Engaged

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Chapter Four

Forgive and forget.

BIASED

The doorbell rang. She flinched at the sound, but did not move to answer the door. The doorbell rang again. She stayed immobile on her seat, her back arched and frozen. Her neck was stiff. It rang for the third time. Deciding that she could not ignore the bell forever, she got up from her chair. Hermione strolled to the front door, anticipating yet dreading whoever waited outside. She opened the door slowly, and saw an impatient Ginny. Hermione found herself relaxing instantly, and released a breath she did not realize she had been holding.

"Hey," Hermione greeted, forcing a smile on her face.

"Hey," Ginny replied softly. "Are you going to let me come in or what?"

"Oh. Sorry."

Hermione hastily stepped back from the door, and Ginny gingerly stepped into the house. The flat was neat and orderly, as pristine as she had imagined it to be. There was a kitchen to her right, with a dining table, and the living room was positioned to her left. She guessed that the bedrooms were located down the hallway. She surveyed the new furniture with interest, touching the leather couch. She did not say anything, and offered no explanation for her visit. She hadn't called to say she would be there. But then again, Ginny had always been rather spontaneous. And surprising.

"Where's Darren?"

"Oh, he's practicing Quidditch."

"Huh." Ginny said, her eyes brows raised, and smirked.

"I'll go get coffee." Hermione said, and walked towards the kitchen. There was no door, and the counters that were displayed modernly, with cabinets above the sink, stuck on the walls.

When she came back with a silver tray, Ginny was seated on the couch, a gold-framed photograph in her hand. She looked up when Hermione set the tray on the glass table, studying the weary face of her friend. Hermione looked tired. There was a reason for her to be, though. She had been moving into Darren's apartment, and had insisted that she moved all her belongings by herself, even when her friends offered to help. Hermione was stubborn that way. She did not like to owe anyone anything. Favors were not her thing, though she was always generous in giving them.

"Remember the Spring Party?" Ginny asked suddenly, passing the photo to Hermione. She saw a smile creep from the corner of Hermione's mouth.

"Like yesterday," Hermione answered, not removing her gaze from the picture. "Ron had gotten himself a date that night. I don't remember her name." After a pause, added, "And Harry danced with every girl that attended."

"Including you."

"Yes," Hermione whispered, "Including me."

"Are you going to forgive him?"

Hermione didn't answer. She had known Ginny was going to get around to asking the question. Ron had visited only two days ago, inviting her out to have a drink. Ginny had gotten to the point a lot faster than he did. She stood up, and placed the photograph back onto the shelf, next to a picture of Darren and herself, with his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Is that the reason why you've come?"

She heard Ginny sigh audibly, from behind her back. Hermione turned around to face her. She felt furious. She couldn't exactly understand why. It could be her hormones, but she was no longer a teenager. She didn't feel like talking about it. About Harry. He was a thing of the past. She would never comprehend why he was never happy for her. He was supposed to be her best friend. She had wanted him to like Darren so much. But of course, he had to ruin everything. She wasn't about to forgive him just yet. And she certainly didn't need him to send someone to talk her into being friendly again. They stared at each other silently for a minute, neither moving, neither blinking. It was Ginny who spoke first this time.

"You haven't talked to him in three weeks," she said pointedly, her gaze steely.

"I know," she said, with some satisfaction. "I intend for it to last longer."

"Do you know what you're doing to him?"

Her voice had changed. She sounded angry. Demanding.

"I know that he needs more self-control."

"I don't know about self control, Hermione," Ginny replied, "You seemed to have lost yours that night at the party."

"But he started it first," Hermione complained, noticing how childishly weak her argument was.

"Perhaps you'll realize someday, the reason for his outburst," Ginny said, standing up, dusting her skirt.

"And then maybe you'll realize your own stupidity for not having seen it sooner."

Picking her purse off the couch, she strode briskly to the door.

"Pay him a visit sometime. He might just die if you don't."

And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving Hermione to the raging silence.

---

Harry called three days later. The conversation did not go smooth. She heard the phone ringing down in the living room, and had a foreboding feeling that it was going to be Harry Potter. For a second, she didn't want to pick up the receiver. She convinced herself that she was just acting paranoid again, and went to answer the phone. But she had been right. It was Harry. She was definitely going to trust her instinct next time.

There was silence when she brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" Hermione asked, not bothering to conceal the annoyance in her voice.

"Hermione."

His voice came out in a pleading whisper. She shivered, suddenly cold. He sounded desperate. He sounded dead. She cast a side-glance towards the living room, where she knew Darren was sitting, reading the newest edition of the Quidditch Monthly. Then she was angry with herself. Why should she care if Darren overheard her conversations with Harry? There wasn't anything going on between them. Why should she feel guilty? Why should she even bother to talk to him on the phone?

