, and they both waved at a beaming Hagrid, who emerged from his cabin with a somehow immortal Fang bounding along behind him, both (if Hermione's eyes were not very much in error) looking positively leaky-eyed at the sight of Harry and Hermione together before them.

Hagrid engulfed them both in a monstrous hug. Hermione thought she saw the hulking figure of Grawp lurking behind the cabin, and immediately shrank back towards Harry. She hadn't forgotten the fascination Grawp had had with her anatomy.

"Come and have rock cakes with me!" Hagrid said brightly, when he had let them both go. "Yer'll love them, it's a new recipe!"

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Neither said a word, but the rock cakes found a convenient spot somewhere in the corner of Hagrid's new pride and joy, a mud-pit of fang-toothed South African piglets.

"Yeah, they'll need those fang-teeth to bite those cakes," muttered Harry dryly.

Hermione stifled a giggle.

It must have been really three in the afternoon when Harry and Hermione finally took their leave of Hagrid and began making their way back to the school gates. They walked along, talking quite easily and almost happily about various things. But at the gates, both turned around simultaneously to look at the castle looming tall and beautiful behind them, and the expanse of the Forbidden Forest stretching beyond. Neither said a word, but Hermione felt a lump in her throat and sensed Harry felt the same way.

"If only we could be eleven again, walking into these gates for the first time," Hermione said softly, wishing for what must have been the thousandth time in a week, wishing futilely but desperately that it was possible to go back… to live again.

Harry turned away from the castle and his voice was quiet. "We can never be eleven again. But we can be happy again, you know."

"Perhaps," said Hermione softly, "One day."

Harry wrapped one arm around her waist, as if he couldn't bear to hear her saying those things any longer, and Hermione concentrated on the street outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. There was a crack, and they reappeared outside Harry's house a moment later, Hermione gasping for breath and Harry holding her up against him while she regained her breath.

She straightened at last, tired and worn out, and looked up into Harry's green eyes. The past day seemed suddenly like a surreal blur of a time long lost. The spell Hogwarts had cast over them both was broken. The dream had ended.

Together, they turned towards the dark door of the house and walked towards it in silence.

…

…

TBC.