Engaged

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Chapter Eleven

See the beauty within.

CONFESSION

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Ronald Weasley had seen Harry Potter emerge from numerous battles victorious, haggard, bleeding, and half-dying - but he imagined he was probably never going to grow accustomed to it.

And there they were once again; congregated around a sick bed at St. Mungo's, peering down at a disorientated Harry Potter who looked a little bruised and was in recovery from several vicious hexing charms.

The Weasley family had already visited, though Ron and Ginny remained. Being close friends as they were, they hadn't failed to notice the deadened look in Harry's eyes - and in all honesty it scared Ron more than anything.

“You're sure he's dead then?” Ron asked again, to fill the silence.

“Yes, Ron, I'm sure.” Harry croaked, and stared at his spread fingers, “I killed him.”

“Good riddance, wouldn't you say? That bloody spawn of Lucius -”

“RON! Could you be any more insensitive? Have some respect for the dead.” Ginny interrupted, glaring daggers at her brother.

“No.”

Both Ron and Ginny paused to stare at Harry.

“No, I don't think it's good riddance. In fact, I find Draco Malfoy commendable - at least he fought for what he believed in. He never lost courage, and he never lost hope; the whole time he stayed true to his values…”

“Merlin's Balls, mate! Listen to what you're saying! It's Draco Malfoy we're talking about here, arrogant wanker supreme, son of Death Eater Lucius -”

“BUT AT LEAST HE DIED WITH GLORY!” Harry suddenly shouted, “He'll be remembered in history as a hero for the dark side, a martyr to the Dark Arts. He's a better man than I am…”

“That's pushing it a bit too far, Harry,” Ginny said softly.

Harry whipped his head up. “You know what? You know what I've finally come to realize? I don't want to be an Auror anymore. There's no point. I'm…I'm tired of murdering people, I'm tired of the last-minute heads-up missions, the secrecy…I mean, the Dark Lord is already history. There are only his minions left to be vanquished. And I think I've done enough for the Wizarding Community, I really have - the Order can settle down the uprising on their own, there are so many other excellent Aurors out there -”

Ron's eyes boggled so much they nearly popped out of their sockets. Even Ginny looked genuinely surprised.

“I…I want to quit. Yes, I know I'm too young and there's a lot in store for the future - but maybe I can finally devote my time into some other interests…something positive…like working here, for example! Becoming a medi-wizard! Maybe I can even help out at Fred and George's shop…or even open my own store! In Diagon Alley -”

“Oh please, with your skills in Potions -?” Ron mocked, though his laugh was nervous.

“Harry,” Ginny, ever observant, cut off his tirade softly, “is this about Hermione?”

Harry averted his eyes. “No. I just - need a break. I've been neglecting all the things in my life…I don't even know who I am anymore. But I want to stop. I want to devote myself to other things…to things I care about. And that includes you both.”

Harry looked up at Ron and Ginny, and there was such sadness in his usually vibrant green eyes, such desolation, that neither of them could find any words of admonishment.

Ron's voiced cracked as he spoke, “Well, mate, you know I'm always behind you one hundred percent, no matter what kind of idiotic situations you get yourself into…”

Ginny could only nod.

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Hermione had been moping in her apartment for almost a week. Of course she hadn't forgotten her duties in her bookshop, however - because Merlin forbid she be anything but responsible for her own career, if not her life. Recently though, she'd been doing a lot of self-introspection, amongst her usual cleaning around the house, reading routines, and more wallowing in self-pity and self-hate. And she simply couldn't believe what a little shit - how she'd been behaving.

But most importantly she couldn't believe how she could have misjudged a person so badly. Hermione had always liked to believe she was attuned to her sensitive side, and was rarely wrong about a person's character. Darren Smith, despite his career as a Quidditch player, was not a brainless jock or a stupid man. He made for intelligent, stimulating conversation, was extremely entertaining to be with, worldly, plus he was handsome to boot. And she adored his Swedish accent. Perhaps she had been a little smitten and became blinded to everything else, even her close friends - okay, she had been a lot besotted. But she had been desperate, had fallen head-over-heels, and was in disbelief she had such a great catch.

Despite her transformations in maturation over the years, Hermione still never had much faith and confidence in herself. She knew she wasn't nearly as pretty as the next witch, and she had never been one for excitement and adventure - she had enough of mischief to last her a lifetime in her Hogwarts years with Harry and Ron, thank you very much. She was a right bore. And aside from her relatively healthy intellectuality, what was there to like about her? What was there to…love?

