Engaged

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Chapter Six

The taste of vengeance is betrayal.

LIE

It was like murder. She took his heart from his ribcage, smiled, then tore it to pieces. Her eyes were loathing, constructed purely of hatred. He wondered what had been done to her kindness, her tolerance, her beautiful self. She continued tearing. Shreds and shreds and shreds. Until there was nothing left, but the shadow of his image. It was like murder for incorrect justice. He wasn't sure who had been the one that made the mistake. He wasn't sure if he stood on the right ground. Maybe he never truly possessed courage, or any of the supposed "virtues". Maybe all his abilities have been driven by anger. Furious, raging, anger, directed at the whole entire world. For everything he didn't have, and never will receive.

He cried out.

A sobbing figure, curled at the corner of his dark room. Shaking, shivering, cold, and drenched. He recognized the figure as himself. Himself since childhood. Always huddled in a dark corner, endless tears welling up in his eyes, soaking his shirt. Praying for someone to take him away, to care, to be there for him unconditionally. Praying for love. His prayers were in vain. Love never came. At some point in his life, he thought he could finally deal with it. He could live a foreign life, detached from everyone else. He thought it made him stronger than anyone, if he was by himself. If he lived a life that didn't need love. He was wrong. He still went home when his wall resolved, locked up in his closet.

He stopped praying.

Then, when he met her, he fell in love. It was like being able to live again. Being able to smile, to laugh, to run, to jump. It was like a whole new experience. Something he had never felt before. He was breathing again. The world seemed different. More beautiful, more enchanting, more mysterious. The people around him cheered for him, loved him for who he was. He gave them trust. But he presented himself to her whole, flawed, true and real. She accepted him for his mistakes, his imperfection. He thought that was love. He tried to tell her so many times. And when he finally mustered enough courage to tell her, he was too late. She had somebody else.

He was crushed all over again.

And it hurt the most, because he had given everything he had. There was nothing left of himself. His days went past in a blur. In the blink of an eye, he was an adult with a job. He was panicking. He went through women one after another, out of his anger and spite. He flicked them away like bugs when he got tired of them, and got himself another within a day. That was the way things went. He still waited for her. He still held on to hope, his dreams. He was patient for that day when she came back to him, for her to see that he had been there in front of her all along.

That day was never coming.

Hope evaporated.

Another empty glass smashed against the wall, shattering into sharp pieces. Harry threw the whole entire bottle of whiskey on the floor, smiling as he heard that satisfying explosion of glass. One after another. He flipped his table over, roaring in anger, his eyes swollen and red, his face beet. Turning another shelf over, he kicked at his furniture angrily, in the dark, smashing whatever was in his way. He threw a chair towards the window, glass shards flying all over the place. He shattered a mirror with his fists, took the broken frame off the wall, then flung it down at the floor. He fell to his knees, choking on his sobs, hardly able to breathe. He bellowed in anger, the veins on his neck popping with his screams, and the whole house seemed to shake. Every window shattered. He was losing control and restraint of his dark powers.

He stood up shakily, his black hair in his face. He tasted blood on his lips. Walking over to the phone, he stepped on the crushed glass, oblivious to the shards digging into his heels. He dialed the number, holding the receiver close to his ear.

He got the answering machine.

"Hello, this is Hermione Granger. I am currently unable to answer your call, so please leave a message at the beep."

Harry hated muggle phones. Darren adored them.

"Hermione," Harry panted into the phone. "I know you're there. Please pick up. I know I've already called. I just want to hear your voice." He paused uncertainly.

"I'm sorry for what I did to Darren. But if you'd just let me explain...I know what I did was unforgivable, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I can't be happy for you. I'm sorry if I've been such a...bad friend. What am I supposed to say? How can I express how...how...sorry I am? I made a mistake. I lost control of myself. What is done is done. I can't reverse the damage, Hermione! I'm so sorry. I want you to be happy, Hermione. I really do. Please believe me." He sucked in a shaky breath. "I haven't been completely honest with you. There's so much I need to tell you. I can't. Don't you understand? I want to be there for you. I can't. It's hard to explain. I don't want to tell you over the phone. But...Hermione, I-"

"Harry."

He stopped at the sound of her voice. His heart stopped beating.

"If you ring me again, I'm going to have to call upon the Order."

"I...Hermione..."

"Good bye, Harry."

He heard the dial tone buzzing in his ear.

He stood there unmoving, still holding the phone. Then without warning, he ripped the cord from the wall, and flung the telephone across the room. He smashed the receiver again and again against the wall, unaware that he was ruining his own hands in his destruction. Splinters stuck to his wrists, and a large slab of skin hung loosely from his hand. He had managed to get blood everywhere. He screamed, then heavily tossed the damaged phone to the living room, where it joined the skeletons of three other phones. He slumped to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall. He knocked the back of his skull painfully towards the wall again and again, fury blinding his conscience. And just when he thought his head could crack into two halves, he had a memory flashback.

He was in the their house again. He was kneeling over the mule, his fist clenched, his teeth bared. There was a steady pain from his gut, where the mule had successfully delivered a kick. Darren lay underneath him, breathing hard, his face bloody and bruised.

'Who's laughing now, big boy?'

'Nobody.'

