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

A/N: Chapter Fifteen! Thanks for all the reviews so far… 330! I got about a third of this number for "Road to Redemption", which was my 'highest-grossing' fanfic before! By all means, keep this up and don't let me stop you. :)

…

Kiss of the Traitor

Chapter Fifteen: A Death Breath

Harry woke up to find the bed empty next to him. His first reaction was panic, followed by his forcing himself to calm down and think rationally. Hermione had probably woken and gone down for water or milk ("the idiot," he thought, "she could have fainted or fallen"). He was about to throw on a shirt over his pants and bare feet, when he stopped. Hermione wouldn't appreciate being coddled and treated like she was dying. Dying. There was that haunting word again. Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't bear this. He wished she'd come back quickly so that they could talk.

He reached towards the bedside table and picked up his wand. Holly and phoenix feather. A great wand, by any standard, and one that had stood him in good stead during years of danger and probable death. How many times had this wand saved his life? How many times had he felt alone and naked without it, as if he had lost a friend? Could he give up this wand?

For her, he could.

Without question, it would be one of the most difficult things he would ever have to do, but for Hermione, he would brave the fiercest lions and snakes and even lock away his wand. He rolled the notched, roughened piece of wood in his fingers, and then gently laid it back on the table. Before he had discovered the magical world he belonged in, he had been lost and alone. Before he had come to know Hermione and Ron, he had been lost and alone.

Hagrid had once told them that he'd thought they would value their friend more than broomsticks or rats. Damned right they should have. In fact, Harry wasn't sure they didn't. He knew that he cared more about her than about his Firebolt, about his wand. And yet, he reflected, to give up your wand was to give up the world that had brought him to life.

The image of Hermione lying pale and sick and alone in that bed up north made him feel nauseous. He rubbed his fingers through his black hair and wished he could drown himself. His life had been one hard choice after another, and one moment of hurting someone he cared about after another. How many people had he lost to his war, how many people he cared about and loved? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, and all those who had fallen in a war when they ought to have been living long and happy lives. The silent soldiers lying sleeping in the earth. Harry blinked away tears. He couldn't bear to think of Hermione becoming just another silent soldier.

He stood up, dimly aware that she was taking an awful long time downstairs. He felt a surge of guilt. Maybe she was tired and had fallen asleep downstairs, wanting to be alone. He hadn't exactly been merciful, not that she'd shown any sign of wanting him to be. It had been incredible.

And now he felt guilty about it.

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you, Potter?" a voice snickered from the empty portrait frame on the wall.

Harry didn't look up, though he felt a twinge of embarrassment. It was difficult to remember, even after years in the magical world, that paintings could sometimes witness the things you did. When they'd moved back into Number 12 four years before, Harry had taken Sirius's old room and Hermione had moved into the one he'd used before. The empty portrait frame was on that room wall.

"Go away," Harry said dully.

"Come now, Potter, is that the way to address an old Headmaster of your hallowed school?" Phineas Nigellus chortled at him mockingly. "Now don't flatter yourself that I actually watched anything, but I heard a noise or two when I popped in briefly earlier, and I bolted at once, all the while thinking, 'Oh, Dumbledore must be turning in grave at the antics his favourite boy's upto'!"

Harry snorted bitterly. "Dumbledore is probably the only dead Headmaster among you lot who's probably chuckling gleefully to himself, so go try another tack to annoy me, why don't you? Really. I'd like an excuse to use my wand on you."

"Potter, Potter, you old rotter."

"Picking up rhymes from Peeves, I see. Go away, Phineas. I don't have time for this. Oh, by the way, we're going to be destroying this painting. McGonagall's got a much better way of sending messages to us quickly, and a damn sight more efficiently."

Phineas made a disgusted, mocking sound, and then there was an empty silence. Harry felt bleak and hollow and strangely unhappy again. He shouldn't have been so unhappy, after all, what had just happened between Hermione and him ought to imply they had a chance together. But he knew Hermione all too well, unfortunately, and it would be just like her to come up with something new to keep them apart.

Where was she, anyway? Might as well get the pain and rejection over with. Harry's mouth twisted a little bitterly.

