Engaged

Disclaimer

Chapter two

Treasure moments in life.

GOD FORBID

Harry could barely open his eyes. The sunlight seeped through the window, blinding his vision painfully. He wondered how the sun could be so bright when the temperature was so cold. It was simple the irony of a sunny day in the middle of winter. He raised an arm to block the sun, squinting a little. He wanted to go back to sleep, and continue dreaming about Hermione. The alarm clock was screaming at him to get up. Literally.

"Potter! Move your filthy ARSE! Don't you see the SUN shining outside your window? Can't you hear the birds chirping? Don't you taste the fresh air? GUESS WHAT THAT MEANS?? It's MORNING, you MORON. Remove your ARSE off your bed, and TAKE A BLOODY SHOWER, you FILTHY DISGUSTING - "

Slap.

Taking his large hand off the "off" switch on the clock, Harry swung his legs off the feathery bed, stretching his arms in the air. He groped for his glasses on his bedside table, and relaxed when his blurry vision focused. He made a mental note to switch the voice on the alarm clock. The screaming witch was really getting on his nerves. Standing up, Harry rubbed his abdomen slowly, running his hands over his smooth, packed muscles. He flexed a little, yawning, and made his way down the expensively decorated hall. Passing five guestrooms, he was making his way to the fridge, where he hoped to grab a morning snack.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of blue mountain coffee hit his nose in a wave. Someone was bent over the stove, spatula in hand, presumably making blueberry pancakes. Harry's favorite. Noticing the footsteps that had been echoing through the corridors, the woman looked up from the frying pan.

"Oh, hello Harry," Hermione started, looking up, "good - "

And then she screamed.

The reason for that, as careless as she had been, could only be the obvious. And the cause was a rather disturbing one. Harry had a habit of sleeping naked. And of course, that would mean he had a tendency to walk around naked in his house, when no one was present. Harry smiled broadly; entirely shameless, glad that Hermione was here, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast. It was just something only a girlfriend would do. What a glorious morning.

Hermione turned away, blushing furiously, turning into a deep crimson. She did her best to calm her beating heart, and the churning in her stomach. She silently wondered why her best friend would have this effect on her. But she hadn't expected his member to be so BIG. It was just disturbingly huge. She mentally slapped herself for even daring to be thinking about that, and tried to regain her composure. Harry, on the other hand, couldn't help but smile to himself, almost glad he was able to show off his nicely built and tanned figure. Grabbing the tablecloth, Harry hastily tied it around his waist, to save the awkward moment.

Hermione refused to look at him. In fact, she refused to even turn to his general direction. Which included the stove. She refused to even look at the frying pan. It was slowly sliding from the stove, threatening to drop off dangerously. Hermione, who was still slightly distressed, was completely unaware of this. She turned around, and knocked the handle of the pan with her elbow. With her un-flexibility, there was no way she could save the pancakes. Those poor little squishy pies.

Fortunately, Harry was one step ahead.

With his fast reaction, he had already caught the frying pan, and had unconsciously wrapped his other arm around Hermione, though that had been a useless and unnecessary move. Placing the pan back on the stove, he slipped his hand from her waist, grinning sheepishly.

"Careful, darling. Wouldn't want you to burn yourself."

Hermione, who had made the mistake of looking up at Harry's face, made a strangled coughing noise, and turned redder than before, if it was even possible. She then made the mistake of looking down, since her gaze only landed vaguely on the area of the bulge between Harry's legs. She pulled herself away from his proximity, taking the pan with her, and slid two nearly burnt pieces of pancakes onto Harry's plate. Setting the pan aside, she sat down on the seat opposite of Harry's, indicating for him to sit down. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"Eat up. And don't blame me if it's slightly burnt."

Her voice still came out unnaturally high, to her own ears, and she looked irritated at herself. Harry came and sat down across from her, still grinning broadly. She looked even more annoyed. Grabbing his fork like a two-year-old, Harry stabbed the silverware into the pancake, and stuffed a huge bite into his mouth. Attempting to cheer Hermione up by acting silly, he made gurgling noises and tried speaking with his mouth full.

"Mmmmmmm, pon keek shhh guuuuuuuud."

