Engaged

Disclaimer: I do not own HP. Period.

Chapter One

Capture your dreams.

FORESEEN

"I'm getting married."

It was spoken with such casual ease, her tone breezy and nonchalant. As if it was just part of an ordinary conversation, with no importance in her statement. Spoken with no accent, no dramatic gestures, no hesitation. It came without announcement or warning, and shot out like a bullet. She sounded happy. And satisfied. And blissful. Perfect hit, right on target. Harry choked on his coffee.

"WHAT?" he thundered, pulling his vibrant gaze to meet her soft, hazel eyes.

They were having breakfast in a petite restaurant, somewhere along a tiny street situated in London. Ron had called for the three of them to meet up just yesterday, for a "special occasion" with a "special pronouncement". Of course, it wasn't at all what Harry was expecting. He had just returned from one of his secret missions, and hadn't even had time for a short nap. He was thoroughly exhausted. But friends always came first on his list, and one could only oblige when they call. He had decided that he could make a small sacrifice of his sleep, in order to have a quick chat. He did want to see them, anyway. Especially Hermione. Now, he wasn't so sure if he had made the right decision.

It was a Saturday. Outside, the sidewalks were crowded with roaming people, engaged in their lives, with people to visit, places to go. Their destination was their business, lost in a world of billions, a world of frivolity. Harry watched them walk past the glass window, wishing he could be one of them, whose goals were served on sliver platters. The sun was shining high above the clouds, its radiance reflected in the smiles on the faces, in the glint of the lime green leaves that wavered and danced in the wind. Strange how it had started out as a beautiful day, but was now so revoltingly ugly.

Harry was at a loss for words. What was there to say? What could he possibly tell her? His mind, previously engrossed with thoughts of a comfortable, feathery bed, had suddenly turned blank, along with his expression. He stared at her with shocked, mystified eyes, searching her face for any trace of sarcasm or humor. Though his heart was beating with ferocity, pleading it to be a mistake of his hearing, a cruel nightmare, he knew the finality of her voice, the sincerity of her stare. She was dead serious. And he was dead meat.

"You're joking, right?" He asked, his tone disbelieving.

"Relax, mate. She said she's getting married." Ron laughed lazily, effortlessly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. He patted Harry on the back with his large, heavy hands, and leaned forward to give him a smile. Harry wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

Relax my bloody arse.

"Did you know about this?" Harry demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Ron. The redhead raised two arms in the air, in defense, still chuckling.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you're so busy all the time. You've been missing out on too much of the stuff going around you, mate. You need to catch up on some recent events."

Harry looked down at the rim of his cup sourly. It was true. They haven't seen one another for over a month. He was always gone on business, and though Hermione and Ron frequently tried to contact him with owling service, he never found time to respond. It was indecent of him to treat his best pals so badly, and he hated himself for it. But it wasn't entirely his fault, either. Some things had to be done. Even if it meant distancing himself from his friends. But marriage! It was just overwhelming.

"I agree, Harry. But before we reveal any more of our secrets, tell us about your most recent trip. Beat any dementors?" Hermione asked, twirling her auburn hair in her fingers. The condition of her hair had considerably improved when she got it straightened in their seventh year, but now it hung in large, silky curls around her lovely face. The look suited her perfectly. Still, she never seemed to notice the turning heads when she walked down the streets, or the perverted men gawking. She hadn't changed much, besides her appearance. She was still somewhat a bookworm. Harry loved that about her. It was just so Hermione.

"There's nothing to say. I just stunned some guys, and beat the hell out of there. Just, you know, the usual routine," Harry responded, not wanting to provide the details. He couldn't think straight, anyway, given that he was still obviously distraught.

"'Just stunned some guys?'" Hermione laughed, "Harry, since when did you get so modest?"

Since you told me you were getting married, stupid wretch.

"Oh, don't mind him, Hermione. He's always like this nowadays." Ron interrupted, though not impolitely. "So, how's it going with Darren? Are your wedding plans being carried out?" Ron asked, secretly enjoying the display of emotions running across Harry's face.

Harry, on the other hand, was rather curious.

"Darren? Darren Smith? That Quidditch player? The blonde one with the blue eyes? The one you've been talking nonstop about last month? I thought you broke up with him. You're marrying him?"

That arrogant, brainless, retarded mule?

Hermione ignored the insult in Harry's tone, rolling her eyes. That was how Harry usually responded to every boyfriend she ever dated. They could never meet up to his standards. To be truthful, Hermione occasionally wondered why he was so picky and fastidious when it came to finding her a mate, but she never thought much about it, knowing he was only trying to be a protective friend. He was just too protective, sometimes. Ron laughed out loud, his eyes dancing and knowing, but revealing nothing.

