One Last Breath

Dedicated to my lovely beta-reader, Erin, to the FLIPs thread :) and to you!!

One Last Breath

Love – never hold it back. It's what keeps you alive.

Hermione sat at one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of the fire, trying to read. She stared at the blur of text in front of her, tried to make sense from the page she was reading from, but couldn't. Finally she gave up, abandoned her book, and moved closer to the fire.

Hermione looked at her watch anxiously, her eyes darting from the fire to the portrait hole and back. Harry, together with Ron, had gone three hours ago for yet another Dark mission against Voldemort. She knew he was with the "old crowd," as Dumbledore had put it, which was supposed to be a consolation, but it wasn't. Somehow, the hollow feeling deep in her stomach wouldn't go away.

Nerves, Hermione thought, noticing her hands clench and unclench. Harry and Ron will be okay.

Hermione closed her eyes, a feeling of anxiety engulfing her. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make the feeling go away, even though the common room was warm enough already.

I hope.

* * * * *

The clock in the Gryffindor common room chimed. Hermione looked across the room and found the boy with the familiar untidy mass of jet-black hair; deep in talk with another boy, who had flame-colored hair glittering in the dark common room. They were sitting a few feet away from her, their heads bowed. The former looked up, saw her, and gave a weak smile.

Hermione walked over to Ron, and gave him a hug that lasted for quite a few minutes. They both pulled away, then Hermione went to Harry, a tentative expression in her eyes. "You be okay, Harry," she heard her own voice say gently. It was almost the same situation back in their first year, before Harry went in to stop Snape from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone, only to find out later that it was Quirrell, acting under Voldemort's instructions.

Harry looked at her, and nodded. He was twisting his hands, like he always did when he was nervous.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked mildly, looking up in his eyes with concern.

Harry stood, walked a few steps toward Hermione, and to her surprise, held her hand and squeezed it tight. "I have to tell you something before I go."

Hermione remained silent, an expectant look on her face. She gazed at him, her brown eyes mildly questioning, and then she saw it; an odd emotion, flickering behind those emerald spheres, shuttering from the very depths of his soul. 'What?' she wanted to ask, but bit back the words at the last moment, wanting Harry to continue.

Harry hesitated at first, held her gaze, and in one fluid motion, bent in and kissed her deeply. Hermione was frozen with shock, coherent thoughts swiftly passing her like grains of sand between her fingers, and she felt as if she was floating away, watching from a distance. She closed her eyes as Harry kissed her with all fervour, and unknowingly, as he kissed her, she felt as if Harry had put everything that he was – years of pent-up frustration, helplessness, devotion, and most of all, love...

Harry kissed her desperately, his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him. She clutched at Harry, her knees weakening, and somehow, she felt strangely peaceful, being in the familiar comfort that was him. Harry kissed her, with everything that he was, with as much desperation and urgency, as if it was his last...

Hermione was just getting used to the feel of Harry's lips on hers when he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she saw Harry, wearing a dazed expression, his clear green eyes shining with an unearthly light, a light that glowed from within. She blinked twice, and everything came fluttering back into place.

Harry swallowed hard, an inscrutable look on his face, waiting.

Hermione just stared back at him, confused emotions filling her head, and when she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came out.

Harry placed a finger on her lips, stopping her from anything she might say. "I'm in love with you, Hermione. I've always been." Hermione tried to speak, but Harry continued on. "I'm not expecting you to love me in return. I told you because I wanted you to know." Then, he drew his hand away.

Hermione bowed her head, hiding her face away from him. She watched him from under her lashes, tears clouding her view. It hurt her so much to know something as important as that, when all her years with him she had loved Harry as a friend, a best friend, a brother... or so she thought.

Seconds passed, and silence ensued between them, not quite awkward, but rather a comforting quietness. Finally, Harry cleared his throat, and smiled wanly. "I have to go."

Hermione glanced up, and found herself drawn to the attraction of Harry's verdant gaze. She saw his face, pale in the firelight, standing out darkly in the room. He was wearing an expression she had seen on him before; grim determination, just like what he used to wear whenever he was in pursuit of the Snitch. This was completely different though, a battle that fate chose for him to fight, that he was as ready as ever to face the Darkness beyond that threatened to rule the entire wizarding world. Her eyes traveled from Harry's untidy hair, his scar, his green eyes, and down to his chin, where a black stubble had grown, preserving every detail of him, until she couldn't take it anymore. She trusted herself not to speak; instead, she flung herself at Harry, wrapped her hands around him tightly, feeling the warmth emanating from him. That was all she needed to do, and she knew, deep down, he understood.

Hermione chose to stay where she was, watching Harry as he gave her a last fleeting look, then walked away, Ron close behind. She sank into the floor as she watched her boys climb out of the portrait hole.

The portrait swung back into position, and blocked them out of sight.