Harry moved to the bedside drawer to find a flashlight. Hermione always kept one, in case her wand was ever stolen and she couldn't use "Lumos" as she always did. Like the rest of them, they'd gotten into the habits of always planning for any possible contingency. They'd practiced it hard during that last year of challenging Voldemort. Moody had forced them to start learning Muggle tricks (well, Ron had had to do the real learning) in order to deal with having no magic temporarily. Right then, Harry couldn't have explained why he thought to use a flashlight instead of picking his wand up off the table again. He just did.

As he reached for the flashlight, his eyes fell on a piece of paper tucked into the corner of the drawer. He didn't mean to snoop, he really didn't, but it was too much to ignore when his eyes caught the title briefly.

Death Breath.

A mocking, bitter, lonely, sad title. The impact of those simple words made Harry's lungs suddenly feel empty. He swallowed and reached for the paper, forgetting the flashlight. He smoothed it out, hands shaking a little, and read what Hermione had written in sharp, tired handwriting.

Empty beds, empty hearts.

Lie awake and breathe

Try to, anyway.

Will you wake me before it gets dark?

Find me?

The leaves are falling,

One by one.

Life ebbs with it.

How long can you hold on,

Dying?

Choking on your own blood,

The sweet metallic tangy taste,

Tongue suffocated by it.

How long? Answer me.

Weak, am I? I laugh in scorn at you.

You couldn't last a second more.

Dizzy

With pain. Exhilarating.

Frightening. Hold me. I'm so scared.

Empty air, arm grasps at nothing.

Hands claw, searching.

Scrape. Claw. Scrape.

Nothing.

Fine, I don't care. I've lived without you.

I'll die without you too.

Live alone. Die alone. Way of the world, right?

In and out. Fragmented consciousness.

You can only hold on so long.

Fingers brittle -

They break.

Don't ask me to hold on with broken fingers.

Let me go. Let me sleep…

Goodnight, darling.

I'll see you when your day's over too.

Harry was frozen in shock as he stared down at the paper. The moods in the words, changing with every line it seemed, frightened him beyond belief. There was so much pain, so much bitterness, so much regret and weariness, so much hate, and so, so much love…

"Hermione," he whispered brokenly, "What have I done to you?"

At that moment, he heard footsteps outside the room, soft. He stiffened. The door opened, and Hermione came in and shut the door. She looked surprised to see him awake and standing beside the bed. Her eyes, full of something strange, suddenly darkened as they went from him to the piece of paper in his hand.

"Taken to snooping, Harry?" she asked coolly, full of the typically Hermione dignity.

"It was a catchy title," he answered bitterly, "Besides, you've always agreed I'm too curious for my own good sometimes."

"Haven't you realized before what the consequences of your curiosity can do?"

Harry stared at her. "That was low. You think you're the only one who's been hurt, Hermione? That we should all pity you and feel sorry for you? What about me? Did you ever stop to think about how much it's hurt me, how much pain I've known, ever since I was born! You had a family, you had a good life. I had precious few chances at that! So you know what? Don't stand there lecturing me about my curiosity. You think I need reminding that it was my curiosity that got Sirius killed? Do you?"

"Stop, Harry, stop," she begged, looking tearful and remorseful, "You know I didn't mean it. I was just angry… just… you think I don't think every single day about what you must have endured all your life? Oh, Harry. When did we become this pair of broken people standing across a room and fighting like angry cats?"

"I guess a lot of things have changed," said Harry sadly, quieting down. He knew she hadn't meant it, yet it had stung, and he felt a sting of bitterness and misery threatening to darken his entire demeanour. He'd never been good at controlling his temper.

"Yes," she answered, "I suppose they have."

"Hermione," he said more urgently, lifting the piece of paper. "This? This isn't you!"

She stared at him, pale and with mingled anger and weariness in her face. "No, you're quite right there, Harry, it isn't me most of the time! Not the me I try to be anyway. But there's another side of me that I try so hard to shake off, the side created out of three years alone, friendless, and almost always cold and guilty. Do you think you could live a life like that and not become that embittered, pitiful, poor creature who wrote that?"