Hermione was standing in front of Harry, wand in hand. Her eyes were red, and she looked as if she was on the verge of tears. He saw her lower lip quaver. She nervously bit her lip, still pointing her thin, black wand at Harry's scar. Perspiration was forming on her forehead, trickling down the side of her face. There was a tint of red in her cheeks, and her lips were pink and moist. All Harry wanted to do was to hold her in his arms and wipe away her tears. He wanted to be the one to tell her that everything was going to be okay. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes clouded with worry and fear. She whispered something incomprehensible, then raised her voice.

'Stupefy!'

Harry was instantly frozen. There was a burning sensation around his neck, and he found he couldn't blink. Couldn't so much as flicker his eyelid. He stopped breathing. His heart paused it's beating. It was like dying. He could feel his lungs close off, his blood circulation halt. Then he could no longer feel. There was a tingling numb, and then nothing at all. It was fascinating. It was like an arrow through the heart.

He watched as Hermione ran towards Darren, falling to her knees. Then, they were locked together in a tight embrace. She tenderly touched his bruised face, tucking his perfect blonde hair behind his ears. She traced a line along his angular jaw, and outlined his lip. It was worse than watching a horror movie.

"Did he hurt you?"

Darren smiled at her.

"It's all right. I'm fine."

"But I should get you to the hospital."

He laughed. "For this little thing? It's no big deal, honest."

She looked at him hesitantly. Then glanced sideways at Harry.

"Okay. If you say so. Come on, I'll clean your cuts."

They left the room.

His hearing was dwindling, along with his vision. Everything was becoming blurry all of a sudden; his world was blacking out. He could hear faint noises coming from the bathroom. The light had been switched on. There were soft murmurs, which later blended into a steady hum. Then there was no sound at all. Just an infinite silence.

Then Hermione appeared beside him. She was crying. He could not hear her weep. Her face was unrecognizable, but he could tell it was she. Teardrops splattered onto his immobile face, where his green eyes were still wide open. He could no longer see. He had no recognition of what happened after that. When he awoke, he found himself in his bedroom, on his own bed. He just lay there for an entire day, listening to the seconds tick by, watching his window turn orange, purple, then black. And when he finally pulled himself out of bed, he called her.

There was nothing but rejection.

He was tired of waiting.

Harry stood up. He lumbered into a bathroom, turning on the light with a snap of his thumb and middle finger. He stood in front of the sink, and tugged at the tap. He watched the water swivel and slide, rotating in the porcelain. He looked up. His reflection greeted him in the mirror. He could do nothing but stare. There was blood all over the left side of his cheek, and a gash was visible under his eye. He violently pulled the mirror from the bathroom tiles that made up the wall, and smashed it to pieces against his knee and thigh. He left the bathroom, stumbling toward the corridor, in search of another telephone.

The light was left on.

---

Auhurel entered the house. She had been thinking about him all week. Despite the fact that she had been anticipating the damage, it was still a shock to her. The place looked as if it had been bombed. Everything was in ruins, scattered across the floor. There was the distinctive stink of alcohol in the room, mixed with sweat. She looked at the broken windows, surveying the wreckage.

"Harry?" She called, her voice shaking.

There was no response.

"HARRY?!"

She stepped into the ex-living room. The place was dark. She could not find a light switch anywhere. Stepping over the remains of the broken furniture, she looked for suitable places to walk on. Her hair fell in her face as she bent over, trying to see in the darkness. Annoyed, she pulled a rubber band off her wrist, and quickly tied her blonde hair into a ponytail.

"HARRY!!"

Only the silence welcomed her.

Suddenly, she was afraid. Goosebumps appeared on her flawless skin, and she rubbed her arms, as if she was cold. She spied the kitchen around corner, and quickly hopped over. She put her hand on the counter, trying to regain her composure as nausea slapped her in the face, from the strong odor of the alcohol. Her hand came in contact with a wet fluid. She thought it was whiskey at first. But when she sniffed at her own fingers, realization swept through her. Blood. Her pulse accelerated instantly.

"Harry?" She whispered, her knees feeling weak.

She pulled her wand from the pocket of her coat, her hand trembling.

"Lumos!"

A spark set off at the end of her wand, and grew into a large glob of glowing light.Her vision focused, andshe could see clearly. There was a trail of blood on the floor, some splattered on the wall, in red, flashing dots. She saw the light from the corridor. No longer afraid, she quickly walked toward the bathroom, still on the look out for Harry. Just as she was about to enter the restroom, she saw a crumpled form near the foot of the stairs. She knew it was Harry instantly. She ran towards him, and cradled his head in her lap.

"Harry! Please wake up!"

He moved a little, as if considering her plea, but did not open his eyes. She looked at his tearstained face, the dried blood that crusted the side of his mouth, his left cheek. She saw the ruins of his mangled hand, the blood soaked front of his shirt. She shook his shoulder gently, pushing the hair out of his face, so that his lightening bolt scar was visible. She leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Wake up."

This time, he responded.

"Hermione?"

---

A/N: I hope that was satisfying. I can't write any more chapters after this. I guess I am not as rigid as I thought, considering that I have decided to post another chapter. I cant remember whom to thank. I'm surprised that people could actually be so devoted to fanfic. I thought this was something you do in your spare time.