Engaged

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Chapter Five

Sacrifices she will never know.

WRONG

Night was restless. It was like a taunting hollow, endlessly black, reminding him of his triviality, his insignificance in comparison. It whispered, it breathed. It swiveled around and around, terrifyingly, dizzily. It made him believe he was alone. And he was. He was alone, battling life, battling himself. Battling loss. Battling love. Battling jealousy that burned, that stung with incredible fierceness. For once he knew what losing felt like. It was desolate. It was cold. It was bitter. Inevitable.

It was raining. The weather had been plagued by a cold disease, rain clouds hovering and covering up the sky, so that it was only a blockade of gray mass, misty yet impenetrable. The rain had not stopped for two days. Two days, two nights, of falling tears. Falling. Glistening as it hit the ground, dividing into a million particles, lost amongst the crowd. Same, unchanging, dark. Two days without sunshine. Two days without the blue sky. He had shriveled and curled up in two days. Just two days, he was already half gone. Half dying.

Then he saw her. Hermione was navigating towards him, her high heels tapping on the pavement with irrevocable echoes, brisk. He hid in the shadows, his black cloak offering him protection. He watched as she walked towards her apartment door, a goddess in the iniquity of the night. She was like the North Star in the sky, brilliant and glowing, soft and warm. She was so close to him, now. His hand reached out for her, longing to touch her hair, her cheek, her slender neck. He stepped closer.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, flinging her body towards his chest. Her scream was stifled as her face became buried in his cloak. She kicked and twisted for a moment, but she was put to an abrupt halt. Her body relaxed, almost as if she had just received an overdose of methane, and she stopped struggling. She knew it was him. She could recognize his scent anywhere. The bittersweet tang of peppermint, the smell of fresh laundry mixed together. Harry. Then she pushed him away forcefully, and glared at him with ferocity.

She was so right. There was no mistaking the emerald eyes, the midnight hair, the scar on his forehead. Harry Potter stared down at her, his eyes ablaze, arms still open, longing to surround her with his warmth. She surveyed him coldly, watching the droplets of rainwater fall from the strands of his hair, stuck together from the wetness. His robes were soaked and dripping. She found herself wondering how long he had stood in the rain waiting for her.

"Hermione-"

"Shut up."

She turned away, about to run into her apartment in hopes of escaping, but he was too fast. He hugged her waist and pulled her close, tight and secure. He buried his face into her brown curls, taking in a breath full of her strawberry scent. He was never going to let her go. She froze in his arms, and she could feel his breath upon her neck, fast and shallow, as if he couldn't breathe. She wanted to hug him back. But she couldn't. Her stubbornness wouldn't let her. She wrenched away from him.

"What do you want?"

I want you to love me like I love you.

"I want to see you." Harry said lamely, the pain visible on his face, his eyes.

Her expression softened. She could be harsh, rude, and cruel to him over the phone. But never when he looked at her that way. Never when he was sad, and wet, soaked to the bone. Not when he was shivering like a lost puppy. Not when he had stood in the rain waiting stupidly for her. He was a mess. His hair was damp and tousled, his eyes red, his glasses crooked. His flesh was pale, ivory in the moonlight. His lips looked bruised, purple. There was a gash on his cheek, but from what she didn't know. He stared at her helplessly, his heart in his throat.

"I came here to see you, Hermione." He said again, watching her face.

All of a sudden, she beamed.

Harry's throat constricted. His heart swelled, and his breathing stopped.

She walked towards him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He knew she was smiling, even as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear so that her hair covered his vision. He stood there, in a state of shock and worry, wondering she was doing.

"You're so foolish, Harry. Did you honestly think I was going to stay mad at you forever?"

It was seconds till he answered.

"I couldn't last the wait."

And he pulled her closer, his warm hands on her back, smiling too. He felt like he was complete, when he held her. He was whole. For a long moment, they both stood in the pouring rain, hugging each other, oblivious to the cars that drove past, honking at them for standing in the middle of the street. He wanted to stay there forever, listening to her soft sighs, feeling her warmth seep through him, knowing that his heart belonged to her, and only her. Forever and always.

"I love you so much, Hermione." Harry blurted.

He wished he could swallow his words. But it was too late. Time seemed to be suspended as he waited for her response, his cheeks turning crimson at what he had just confessed. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his ribcage, threatening to jump out. He was sure she could hear his heart hammering. He was positive that she could feel the vibrations from his thumping chest. The only thing he was aware of was how his heart was in rhythm with hers.

"I love you too, Harry."

Then she released him, and looked up at his blank face, her eyes dancing. She raised herself on tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his cheek. She took his cold hands in hers, and tugged at him.

"Come on. We'll go upstairs and dry you up. Darren's waiting.'

The name hit him like a ton of bricks. Darren. The mule. For a second, he felt like pulling away from her.

She didn't understand. She didn't know what he actually meant. He didn't just love her. He loved her with every fiber of his being. He was in love with her. It wasn't a friend-to-friend emotion. He loved her for being Hermione, the one who haunted his dreams, who occupied his mind every minute, every second. He wanted to be with her forever. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love to her. He just wanted...her.

