Disclaimer: I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything associated with it that you recognize.

A/N: I have my History A-level exam tomorrow, so it might be another week before Chapter 15 appears up here! Enjoy this one!

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Kiss of the Traitor

Chapter Fourteen: Feel My Heart

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It was fortunate that Tonks was pregnant. Otherwise, as she later informed Fred and George with gleeful enjoyment, Harry would undoubtedly have killed her.

"Krum?" he shouted at her, the instant he could get her alone. "KRUM?"

"Oooh… where?" said Tonks, delighted.

"TONKS!"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but don't you think you're going a bit off the edge? After all, what's the matter with the poor young man visiting to see an old friend? After all, last he heard, Hermione had disappeared. You can't blame him for being friendly…"

Harry glowered at her. "Friendly? Friendly – ?" He stopped abruptly at the look of unholy mischief in Tonks's eyes, and he realized what he was saying. He let out a growl. "So you're trying to tell me that because I was out to make Hermione jealous with that ridiculous brat Pansy Parkinson, she's now going to step on my toes with Viktor Krum? But that's ridiculous."

"Well, you can't deny Hermione does have a habit of retaliating that way when someone attempts to make her jealous. She's very skilful."

Harry glared. "How long is this supposed to go on?"

"Well, it depends. You could wait until they're curled up on a sofa, kissing their hearts out…"

With a growl of anger, Harry turned and strode away, not bothering to apologize when he bumped into Parvati. Tonks watched him go, then collapsed into helpless giggles. Lupin approached her and gave her a very disapproving look. "Has it occurred to you, Tonks, that what seems to be causing you so much amusement is in reality a tussle between two very battered hearts, and that someone's life actually hangs in the balance?"

Tonks sobered. "I almost forgot about that for a moment. But you do realize she'll never fight to live until she decides to fight for Harry, don't you? This is all a good sign."

"All I'm saying," said Lupin with a sigh, "Is that I have no desire to see either of them hurt again."

"Hear, hear," called out Sirius from the wall.

A moment or two later, Hermione was just glancing around to see where Harry was (and whether he could see her smiling rapturously at Viktor) when she felt a fierce hand on her shoulder. She turned to find herself looking into those familiar green eyes, blazing with something indefinable. Hermione almost wanted to laugh. After making a fool of himself with Pansy Parkinson, now he had the nerve to be jealous?

"Can I have a word?" Harry asked her through somewhat gritted teeth.

Hermione reached for her Butterbeer, took a fortifying gulp, and then dragged herself out of her armchair. Her legs felt a little wobbly, and she felt the sudden frighteningly dizzy sensation. "Harry," she said quite calmly, trying not to let anyone see how wan and weak she felt, "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

"It'll only take a minute."

Krum looked between them, and then stuck out a hand. "Potter," he said in a friendly voice.

"Krum," said Harry coldly, shaking the hand briefly. He then felt slightly guilty. Krum, after all, wasn't the bad guy here, and could he really blame him for his obvious infatuation with Hermione? So he made a determined effort to be friendlier. "We're all glad to see you. Are you in town for long?"

"I vos in town for a match," Krum replied, his accent as strong as ever, "And ven I heard that Herm-own-ninny vos here, I thought I'd come to see her. I didn't intent to intrude upon your dinner party here."

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Harry hastily, "Everyone's always welcome."

Hermione, watching them, felt mildly baffled by the male friendliness. She cleared her throat slightly, aware that if she had to stand around in a hot room much longer, she would surely have a breakdown, and said gently, "Do you think you could give me a moment, Viktor, so that I can just talk to Harry?"

"I vill be leaving now, actually, Herm-own-ninny," he told her, "I must return because I have an early flight home tomorrow." He took her hand and kissed it. "It has been wonderful to see you again. And a pleasure to see you, as alvays, Potter." He nodded, and then slouched his way out of the room, making his way through people who stared at him avidly (as if there weren't enough celebrities in the room) and then pausing to exchange a smile and a few words with Ron, who nearly tripped over his feet to speak to him.

Hermione looked at Harry, and saw that his angry expression had softened slightly, as if he was thinking about something, and wondered if he, like her, was thinking back to their fourth year at Hogwarts, and how suspicious Krum had been of their friendship. This had been closely followed by Cho Chang's jealousy as well. Hermione wondered why it had taken her so long to guess that both Krum and Cho might have seen something that no one else had noticed. She hastily brushed away a tear that slipped out onto her cheek. Those days were long gone. It was futile to think back and wish that they could have that kind of youthful spirit and optimism and happiness again. After all, what were they now? Broken soldiers still struggling with the dawn after the long night of battle. Harry, his heart bruised and his mind battered. And she was… dying.