* * * * *

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning her back against the foot of the chair. The memory of the kiss came flooding back to her, leaving only a painful and bitter reality that she couldn't quite take at the moment.

She opened her eyes in a misty haze, and pulled her book to her, straining to read the words, anything to distract her from the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, but her mind kept straying to the memory of Harry's kiss three hours ago. What was he trying to do? Why did he decide to suddenly tell her how he felt at a time like this? What were his intentions? And moreover, why only now?

She never considered Harry more than a friend, any more than that was beyond her. She had always been there for Harry; cared for him, protected him from harm, things that she would normally do for a friend. All seven years she was with him she had devoted her time taking care of Harry as a friend, for the simple matter that she was contented being a friend for him.

You didn't notice? Ron's voice rang in her head, when, one time, Ron asked her if she had feelings for Harry. She laughed at Ron – the idea was absurd back then – she shook her head, saying there was none, then proceeded to ask Ron why on earth he was asking anyway. Ron never gave her an answer, just said, "You didn't notice?" and ever since then, she couldn't put it out of her mind.

No, Harry couldn't possibly have feelings for her. She had spent the last two years convincing herself that Harry was just a friend, and nothing more. Or is it just that, really?

You're scared, that's why you keep on denying the fact that there could have been you and Harry. You're too scared to acknowledge the underlying emotion you feel for him, beneath all the things you've done for him. You're afraid to take risks, afraid of getting hurt, and that's why you let chances slip by, until there's no more left. You just don't know a good thing when you have it, which is precisely the reason why you let him go just like that, without even knowing if there might be a chance, she thought bitterly, fighting back the tears that were brimming her eyes. And now that he decided to let you know, you just let him go, without even telling him what you feel, and soon he'll be gone, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

She bit her lip ponderingly, felt the tingly sensation and warmth that lingered from his kiss. She had never been kissed before, never in that way. And somehow – she couldn’t explain it – it was momentous in its own way, and it ignited something within her that she was too careful to conceal, too afraid to acknowledge, and everything became suddenly crystal clear.

"Hermione?" She wheeled around to find Ginny standing behind the couch, looking at her with a concerned look on her face. "Are you all right?"

Hermione tried to give her a reassuring smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry." She took a deep breath, trying to clear her thoughts, only her one resolve in mind. She turned to Ginny. "Listen, I'm going to follow Harry and Ron. You stay here. If Professor McGonagall comes, tell her that I'm with Harry and Ron." She was Head Girl, and she knew she was responsible for her housemates, but she couldn't let this chance slip by. It might be the only one she had left. "Don't follow me, and keep them inside." She grabbed for her wand and placed it in her pocket.

"But– " Ginny started, but Hermione silenced her.

"I have to go, Ginny. It's the only chance I have." Hermione gave her hand a squeeze. "I know you can do this on your own. I have my complete trust in you."

Ginny gave her a tentative smile, and nodded, although apprehensively. "Just be careful," she said softly, then added, "and take good care of Harry and Ron."

Hermione nodded. "I will." She stalked out and climbed out the portrait hole.

* * * * *

Never let a chance slip by... It might be the only one you have.

Hermione treaded the way down to only God knows where, slowly descending to what was once the stairs down the Great Hall, only broken remnants of what it was once. She had placed a Spell-Binding Charm on herself, a charm that would protect her from unseen spells. On her journey she had apparently encountered at least three Death Eaters, two of which tried to cast the Avada Kedavra curse on her behind her back, which fortunately bounded back from the protective charm and back to its originator.

Her heart was pounding – with fear or anticipation, she didn't know which, perhaps both – and when she looked up, she saw that the ceiling of the castle was gone, and now revealed the pitch black night sky. Devoid of stars, pale moonlight was her only source of light, casting an eerie silence and threatening to engulf the castle within, beckoning the Darkness yet to come.

She held out her wand, and muttered "Lumos," the feeble wandlight lighting up the passage she was in. She squinted – she thought she saw a faint shimmer of red flame-hair – as she walked closer, her heart leapt. It was Ron. She ran towards him, and saw that he had his back leaned upon the wall. He was bleeding - he had a deep gash across his cheeks, and his left leg appeared to be broken. She studied his face, and his eyes were closed. "Oh no," she mumbled, panic rising inside her. She groped for her wand, extinguished the wandlight, placed it on his temple, and muttered, "Ennervate."

Hermione waited, watching him, anticipating. Suddenly, Ron's eyes fluttered open – it took him a few seconds before he focused on her – and smiled weakly. "Hermione."

"Ron! Are you okay?" she asked, trying to steady Ron into a more comfortable position. "Where's Harry?"

"He – went ahead – to You-Know-Who," said Ron breathlessly, who was trying very hard to speak clearly. "Follow – him. He might be – in danger."  

Hermione looked ahead, and saw a faint glimmer of green light. Oh no. "Ron, stay here, and don't move. I'll come back as soon as I can." She stood, and ran as fast as she could towards the the direction of the Great Hall, hoping against hope that she wasn't too late.