Perhaps that's why Hermione found comfort in her books. In the world of fiction she could escape from her feelings of self-worthlessness and knowing she'd never be good enough, not only as a lover or friend, but as a person. In literature she became what she wasn't in reality, and fulfilled all of her feelings of un-fulfillment. Simply reading of heroines fighting for their goals, their ideals, their love - was sufficient to satisfy her hunger. Because privately, Hermione thirsted for red hot passion, to be burned and consumed by it entirely. And doesn't every girl secretly wish to be swept off their feet by the man of her dreams?

She got her wish, in the end. She got burned. Except she forgot that it would hurt.

Oh God, and the way she'd treated Harry, her supposed best friend - and everyone else, for that matter -

“Hermione! Come quickly!”

Startled, Hermione slid from her seat and rapidly walked to the hearth at hearing Ginny's voice calling her name. It had been a long while since she had received any firecalls.

“What is it? Is it an emergency?”

“Hermione - it's Harry. He received a mission last night, and he went, the bloody hard-headed fool he is -”

Hermione felt her heart start to pound ferociously in her ribcage.

“Is it bad? Is he hurt? What happened -?” She pressed breathlessly, dizzy with worry.

“He's back. He's all right, a little burnt and bruised…he's at St. Mungo's right now, in the recovery ward. If you still have a sliver of compassion left in you, please pay him a visit,” Ginny said, and her face hazed wildly in the flames, “that's all I wanted to say. Bye.”

Hermione flew to grab her cloak.

Please let him be all right. I haven't even apologized.

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The corridors of St. Mungo's had never seemed so endless. Hermione pushed her way through the heavy wooden doors of Room 124 and abruptly stopped in her tracks. Harry was reclined on a hospital bed not far from where she stood frozen, and she had never seen him look so pale and wan. She was suddenly so angry at him for doing this to himself again, so angry at The Order - and so angry at herself. Things between them were in shambles. What if something had happened to him? She would have spent the rest of her life in painful regret. Hermione tip-toed to his side, not wanting to wake him, and conjured a chair to sit upon.

Harry's glasses lay on the counter of the bedside table, and he looked strangely vulnerable without them perched on the bridge of his nose. There were shadows under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't been able to use a shaving knife for a couple of days. His wild raven hair appeared more untamed than ever, fanned out in a mess on the sterile white pillow. Hermione felt herself exhale a soft breath. Blood pumped through her veins, warming her, and she felt her initial trepidation and anxiety subside. Gently, she placed her slim hand over Harry's.

She felt an awful lot like crying.

Unexpectedly, the hand underneath hers moved. Harry took hold of her hand in his and intertwined his fingers with her own. And Hermione found herself staring into the familiar depth of his viridian eyes, blinking lazily up at her face. He seemed so glad to see her, his expression open, contentment written on his face. His lips split in a side-grin sluggishly.

“Have you finally come to visit me?” Harry asked, voice rough, though the question didn't seem to warrant a reply. She nodded anyway.

“I hope…I hope you're doing okay. I mean obviously you're okay…I mean -” Hermione trailed off; “…Do you hurt anywhere?” she finished feebly.

Harry's grin grew wry. “I thought you'd never come after what happened. If this is what it takes to see you - then I should probably be getting myself into life-threatening situations every chance I get.”

“That's not funny.”

Harry said nothing. He just gazed at her for a long moment, with some foreign emotion in his eyes that Hermione couldn't read. She was physically right beside him, yet it brought her little consolation - she had never felt more distant.

In the past when Harry had been wounded or ill, whether from some dangerous battle or childish misdemeanor, she had often been in the same place beside his bed, watching over her best friend. Sitting here now, she was overcome by an intense feeling of déjà vu, only circumstances were…different. So many things had come between them lately. Hermione didn't have that many close friends. Though she still could not understand why Harry had acted the way he did - she could shamefully admit now, that she had acted in complete selfishness. She didn't even know if she deserved to be where she was now. But after hearing the news from Ginny, she hadn't bothered to think things through at all - before she knew it she had already apparated to St. Mungo's.

Hermione was distressed to find something wet pouring down her face. She wiped at her tears hastily, cheeks reddening, “Oh, what's this now, this is so embarrassing -”

“Don't cry.” Harry whispered, brushing his thumb over her cheek tenderly.