At that moment, Harry turned around and looked at her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. What did you want to talk about?"

"Not here," he said, glancing around at the relatively full room, "Let's go upstairs. Besides, you look tired, and I'm afraid I can't let you hang around here and collapse on me."

She was inclined to be indignant at his high-handed attitude, but didn't have time, for the next moment, Harry had scooped her up into his arms and was marching out of the kitchen towards the stairs. People stared and Hermione burned bright red in embarrassment. Tonks started laughing and, for some reason, yelled "I told you so" to Harry. Fred and George let out identical wolf-whistles, and Ron had the temerity to grin. Hermione glared at him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that the situation was NOT what he thought.

Harry seemed impervious to the reactions from the crowd. He carried her up the stairs, for which she was secretly grateful, because there was nothing more comforting than to be in his arms when she felt so awfully sick, and he took her to her room. There he set her down gently, and shut the door behind them.

"Look," he said quickly, as if afraid he would lose his nerve if he didn't say it fast, "Tonks's plan was a good one. Hey, it worked. But I'm not a game-player, and I can't do this. Do you know what it felt like to see you with Krum again? Hermione, I don't care about your scruples or what you're worried about. I'm not going to spend another few years without you. I won't survive it the second time, and quite frankly, I don't want to. You think my life means anything without you? I love you, I've told you that, and if you can't trust me enough to live, then there's nothing more I can do. But I can look at you now and ask you whether you love me so little that you wouldn't be willing to face whatever we might have to in exchange for what we can have together."

Hermione stared at him, tears filling her eyes. She'd never heard him sound quite like this, so desperate, so implacable, and so determined. No… perhaps she had. Because that was Harry all over, wasn't it? When he wanted something, he refused to let anything stop him before he reached that finish post. He fought for what he believed in with that desperation, he always had, right from the time of the young boy who marched into a room all alone just to make sure Voldemort never got the Philosopher's Stone.

"I hurt you once," she told him softly, "More than we could have imagined. Can you deny that? I don't want to do that to you again, Harry. You may know what you want, but I don't. I don't know if I'm strong enough to face a life with you, knowing broken hearts may lie along the road again, and pain, and death. I don't know if I can do it again."

"You're stronger than anybody I know. You always have been!"

"Harry," she said softly, "Come here."

He approached her, watching her carefully. She took his hand, and held it to her heart. "Can you feel my heart?" she asked. "It doesn't beat very hard or very fast, does it? I don't know if it can anymore, Harry. Listen to it. Does that sound like a strong heart to you? I'm not the person I once was. Dolohov, the years away, the pain, it changed me, more fundamentally than in my very personality. Take it literally, metaphorically, any way you like: it's a bruised, struggling heart in there, fighting for the last gulps of air, and I can't make it fight any harder. I don't know if I want to."

"It's beating pretty fast right now," he said slowly, the tears in his eyes a contrast to the sudden puzzled frown between his eyebrows.

Hermione took a step back from him. "Well, that's because… your hand is there," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. Then she swallowed as she caught the look in his eyes. "No, Harry, don't look at me like that. How can you possibly?"

"You're still beautiful to me," he said, and he kissed her.

Hermione fought the kiss for all of three seconds, and then kissed him back. He pulled away after a moment, and looked stricken. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have – I can't – "

"Yes, you can," she said softly, unbuttoning his shirt, "You know you want to."

"But you're – "

"It won't kill me, Harry," she told him gently, "I promise."

He swallowed, and gave in.

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Hermione lay awake hours later, and watched Harry sleeping. For the first time, he looked peaceful as he slept, as if there was some hope left in the world. She brushed black hair off his forehead, and wondered whether it was possible to feel so much pleasure and pain at the sight of someone she loved so much. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly got out of bed, exhausted but filled with a sudden desperate determination that gave her the energy she had previously lacked.

She slipped on a robe over her pyjamas and tank top, and left the room quietly. She went downstairs as silently as she could, and noted with approval that Ron (or rather, Ginny and Luna) had taken care of cleaning up after they'd vanished earlier.