She reached the Great Hall, or at least it used to be the Great Hall, it was now a complicated mess of rocks and boulders strewn from every direction. Wood and remnants of portraits littered the ground, and she almost tripped over. Balancing herself, she glanced up, and saw Voldemort and Harry in a duel. Both of them looked beaten enough; Voldemort was reeling on the floor with pain, and Harry was still standing on his feet, thank goodness, but he seemed wore out, there were deep gashes across his face, and his scar was standing out darkly in the pale moonlight. Blood was all over his shirt. He had his wand poised and pointed at Voldemort, the steely, determined glint of his green eyes showed his goal to finish him off; and then, he turned, saw Hermione, and smiled.

Her first instinct was to get to Harry, but something moved from the corner of her eye, she turned, and saw Voldemort, standing feebly, his wand pointed Harry. Hermione's eyes widened, and shouted, "HARRY! BEHIND YOU!" But it was too late; a flash of green light ensued from Voldemort's wand, and struck Harry squarely on the stomach. It wasn't long before a flash of green light also emerged from Harry's wand, and struck Voldemort. An unearthly scream blossomed forth, making the hairs of her back stand up; and then, there was silence.

Hermione ran over to Harry, tripping on the way, a protruding stone scraping her knee, but she ignored the pain, and continued over to Harry. She slumped beside him, holding his head with her hands, straining to make out even the tiniest vestige of life. "Harry, wake up," she whispered, tears streaming from her eyes. The cold wind sliced through her, and she shivered slightly. "Harry, it's me."

Harry's eyelids fluttered open, and gave her a weak smile. "Hermione."

"Shh. Don't move." Hermione hushed him, her left hand supporting Harry's head, her right hand holding his cheek. "There's something you should know."

Harry's breathing came in quick, short gasps, but Hermione wasted no time. "Harry, I love you. I always have. I just didn't tell you." She bent in, captured his mouth and kissed him deeply, putting everything she felt for him, letting him know how much she loved him and would always. She kissed him with intense passion, and he kissed him back, sharing the kiss, almost hungrily and desperately, as if it was the only thing that could keep him alive, because he knew it was the last...

She pulled away, and smiled. "I just thought you should know."

Harry smiled again, his hand making its way to her face. His vision was blurry, even with his glasses on, and Hermione was going out of focus. He breathed slowly, and felt very, very exhausted; his eyelids were becoming heavy, but he needed to tell her something more, perhaps for the last time. "I love you, Hermione." And with that, he closed her eyes.

Hermione froze, and saw Harry close his eyes. She felt his hand fall limp from from her cheek. "Harry?" she whispered, nudging him. "Harry, come on, I'll bring you up to the infirmary," she whispered again, her eyes frantically searching for a sign of life – breathing, anything just to know he was alive. "Harry? Come on, this isn't funny..." she trailed off. She was getting hysterical. Don't panic, she told herself, as she groped for Harry's wrist. She winced at the coldness of his skin, and checked for his pulse, but it was no use.

Hermione felt the steady stream of fresh tears flooding from her eyes, dropping onto Harry's face. She hugged him tightly, and then she cried, the sound echoing off the walls and heard from beyond.

* * * * *

Everybody deserves a second chance; even yourself.

Hermione walked slowly along the cobblestone path, settling her eyes on the view before her. Exotic flowers decorated the path, which seemed to be an endless sheet of gray extending on. The fields were green, a painful reminder of what she once loved to see, and so she looked away and settled herself to look up. The sky, a luminous grey lining the atmosphere with clouds threatening to pour down their contents on her, perhaps matched the state she was in – desperate, lonely, alone.

She walked off the path, the grass beneath her rustled as she did so. And so she walked, knowing exactly where she was going, as if it was yesterday, even though it had been long since she'd gone here.

Finally, she found what she was looking for.

It had been five months. Five months since she last saw him. Five months since he passed away. Five months wasted living in imposed self-torture.

Quietly, she knelt down in front of the headstone, an angel etched on top of the ivory, with the name HARRY JAMES POTTER engraved across the smooth ivory surface. She reached out, trembling, her fingers brushing against the smoothness and coldness of the stone, sending yet another painful memory of what would have been.

I love you, Hermione. His words rang through her head, the last words he had spoken to her. Before...

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking imperceptibly. "It took me a long time to realize that I love you too."

For the first time in the last five months she broke down, finally releasing every feeling, hurt, and pain that were kept inside her for a very, very long time.

And so she buried her face into her hands, weeping silently, for everything that happened, for a love that was lost, for a life that could never come back.

She stared down at her hands, and for a moment she thought she saw Harry's face, looking up at her, smiling. She blinked, and it was gone.

It was enough. A consolation she needed to know.

Harry had spent his one last breath with her, and this time she knew she took the chance. She didn't lose him after all. He was always alive – in her heart.