"Weak, am I?" Harry quoted sadly, "I laugh in scorn at you. Is that how you feel about me? These conflicting feelings you've got down here?"

Hermione sat down wearily on the edge of the bed, and sighed. "Sometimes."

"You hate me?"

"Sometimes. Because it's so difficult not to love you. Because you're the only one who can hurt me so devastatingly that I never know if I'll survive, and because I know you won't hurt me and that makes me angry because I want excuses to hate you. Oh, heavens."

Harry blinked a few times. He tried to sort out exactly what she'd just said. "Um…"

"Oh, Harry. You're almost as bad as Ron sometimes. No, maybe not. Can't you understand what I mean? I try to hate you. I try so hard sometimes, you know, but I can't stop loving you. Not even for the slightest moment. And I'm afraid."

He sat down beside her. "Afraid of what?"

"I… don't know."

Harry reached out, tentatively, like a child afraid of being rebuffed, and entwined his fingers with hers as her small, cold hand lay in her lap. He squeezed gently, and got a tiny answering squeeze in response. "Look at me, Hermione," he said softly, "I swear to you that I'll never let you fall. I'll love you until I die, and probably even after that, and I'll never again let you slip through my fingers and fall to the ground. Look at me and tell me you believe that."

"Oh, Harry," she said tearfully, burying her face into his shoulder as tears began to slide down her face, "Please don't die."

"Well, it wasn't exactly one of my life objectives, so I'll do my best."

She sniffled a laugh at his wry, half-humorous, half-puzzled tone, and then looked up. Harry felt something tug at his heart at the watery colour of her beautiful, intelligent brown eyes. Then she reached up, and with soft fingers, traced the contours of his face, the pale scars here and there, and finally, the lightning bolt on his forehead. Then she touched his eyes, closing one gently and smoothing her fingertip over his eyelashes.

"I want," she said softly, "So badly to see you laugh again. Like you really mean it. Like you once did. I want so badly to see you smile."

He cracked a grin, one that, to her, seemed full of the bravery and desperation that had always characterised Harry.

"I'll smile for you," said Harry.

"Don't give me that I-can't-bear-this-pain-inside-me-but-I'll-force-a-grin-so-that-Hermione-doesn't-feel-awful smile, Harry. I want to see the light in your eyes again. You were happy once. No one is ever free of sadness, but we all have some happiness. You don't anymore. Smile for me, and you can make me happy."

Harry stood up, and went to the window. "I can't, Hermione."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't do it without you. I can't smile for you, knowing I could lose you. There is no happiness in that kind of world for me. I've lived like a ghost for three years, holding onto the only thread I had: that perhaps you didn't love me enough to return, and so it wasn't worth it. I can't hold onto that any longer. I can't look at you and lose you again. You think you're dying, Hermione? Well, you're not the only one."

"Harry."

"Hermione, I don't want to hear it…"

"Harry, listen to me."

He turned and looked at her. There were tears in her eyes. Her voice shook a little. He went back to her, and looked down at her, waiting for a response. She lifted her eyes to his, and tucked her hand into his larger one. "Kiss me," she whispered.

Harry stared at her. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and then scowled to cover up his loss of self-control. He found he couldn't restrain himself. Consigning himself to the devil, he leaned down and let his mouth melt into hers. His breathing quickened and he held her gently but hard. She kissed him back, equally passionately, and then she pulled away and smiled a little weakly. They were both breathing a little hard and shallowly, and his heart was hammering.

"A Dementor's Kiss," she said, "Sometimes, it feels like it, doesn't it?"

"You make things too complicated."

"Maybe, Harry. But you know what? Some things are that complicated. The kiss of a traitor? It takes everything out of you."

"It brings me back to life."

"It couldn't. You practically said it, Harry – loving me will kill you."

"Loving you saved me once," he said fiercely, "When I groped through the darkness with nothing to hold onto, you were there, the lifeline pulling me back to shore, to the light. It can save me again. And you know what? Damn your bloody scruples and fears. Loving you can save you this time too. Just let me, Hermione. Let me save you, and I promise you we can be happy again."