The house was strangely quiet, and she made her way past Sirius, sleeping in his portrait frame, to the large wooden cupboard in the corner. It was the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy had had fixed in their sixth year in order to perpetrate that horrifying attack on Hogwarts. After the battle, Hermione had been told that they'd tracked down both Cabinets and kept them safely had Hogwarts. After Hermione and Harry's first visit to the school since Hermione had returned, Professor McGonagall and decided that the best idea would be to place one Cabinet in Number 12, and leave the other locked in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione now entered the Cabinet and shut the door behind her. With the sound of the latch clicking, the magic came into play, and she felt the world shifting around her. A few moments later, she reached for the doorknob, and found it locked. She used her wand to unlock it, and stepped out into the warmly-lit Room of Requirement at Hogwarts.

It took only a few seconds for Hermione to find exactly what she required. There was a portrait of a duck on the wall, and a pile of soft beanbags in the middle of a room. Several feet away from the beanbags stood the beautiful Mirror of Erised.

Hermione sat down on the beanbags, and looked into the mirror. At first, she saw only her reflection. Then, after a wary look around her, when she looked back into the mirror, she froze. Harry stood there, staring back at her. But it was not the Harry she had left behind, the thin and pale and worried Harry. This was a Harry who grinned at her, and then began to laugh. This was a Harry who looked young again… who looked happy. He raised a hand and waved at her. Hermione, without realizing it, waved back, and then realized tears were sliding down her face.

"Good evening, Hermione," said a deep voice from nearby.

Hermione turned sharply, trying to hastily brush away the tears as well, and found herself being looked at affectionately by Albus Dumbledore, who looked at her out of the painting of the duck.

"Professor!" she squeaked. "I didn't – how did you – "

"It is a privilege of former Headmasters," he said with a twinkle, "To be able to move around to any painting in the castle whenever they choose."

"Oh."

"You're not happy, Hermione," said Dumbledore, "And that grieves me. After the sacrifices you and Harry have made, I would have thought that happiness would have come to you, who deserve it most. Alas, I was too optimistic. But you know how to attain that happiness, don't you?"

"I… I can't risk it," she said sadly, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice, she realized, that had never been there before.

"Hermione, for the past two or three weeks, you have been holding onto a thread of selfishness that is very unlike you, but, of course, perfectly understandable. You have convinced yourself that you fear, more than anything else, to be hurt again and that you would choose death over watching Harry sacrifice himself for you. That, I will say quite bluntly, is ridiculous. If Harry wants to die for you, by all means, let him! He's no fool, as you well know, and he might make rash decisions but he has rarely been so wrong as to allow himself to be killed."

"But…"

"I will not presume to preach. I will merely tell you that I believe in one thing above all else, and one thing alone: that love conquers everything."

"It didn't," Hermione said, choking back a sob, "He forgot that I loved him when he sent me away."

"You took the risk that Harry would never forgive you when you undertook that difficult task. Your love for him allowed you to take that risk. And now, three and a half years later, Harry has forgiven you and you him. Now, all you have left to do is ask yourself whether you love him enough to trust him again?"

Hermione stared into Dumbledore's hypnotic, earnest blue eyes. He said gently, "Do you remember, in your fifth year, I brought you into my office to tell you that Harry planned on running away because he had sunk into horror and depression? I knew then, as I know now, that only you could save him from his own misery, and I was right – he faced the world again, because you made him. Who knows how long he might have stayed locked in Buckbeak's room had it not been for you? In all the years I have known you both, it has been to you that Harry has turned when he has needed somebody. Even when he dated Miss Weasley. He turned his back on her for a noble reason, to protect her, but he couldn't do the same to you and Mr Weasley.

"Once again, Harry needs you, and you need him! How much clearer can the world be than when you look at it through the Mirror before you? Your happiness is not what matters most to you, as the Mirror shows. What it shows you is that Harry's happiness is what is most important, and you can make him laugh like that again. You can bring the light back to his eyes, and you know it. What are we, Hermione, if we cannot love and be loved?"

Hermione stood up. "I've been selfish and cowardly," she said, brushing away tears. "You're right, Professor. You're absolutely right. But… now I don't know what I must do."

"Follow your heart," said Dumbledore, twinkling at her, "I'm sure you'll find it's… ahem… beating fast enough again to point the way."

Dumbledore strolled out of the painting, whistling cheerfully. And Hermione, startled, cast one last look into the Mirror of Erised, and was left to wonder for about the millionth time how, even in death, Albus Dumbledore always seemed to know everything.

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TBC.

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