His attempt was successful. Hermione burst into a helpless heap of giggles. Harry only watched, admiring the blunt beauty before him, noticing how her auburn hair was reddish gold in the sun. Her laughter trailed away at his intense stare, but she smiled at him, to show that she was no longer annoyed at him. He broke into another grin, and leaned forward, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. The tips of her ears turned slightly red, though her face remained straight, her expression hard to distinguish.

She was always in control of herself. Always. So why was she feeling so dizzy now? Why wasn't she behaving normal?

"How's the pancake? I couldn't be sure if you liked it or not, since you were speaking gibberish."

"It's perfect."

Like you, Hermione.

"Thank you."

"So," Harry said, leaning back in his chair, displaying his muscular chest pleasurably, "What brings you over, my dearest Hermione?"

"Just checking up on you. And your diet. If I didn't come over, you would have probably ate that nasty little jar of pickles in your fridge." She said, "And, while we're on the subject, you really do need to fill your fridge, Harry. It's practically empty."

"Except for that jar of pickles." Harry added.

"Which you would never eat, anyway." She pointed out.

"But I look fine, don't I?"

Puffing out his chest, Harry flexed both his arms, so his muscles bulged. She laughed at his exaggerated movements, suddenly remembering all the reasons she loved Harry. He smiled stupidly at her, and felt like kissing her right then. But he managed to resist. A little. He leaned forward and planted a friendly peck on her face, which caught her by complete surprise. Her rosy cheeks seemed to be glowing. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. It's such a shame she could never be his.

"I've missed you," Harry said gently, stroking her cheek.

She took his palm off her cheek, and kissed the back of his hand.

"I've missed you too."

"Ron told me all about what I missed out on. He was trying very hard to make me jealous," Harry added with a bitter laugh, "I heard your bookshop is coming along very well. I'm glad to hear that, Hermione. I wish I could have been here to help."

"So do I."

There was an awkward silence. He could see her expression changing, doubts and questions flashing across her mind. He knew only too well what she was thinking. Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. She spoke for the second time, trusting her voice. Harry instinctively knew what she was going to ask. Sure enough, the subject came.

"Harry," she began, hesitantly, "Where have you been?" She paused, scratching her forehead, "I know it's a stupid question, but can't you be more specific about your work? We're best friends. There shouldn't be any secrets between us. I feel like you're always running from telling the truth. Running from me. Running from Ron. Why is it that you never bother to call or even write? You're always so evasive."

Her voice came out more serious than she had wanted.

Harry was silent for a second. His green eyes darkened, and his expression became unreadable, hiding. How could he explain it to her? It was so complex. So much more than just wand swishing and charms. Hermione wouldn't be able to understand. He would confess the truth one day. Just not now.

"I'm busy, Hermione. You know that I work for the ministry. It's all very complicated."

"It's always work. You're always busy. And you're never there."

"It's cause I've been hiding from you, Hermione, you nasty little witch. I didn't want to catch your cooties." Harry teased, trying to ease up the topic.

"I'm serious, Harry."

Harry sighed audibly, and leaned back in his chair. Hermione reddened again, but concealed her embarrassment with a few coughs. She could see that he didn't want to talk about it. It could always wait till later. No big deal. If he didn't want to talk about it now, she'd have a proper chat with him some other day. Plus, she couldn't concentrate anyway, with him looking like that. Changing the subject, she steered the conversation onto a lighter note.

"Fine. Don't tell me. By the way, Harry, why did you have to leave so early that day? I was worried, you know. That I might have scared you off. With my cooties."

"You're always worried," Harry laughed, shaking his head, "I was just tired, that's all. And I really needed a good shower."

Alie. Not exactly a good one. But Hermione wouldn't be able to tell.

He paused for a moment.

"You know, you really surprised me by your announcement. I mean, marriage. Wow. Are you sure you want to marry that arse- that man? I mean, are you sure you're ready?"

"I just thought it was time. I'm already twenty-five, Harry. And I really love Darren. I just thought he could be the One, you know. And if I don't get settled now, I never will."

The ONE? That's me, Hermione.

"But Hermione, there are millions of people single at the age of twenty-five. Take me, for example. I'm still single."