She bit back an audible sob, and his gut clenched and his heart hardened and trembled alternately. "I'm a coward, Harry," she said helplessly, with a flash of bitterness and self-disgust, "I went somewhere tonight… and I… I thought I had courage, but faced with you and how much I love you and fear for you, I don't know…"

He glared at her, refusing to acknowledge such a statement with anything more than a fierce green glare. "As a Gryffindor, I challenge you to look me in the eye and tell me you have no courage again."

"You can't change the past."

"Actually," he said dryly, "If you had a Time-Turner, you technically could. But I suspect you weren't talking about that kind of dangerous manipulation. Look, you're right. Maybe you can't change some things. I can't bring my parents back, and I can never take away the hurt I caused you. But I can heal it. I can stitch the wounds back together and maybe, with time, ease the ache of the scars. The past is only a memory, and maybe it's an important memory, but the point is, it's over and done with and you can either wallow in it or try to look for something in the future instead. We move forward. Never back. I won't deny the past matters. But Dumbledore once told me you can choose to learn from it, or run away from the lesson it offers you."

"Dumbledore didn't tell you that," Hermione said suddenly. She'd been staring at him, amazed, as if hypnotised and moved by his words, but she suddenly seemed to snap back to reality and her mouth twitched, as, as always being the perfect storehouse of knowledge in spite of her tears and condition, she said, "You got that off Lion King."

"No, I didn't!"

"Of course you did, you know that bit with Rafiki?"

"Who's Rafiki? The monkey? Look, I don't get it, I've never even watched it…"

"You must have seen it one holiday when your cousin Dudley was watching it, or something like that. Seems strange, though, because it came out in 1995, I think, and Dudley, from what you've told me, was certainly too old and macho to have watched something like that. But perhaps your Aunt Petunia made him? Who knows? There's no other explanation," she added firmly, challenging him to disagree.

Harry cast his mind back to when he had watched that Disney production and realized she was absolutely right ("shocker," he thought). "Yeah, well," he said with a slight grin, "Disney makes a few good points now and then. I remember now. The whole bit with Simba and the monkey's stick. Oh, God. That came out sounding all wrong. Never mind."

Hermione began to giggle, torn between amusement and being scandalized at what Harry'd just unwittingly said.

To Harry, it was the sweetest sound he had heard in a very long time.

"Come on," he said, "Get back into bed and under those covers. You're shivering again, and you know what? I haven't loved you for years only to let you collapse on me now. Come on, get in there. Let me hold you. I think it's way past your bedtime. You can chortle at my accidental jokes all you want tomorrow morning. I ought to warn you, though. It's going to be a busy day."

Hermione looked at him as she curled up beside him in her bed again. "Why, what's happening tomorrow?" she asked, rather sleepily.

"I'm going to get Lupin to cast the spell that's going to save you."

Hermione's eyes popped open.

…

…

…

"Harry, are you going to tell me what's supposed to happen?" Hermione asked worriedly, looking at him. He looked strained and anxious, as if he wasn't sure this was going to work. "What's the matter? Are you afraid it might not be effective or something?"

Lupin immediately responded reassuringly. "Oh, no, Hermione, don't worry about that. I have a feeling Harry's looking so worried because he's afraid you may not agree to this at all. This is a very unusual and rarely used spell, but I've done my research and I know how it must be cast, and in every case study I've read except for one, it's worked perfectly." He hesitated, and then said, "In the case where it didn't work, well… both participants were killed outright."

"Both participants?" said Hermione, her voice rising a little shrilly. "What does that mean? What are you implying?"

They were all standing in the living room of Harry's house. Lupin was beside the table, flipping through the pages of a book. Tonks and Ginny were sitting on the sofa nearby, with Neville and Luna on the sofa opposite. Ron was leaning against the wall. Harry and Hermione were standing bang in the middle of the room, both standing a little tensely, Hermione rather uncertainly, unsure and rather afraid of what might happen. She did not dare get her hopes up. To live was something she had nearly forgotten.

Lupin looked at Harry, who nodded slightly, a little jerkily, his jaw clenched, as if telling Lupin it was okay to explain it all to her. Lupin turned back to Hermione, and looked at her for a moment. Ron looked pale and worried. Hermione suddenly realized that every one of the people here knew exactly what this spell was supposed to involve. And they were all afraid. But of what, she wasn't certain.