"Harry, it's not as if you know him. You haven't even met the poor guy. He's a real charmer, though, I assure you. Suitable for Hermione, I must say. Not to mention he's wealthy, and good-looking. She'll be fine with him." Ron said, nudging Hermione's arm playfully. A blush stained her cheeks, and she couldn't stop smiling.

Harry suddenly felt sick.

How could anyone be so dense?

"Sure," Harry muttered, fingering his cup. He could already picture the bastard. With a smug, snarling smile, and tall, probably with broad shoulders. But still undeniably handsome. And charismatic. And polite. Hermione's type.

"You'll love him, Harry, I promise. He's a good man. There's so much to like about him. And you even share the same interest. You still play Quidditch, don't you?" Hermione pleaded, wincing at the disapproving look on his face. She peered at him from under her long, curly eyelashes, slightly afraid of his reaction. She did want Harry to like Darren. It was just an unsaid consent that she had to receive. Harry didn't look up from his steaming mug.

Oh, god. Just shut up.

"Do you love him?" Harry blurted.

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. From the surprised expression on Hermione's face, he wished he hadn't asked. Feeling ashamed, Harry gazed more intently on the mug, developing a sudden fascination with the simple imprints of its design. He couldn't see Ron's amused expression. He was busy preparing and bracing himself for her answer. He dreaded it. He had a sudden impulse to run out of the cafe before she opened her mouth to reply. And yet, he was begging for the answer he wanted to hear.

"Of course."

Her response was firm and genuine. Harry felt a painful stab in his chest. He looked down at his shirt, almost expecting to find a bleeding wound. He had the sudden impulse to scream, or knock the table over. He was suddenly nauseated, and his head throbbed painfully. The exhaustion from over working suddenly washed over him, and he found that he could barely sit straight. Love? She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

And that Him was not who it was supposed to be.

"Harry, you look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?" Hermione asked instantly, worried for her friend's health.

No. And I don't think I'll be able to sleep for the rest of my life.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just busy, I guess." Harry answered truthfully, rubbing his eyelids.

Ron sighed dramatically.

Insensitive git.

"I'm really worried about you, mate. You're just too caught up in your work. You're almost twenty-six years old. Don't you think it's about time you settled down? Made a commitment? Found your soul mate?"

Harry glared at Ron. Hermione laughed.

"No. I'm not interested. Plus, the ministry needs me. I have enough interaction with the female population, anyway."

Hermione coughed loudly, purposely making Harry uncomfortable. His "interaction" never lasted longer than a week. He was always switching girlfriends, going through women one after another. Of course, there was a reason to why he never bothered to "love". His relationships were more based on lust. He got every women he ever fancied, simply because of his charm and good looks. He knew that half of the reason was because of his fame. But his friends were different. They loved him for who he was, not his name, or his popularity. They never tried to get any publicity out of being friends with "The Savior of the World". They accepted him as Harry, not Harry Potter.

"Sure, it's always the same fuck-and-dump routine. You've never had a serious relationship, Harry. It's unhealthy."

And it's also none of your business.

Harry suddenly wanted to leave. He felt so out of place, sitting with his best friends. He held no interest in continuing the conversation. All he wanted was to go home. Lie on his bed. And maybe fucking cry his heart out. Wishing for a hot shower and a long, leisure nap, he debated on whether he should run off or not. He needed to vent off some of the anger. All his attention was focused on the fact that Hermione was getting married.

MARRIED. Forever.

He pictured Hermione standing at the alter, dressed in an elegantly stunning wedding dress, staring up at the man she was going to marry, her eyes shining, her face glowing with happiness. The priest would be finishing his words, and Hermione would jump into that man's arms, then enveloping each other in a long, torturous kiss. He saw her smile, her scent, her laughter. All devoted to one man. She was no longer his. He was never going to get to hold her. He was never going to get to kiss her. He was never going to be able to tell her that he loved her, with all his heart. Never.

"Look, I have to go."

Harry stood up suddenly, causing the table to slide back a few centimeters. He didn't bother to apologize. He didn't want to. He didn't feel like it. He was too confused, too distraught. How could she do that? How could she tell him straight to his face, without so much as batting an eyelash, that she loved another man? How could she not know? How could she break his heart? It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. He was losing everything around him. Being Harry Potter was the most disastrous thing that could ever happen to anyone. Harry was already looking out the panel window of the cafe. He slapped a few bills onto the table. Ron stood up hastily, too, stalling for time.

"What's the hurry? Is something wrong?"

Hermione's voice was only a buzz in the background. Harry didn't answer. Instead, he pushed open the glass door, and was strolling down the road, one lone figure in the distance.

A/N: Edit.