He pulled away from her. She saw fleetingly the flash of pain in his eyes, so familiar. She looked up at him, her face wondering, her expression soft.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

No. I'll never be.

He wanted to turn on his heels and run away. But instead, he stood stock still, and nodded silently at her, his lips pressed into a grim line. She looked at him queerly, but did not question further. She stepped closer to the door, and inserted a silver key into the knob. Stealing a glance at Harry, she grabbed a handful of his wet robes, and pulled him towards the door. When the door swung open, it revealed a dusty elevator. Harry stood there dumbly, wondering if there were any rooms behind the old and cracking wooden box. Hermione dragged Harry into the lift, and gave him a small smile.

"Top floor, please."

It was like traveling with floo powder. The next second, Harry was face to face with two huge mahogany wooden doors, with two silver handles in the shape of a serpent. Harry noticed the snake instantly, and the green gem that was embedded into it, a substitution for the eye.

"He's Slytherin?" Harry asked in disbelief, staring at Hermione.

She only gave a light shrug.

That shrug hurt him more than any punch in the jaw.

All of a sudden, the door creaked open, and Harry watched, helpless and disgusted, as Darren grabbed Hermione and kissed her -right on the lips. They were frenching right in front of him. With all the sound effects, too. He could hear every slap of the tongue, the whirling of the saliva. He felt like vomiting. He couldn't believe he was watching this happen. The blood was pounding in his ears. Hermione had her eyes closed, looking as if she was in paradise.

Paradise can kiss my ass.

He pulled her arm back, so her lips were detached from Darren's, and coughed loudly. She looked startled, as if she couldn't remember what was happening, then turned scarlet. Her hands went to her red cheeks, then touched her red ears, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. She opened her swollen lips to speak, stuttering and tripping over her words.

"I'm...umm...Sorry, that was..."

"Just let me in, all right? I'll be gone in a second."

The mule looked at Harry, as if seeing him for the first time, and gave a slight frown. Glancing sideways at Hermione, he looked back at Harry again, then positively sneered. Right at Harry's face. It was all he could do not to deliver a fist to Darren's face.

"What are you doing here?" The mule spat, giving Harry a once-over.

"He's soaked, Darren. Let's just give him some time to dry up, so he won't catch a cold, okay?" Hermione answered for Harry, giving him a little push towards the entrance to their home.

Their home.

The term made Harry's stomach turn.

The mule sneered, and gave Harry a pitying look. Harry's fists balled at his sides, and he strained to keep his temper under control. He walked stiffly into the apartment, aware of the noises Darren was making behind his back. Hermione led him to the couch, and ordered him to sit down, then ran off into her bedroom to retrieve hot towels.

Harry was alone, with the mule.

It was Darren who started the war.

"I know you want her."

The statement surprised Harry, yet triggered his anger at the same time. He was momentarily unsure of what to do. He just sat there, shivering, not offering a response.

He heard the mule give a taunting laugh.

" 'I'm we-t, won't you let me go to your house, Hermione?' " The mule went on, doing a childish imitation of Harry complaining.

"What a pathetic excuse. I know you just want a chance to get it on with my fiancée."

The word was like a stab in the groin.

Fuck you, prick.

Harry sat in silence, feeling as if he was going to explode if he didn't find a way of release. Preferably, he would like to liberate his anger through beating Darren to pulp, but that would upset Hermione terribly. What a shame. It would be so pleasurable.

The mule walked towards Harry, and crouched down right in front of him, so their faces were level. His blue eyes pierced Harry's emerald orbs, his lips stretched in an acerbic smile.

"It's just too bad, Harry. But you're never going to get her. She's mine. I'm the one that gets to fuck her every night. Not you."

In his fury, he could feel tears stinging his eyes. Harry was surprised with his own reaction. But the mule's comments wounded him deeply. They stung, even if he did his best to concentrate on his anger. Darren didn't understand. Darren would never know how much Hermione meant to him. How he lived and breathed for her being. He was made to love her. He could never fall for anyone else.

"You'll never get to hear her naughty little moans."

Then control was a thing of the past.

Harry leaped at Darren, knocking him to the floor with a loud thud. They wrestled together on the floorboards, and Harry was only vaguely aware that he was punching Darren's face. His hands were getting slippery. Everything was a blur. All he could register in his mind was the taste of blood in his mouth, the slippery feel of his hands, the rotating ceiling. He was spinning away, he was in a whirlwind.

He felt himself calm down. His taunt muscles were relaxing, and his beet red face was draining, paling. His vision cleared, and he looked down at his hands, slimy with blood. Darren was lying beneath him, his bloody face contorted in anger. He shoved Harry off his chest, and gave him a swift kick in the chin. Harry's neck snapped back, but he made no sound. He pulled himself to his feet, swaggering, wiping his own mouth with the sleeve of his robes.

"Who's laughing now, big boy?" Harry asked triumphantly, expression smug.

"Nobody."

Harry turned his head, his smirk fading as he saw Hermione standing in the doorway.

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A/N: Sorry I deleted the other story; I really don't feel like continuing. I feel like I'm wasting my life writing this crap. There's nothing different about my writing. Millions of others do better. I might stop writing this fic, too. It's getting boring. I want to sleep and die or sumthing.