She held the receiver away from her ear for a moment, just staring into the end of her phone, where she could hear the faint sound of Harry's ragged breathing. She felt like hanging up on him. She imagined Harry sitting in his room, clinging onto the phone like his life depended on it, his eyes red and blood-shot. But that would never happen. He never cared that much about her. He didn't need her as a friend. She was just another in the crowd, no more important to him than anyone else. Perhaps he even favored Auhurel over her.

"Yes?" She replied coldly, her voice sharp.

She could almost feel him cringe.

"I.... I wanted...I wanted to apologize for what I did to Darren the other night."

"And?" She knew she was being harsh. It hadn't been that big of a deal. But she was bloody pissed at him. And she was going to hurt him as much as she wanted to.

"I'm so sorry."

His voice was so soft she almost couldn't hear him.

"Maybe I'll forgive you when I'm in a better mood."

"Hermione, please listen-"

"I'm afraid I don't feel listening right now."

"I...I need to tell you something-"

"Some other day, Harry. When we're both ninety years old, and about to die."

Then she hung up.

---

He was supposed to be mature. He was supposed to be calm. He was supposed to act like he didn't care. But it was too difficult to pretend. He had just lost his best friend. The love of his life, more accurately. And now, more then ever, he realized the significance of her presence. Her being, whether next to him or not. Her smiles, her hugs, her encouraging words, her never-ending loyalty. Her compassion, her acceptance, and her love. It was the reason for his existence. It was the support for him to go on living, despite the up and downs in his life. And though her love was only given as a friend, it had been enough for him.

Now it wasn't.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for. What he sought after. He wanted to be with her forever. That was all there was to it. Simple as that, period. All he ever wanted was for her to be close to him, just within his reach. It didn't matter if he couldn't speak to her. It didn't matter if she would never love him. It didn't matter if she only saw him as a friend, someone she confided in, shared dirty secrets. He had came to realize that it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted to explore her like a lover, know her like a lover would.

He was so tired of being the perfect companion.

So tired of just being a friend, and nothing more.

Harry sat on the wet grass of his backdoor garden, watching the rain pour from the sky. It fell in huge teardrops, blurring with his, and he could taste the salt on his lips. His raven hair was in clumps on his head, some falling in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. He was shivering slightly at the cold, but he refused to acknowledge its existence. If anyone had seen him, they would have thought he was out of his mind. The raindrops hit his face hard, pelting on his skin as the storm approached. In the rain, for the first time, with the cold wind blowing so hard he could hardly feel his hands or feet, he felt lonely. He told himself it was over. There was nothing left for him. He closed his dark green eyes, the grayish hue mirroring the skies.

Out of all the things he had in life, the only thing he ever truly desired was for her to be his. Now it was painfully clear that she wasn't. She wasn't ever going to be his. And no matter how much he wanted her to be, that was one fact that would not change. He had waited so long to have her. Ten years. Ten years that felt like a lifetime of longing for a prize that he simply wasn't going to get. She wasn't an object; he knew that. She was so much more. But that was the only way he could put it: he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he wondered how he could even stand gazing at her without crushing her with the forcefulness of his lips.

Then he remembered.

She was engaged.

She already belonged to another man. A Quidditch player, no less. Someone that could never meet up to Harry's standards. But what did it matter? She loved him. She didn't love Harry. Period.

Harry couldn't even remember when he started to have feelings for her. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He watched her in silence, not wanting to be an obstruction. He was happy when she was happy, heartbroken when she was heartbroken. It crushed him every single goddamn time she smiled at another one of the man she dated, scarred his mind with burning coals. He simply had to get away. He took to looking after his job, seeking after the Dark Lord, savagely killing off any wizard with the Dark Mark. He welcomed the pain; it took his mind off her for a moment.

Just a moment.

But it was still of odd comfort to him. He went out with women, tossed them around like trash when he got tired of them. They weren't much help. He tried to find as many brunettes as possible, people who looked like Hermione, yet no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't picture any of them as the actual person herself. He closed his eyes when he made love, wishing that the women that lay underneath him were someone else. They were nothing but fantasies.

She was nothing but a fantasy.

Everything he ever wanted.

It was silent for a long time. It was silent until Harry got up from the grass and went back into the house, having forgotten why he was sitting out in the rain in the first place. I don't love her, he told himself over and over again. I don't need her. I can be fine on my own. But even as he stepped into the house, he knew that he would always have that hollow in his heart, still waiting to be filled.

---

A/N: Short Chapter.