"But you're a guy. Women have to get married earlier."

"Sexist."

"Hey. It's common belief."

They fell silent again. Harry watched Hermione slowly sip her coffee, licking her lips when she put the mug down. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Those perfect, cherry red lips. Kissed by the stupid quidditch mule, before Harry had a chance to claim it as his. Images of Hermione together with another man flooded Harry's thoughts, and he suddenly felt extremely sad, yet extremely guilty.

"Hermione," he began tentatively, "wouldn't your boyfriend-, I mean, fianc?be suspicious if you came over? Won't he get jealous?"

"Oh, no. Why would you think that?" she gave him an odd glance over the brim of the cup. "He knows we're just friends."

The statement stung him. He nodded quietly, with a smile still pasted on his face.

"Best friends," Hermione corrected herself, laughing airily.

"I see."

Chomping down on the rest of his pancake, it was a matter of seconds before he finished his breakfast. It tasted rather bitter in his mouth, and had too much sugar, but he ate every crumb, just to please Hermione. She smiled at him, loving him for eating her food, which was never exactly edible. Darren always complained when she tried to cook for him. He was just tactless. And brutally frank, all the time. But somehow, even if his insults did sometimes hurt her feelings, it was mostly true. And it really didn't matter so much. She loved him for his virtues, and his faults, all the same.

Standing, Hermione went to the bronze coffee machine, pushing the top filter open. She dumped coffee beans into the sac, and added hot water. Automatically and magically, the coffee machine started working. She held the container up in the air.

"Coffee?" she asked, turning her head around to look at Harry.

"Black. No sugar."

She carried the glass pot over to his seat, and poured it straight into his mug. She watched the steam rise up in fascination, suddenly relaxing. Harry was looking up at her, noticing that she had put on a bit of makeup, which she usually didn't, unless there was a special occasion. His spirits lifted dramatically. Had she done it for his sake? But she was only wearing a white sweater with a pair of dark blue jeans. Nothing fancy.

Better double check.

"Herms," he began, sipping at his coffee, "I like your sweater."

Hermione beamed.

"Thanks. It was a gift from Darren," she replied, smiling. "I'm meeting him in about half an hour at the airport."

He almost spat out his coffee.

DAMN. Bloody mule.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He was supposed to be Hermione's friend. He was supposed to be ecstatic about the news of her marriage. He was supposed to be supportive. It didn't matter how much he wished. Or how hard he tried. He simply couldn't feign the cheerfulness. He hated himself for being so petty. And so bloody jealous.

"Well, I'd better get to work now. I need an early start."

Work? What work?

Hermione looked taken aback and hurt by his sudden declaration, but she kept her mouth sealed. Harry stood up, pushing his chair back, saying nothing. He felt horrible for being so incredibly rude, but he simply couldn't look at her without feeling depressed. And angry. And sad. And a number of emotions he couldn't name, couldn't identify, wouldn't dare let escape. Hermione tried not to stare at his exposed chest, though she found herself admiring the lines that carved out his sculpted muscles. Feeling stupid, she picked her purse off the counter, deciding that she had to leave before she lost her nerve.

"I won't bother you anymore. Guess I'll be going, then."

Harry felt defeated, and a headache was starting again. Why did her departure have to be so abrupt, so unscheduled? You told her to scram, he reminded himself. There had to be some sort of mistake. He accompanied her to the front door, walking behind her so they wouldn't have to talk. The thought of her meeting up with Darren was giving him another heartache. He was getting heartaches a lot, recently. But he still had to show some curtsey. Pushing the front door open, he held the door open for her while she stepped out, squinting a little at the blazing sun.

"It was nice; visiting. I'll drop by another time. Good bye, Harry." Hermione said, putting a hand on her forehead to shed her eyes from the sun.

"Bye."

And that was it.

Harry watched her walk to the front gate and close it behind her, until her shadow was only a spot in the distance. Closing the door, he leaned back on the mahogany wood, sliding slowly onto the floor. Shutting his eyes tightly, a bitter laugh escaped from his throat. And then the house was silent again, empty and alone.

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A/N: What considerable amount of bullshit.