He let his hand fall back on the bed sheets. They sat in momentary silence.

“How…how did the mission go?” Hermione asked at last, voice watery.

There was a long pause before Harry spoke.

A glint of determination ignited in his eyes, and he sat up a little straighter. A sense of grand acceptance seemed to wash over him. His broad shoulders relaxed slightly, and his jaw slackened.

“I killed Draco Malfoy,” Harry said abruptly.

“Do you know what he said before he died?”

Hermione shook her head, but Harry wasn't looking at her.

“Before he died…he said to me, `At least I've lived my life without regrets.' And…And it was like a wake-up call, a hard slap to the face. It's hard to describe what I felt after hearing his last words…” Harry trailed off, but tightened his hold of her hand reflexively. “You know what, Herm? I've been keeping something from you. I was too much of a wimp to say anything before. Isn't it ironic? I'm supposed to be a courageous Gryffindor, savior of the Wizarding World - yet when it comes to you, I'm an utter coward.”

Hermione listened quietly, dumbfounded as to what Harry was implying. Harry turned his piercing eyes on her, but there was something soft in his gaze.

“You've always been the smart one, the bookworm. Yet you've remained completely oblivious to…to this all these years. Because, you see…the answers aren't always in the books. The way I've been behaving…it's not entirely without reason. You know I've never been good at controlling my temper. I hated seeing you with Darren. I hate even more that he hurt you. I hate seeing you…with any man, truthfully; I don't want to see you happy with some other guy,” Harry scratched the back of his neck; “I'm not explaining things very well, am I? I'm not any good at this…

“You see…what I'm trying to say is…I…I love you. Not as a mere friend. I love you in the romantic sense, as in I'm in love with you, as in I want to kiss you, hold you, make love to you,” his voice wavered slightly, “I know…I know you don't feel the same way. I know that maybe we're not even a possibility. But I just thought… I'd be honest for once and let you know what I feel. What I've been hiding. And I know it's not any excuse for the things I've done recently - but I hope you will be able to make some sense of it.”

Then he released her hand.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, “I'm not going to lie; it's been painful - you not knowing. Maybe I've just ruined our friendship. I'm…I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know why, but I just can't help it. I just can't seem to fall out of love with you. Merlin knows I've tried - hence my trail of past relationships - but it doesn't matter.”

Harry tore his eyes away. “I don't expect anything to happen. I don't want you to say anything in response. Just don't make me stop -”

Hermione stood from her seat violently, and the chair disappeared with an inaudible `pop'. Was she really hearing this? Was this really coming from Harry Potter, her best friend - in Merlin knows how many years? She was in so much shock; shaking so hard she could barely muster any strength in her legs to stand straight. It was mind-bogging. It was overwhelming.

It was too much.

“Stop -!”

Harry fell silent. He turned his face away.

“I…I'm having such a hard time believing - I need time to process this.” Hermione gasped, scrunching her brows, and scrambled hastily to the exit.

Harry didn't need to turn back to know that he would be seeing Hermione walk away from him for the hundredth time. He didn't think he could stand the sight of her back turning from him once again.

It would only bring him heartache.

“Don't make me stop loving you.” He whispered to the empty room.

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A/N: Hi Everyone! It's been four years since I've written anything. I've basically forgotten about this story; it wasn't until I got an email alerting me of being “favorited” that I checked back on it. I feel a lot older now that I've entered college, and my interests have drifted to…other things. I'm a little embarrassed to say that I didn't even finish reading the entire Harry Potter series, though I did hear the epilogue sucked. Lol. (Sorry Rowling fans) Looking back and re-reading what I've written - actually I couldn't stop laughing and cringing at the same time. God I was a depressed little dweeb. Not that I'm much smarter now. But I can't believe anyone actually LIKES it!

But I do remember what it was like looking forward to an update from a fanfic that I liked - there really are some talented writers out there. And how much I hated unfinished fics. I'm on break now, and after reading some encouraging reviews I decided I'm going to finish writing the story - just for the heck of it. But it's going to be irresponsible writing. (It might suck because I haven't written anything in absolutely ages.) And I'm too lazy to edit all of the bullshit in the chapters I wrote before (too many plot-holes, lacking descriptions, excessive BS, sudden entrances/exits…the list goes on). At least I recognized that my writing was awful then. I don't remember how I originally intended the story to finish. In the end, though, I hope it's… satisfactory? Only one (or two) more chapter(s) to go! Sorry about the long message.

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