"Hermione," Lupin said gently, "There is no direct cure for the Sickness Spell that Dolohov forced into you. At least no cure that you can apply or cast and make the spell vanish with. Greyback told Harry and me that once the Sickness Spell sets in, the person affected is essentially dead already, that it's as if they're simply living out a… a… battery life… of sorts. Points accumulated over the past now combining to extend your life until the battery runs out. Harry gave me this analogy, because he said it might make you understand better, with a Muggle parallel."

Hermione stared at him weakly. "I… I understand what you mean." She was the walking dead. She felt faint and weak, but refused to even sway on the spot.

"So, therefore, strictly speaking, you have no strong life force of your own to sustain you longer than your battery life. I know it isn't easy to hear this, but I have to explain. The only cure, therefore, is a Bonding Spell. It's a very rare spell and very difficult in general terms. It binds the life force of one healthy, strong magical person to one dying person. Essentially, you would have a completely normal life, only your life force would not be your own, but somebody else's, keeping you moored to this world like an anchor. This also means," Lupin added after a moment, "You're your life would be tied irrevocably to the life of the Giver. It cannot be reversed by any magic in the world. If the Giver dies, Hermione, you would die too. It means that you would have to trust the person tying their life to yours implicitly, you would have to place your very existence in their hands and accept that you will not outlive them. The spell cannot work if you don't believe and trust the Giver."

And in that moment, in that one awful moment in which she heard Lupin's words as if through a dream, Hermione understood everything. "Harry can't save you unless you trust him". "Trust me, Hermione, I can't do this if you don't". She turned slowly, her head and eyes moving as if through a fog, and she saw Harry looking right at her, his green eyes full of a desperate plea for her to understand and accept what Lupin was saying.

"I see it now," she said softly, and her voice was calm and even a little cold. "You're suggesting that Harry binds his life to mine. My God. What if the spell kills us both? Have any of you even thought of that? I'm practically on death row, already – Muggle prison language, Ron, stop blinking – but now you're asking me to put Harry's life in that kind of danger?"

"Hermione," he grabbed her arms, desperately, "Hermione, listen to me. Lupin knows what he's doing! Forty-nine times out of fifty in history, this has worked. We're not doing to die. I won't let you, don't you understand? And if… if we do…"

He trailed off, and she saw the calm acceptance behind the pleading look in his eyes. His unspoken words touched her heart and she heard them in spite of his silence. And if we die, we'll still be together.

"Oh, Harry," she said, choking back a sob. "How can I let… How could I…"

"Do you trust me?" he demanded.

Lupin cleared his throat slightly, and seemed to blink back tears. "There's one more thing you ought to know, Hermione." Hermione looked at him, but didn't miss the fierce look Harry suddenly shot Lupin. Lupin shook his head. "No, Harry, she has a right to know everything. You see, the Bonding Spell, requires magic to sustain. I can cast it, but I can't sustain it. Only the Giver can. So the thing is, that as long as you're both alive, Harry would have to sustain the spell and your life force that way. It would require no conscious effort on his part. It would just require his magic."

Lupin paused, hesitating, and then said:

"All of it."

Hermione stared in disbelief. "Harry would have no magic? Ever again? He'd never be able to use his wand or make his hair grow back or… anything?"

"Nothing. As a wizard by blood, he would still be able to go to Diagon Alley and all those things. His magic is inherent, after all. He would just never be able to use it in any way, consciously or subconsciously. He… I think the closest definition is that he would be a Squib. Squibs can enter magical places, you see, and see Dementors and the like. But they can't use magic."

Hermione felt faint and sick. She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve this kind of love and immense sacrifice. She'd never wanted anyone to sacrifice anything for her. And Harry, how could she ask Harry to give up what meant so much to him? To risk his life so deeply, because he had so many enemies who would be euphoric if they ever heard of this! She swallowed, and put a hand to her head, trying to steady herself. She was vaguely aware of Harry's hand on her elbow, holding her up. He always held her up. Only once had he let her fall, and she knew he would never do so again. But this… this condition…

"Oh, God," Hermione said weakly, "There are people in the world who hate you, Harry. Who would seize such an opportunity to kill you."

"I'm willing to risk that."

"And you think I am?"

"Hermione," he said desperately, "Don't you see? It works mutually, both ways. I use my magic to keep you alive, and in turn, you use yours to protect me when I can't protect myself. You'll still be every bit of the witch you once were and still are. It doesn't touch your magic. You'll have a normal, healthy life again. We both will. I just won't be a wizard in the true sense of the word anymore."

"But, Harry," she said, and her voice softened, "The magical world is everything to you? It represents everything you escaped from in your awful childhood."

He swallowed. "The world is still open to me. Magic may not be, but I realized that the real magic in my life was the friends I've made… and you. None of that will change. I won't lie to you, it'll be a wrench to put my wand away and never use it again. But I don't even need to think about it. Between you and waving around a magical stick, there's really no choice there."

"You… You'd give all that up, do all this, for me?"

Ginny was sniffling. So was Ron.

"I'd do anything for you," said Harry simply, "I've said it before."

"I don't want you to do this out of guilt for the past, Harry!"

"We've been through this, in your northern home," he said grimly, fiercely, looking hard into her eyes, "None of what I've been doing has come from guilt. I'm doing it because I love you, because a life without you means nothing to me. It's not asking much from me to tie my magic to your life. I'd do it ten times over, and never look back in regret."

Hermione felt the tears spill down her face. She reached out, and touched Harry's cheek, his lean jawbone, honed by years of strain and burdens he should never have had to bear. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

"Trust me," he begged.

"I trust you," she replied softly. Then she looked at Lupin. "I'll do it."

An imperceptible wave of relief passed over the room. Hermione had not realized until then that they had all been afraid that she would refuse and that they would lose her. Harry grinned in relief and delight, and then his face sobered again. "It'll be a rocky life," he said, "You know my dances with death."

"Life since I met you, Harry, has always been rocky," she said with a tearful smile, "And I've loved every minute of it. But… are you sure?"

"Now, Hermione, if you're going to start creating excuses again…"

Lupin hastily stepped forward. "Excellent. We're all agreed. Let's get this done, then. It should only take a few moments."

"What do we have to do?"

"Reach out and place your right palms over each other's hearts. The magic will flow through your hands from Harry's heart to Hermione's, and bind you both together. It's absolutely painless, so don't worry." Lupin watched anxiously as they stood a step apart from one another, and touched each other's hearts.

Ron distinctly sniggered in the background, no doubt at the position of Harry's hand, and Tonks threw a cushion at him to silence him. Hermione looked into Harry's green eyes, and felt a sudden surge of joy at the new life in his eyes and the hammering of his heart under her hand. How she loved him. And now, at last, she knew how much he loved her and now, at last, they had been given a second chance. She smiled for him, and he grinned back.

"This is it," he said softly.

"A death breath," she replied, and for the first time, there was no bitterness when she heard those words. He smiled at that, and nodded in understanding.

Lupin cast the spell. A glowing white light spread from his wand, enveloping them. Hermione felt hot and comforted somehow. Then a dazzling sensation of light passed into her, piercing her very heart, and she suddenly felt renewed and strong, and then abruptly, switched to feeling exhausted and drained.

How long it went on, she never knew. She stared only into Harry's green eyes, watching the same emotions flicker through there, and she felt his heart, warm and beating, under her hand, and felt her own heart begin to beat in time to his.

Then the light faded, and so did the unnatural warmth.

"Hermione," Harry whispered weakly. "I love you."

She stared at him through dizzy vision. "I love you too, Harry."

And they both crumpled to the ground.

Neville and Ginny sprang up in alarm, both fearing the worst instantly. Luna's eyes widened even more than usual, and Tonks gasped. But Ron felt as if his entire breath had been sucked out of him. He went pale and started for the two still figures sprawled together on the ground. Lupin raised a hand and stopped him, bending towards them. He looked a little startled and worried.

"Oh, dear," he said thoughtfully, "I don't think this was supposed to happen."

…

…

TBC.

…