Engaged

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Chapter Eight

The past is an obstacle to the future.

MISTAKE

He had been the first customer to her bookshop. When he entered, she had been on all fours, knees bent, desperately wiping the dust-covered cupboard that was soon to be her personal storage. She had crawled into the little cube, to get better access, and her small frame caused no burden. Then Darren came in, soundlessly, through the open door, almost as if he was floating. Hermione figured he probably had spent quite an amount of time viewing her bottom before he finally chose to speak. She was still slightly embarrassed on the subject; it was no ordinary introduction.

"Miss?" He asked, as politely as he could, careful not to project his voice.

It still surprised her nonetheless.

She immediately responded to his voice, though it only resulted in slamming the back of her skull against the wooden boards. She winced, and shouted "Ouch!" simultaneously, and she heard a stifled chuckle behind her. Feeling defensive and indignant, she backed out of the cupboard, and straightened her back, drawing herself to her full height. Then she whirled around to face the intruder, prepared to launch into a full lecture about common courtesy.

She found herself staring at a polo shirt. Or rather, the chest of a man clad in a polo shirt. It irked her to know that she was shorter in height, and it further irritated her that he was standing so close. She felt the urge to shove him backwards, but she was aware that this man was her first customer. She stepped back, to get the full view of his face.

It took every fiber of her being not to swoon.

His tantalizing blue eyes bore directly into her brown pools. Hermione felt her knees go wobbly. He grinned, suddenly, two dimples appearing on his clean-shaven cheeks, and his eyes were sparkling with a boyish mischief. She thought she was going to melt. He ran a hand through his ash blonde hair, his gaze glancing briefly at the floor, then traveling back to meet Hermione's level stare.

He chuckled again.

Hermione snapped back to reality.

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't think it would do any harm to knock next time before entering," she said, primly.

He laughed out loud, tilting his head back a little, then promptly stopped.

"So sorry, miss. Does your head hurt?"

Hermione was momentarily confused.

"What?" she asked distractedly, wondering if the man had lost his mind.

"Your head. You bumped it against the cupboard a while ago."

She mentally cursed herself for being stupid.

"No. I mean yes. I mean no, I know what you meant, but yes, my head does hurt."

He looked genuinely concerned.

"Let me see."

And before Hermione knew what he was doing, he had cradled her head against his chest, and was running his large hands through her hair. He touched her bump gently. Hermione was stunned. Who was this man? And why does he have to be so damn attractive?

"Well, your head does have a little bump, but other than that, I'd say there are no permanent damages."

He released her, and she immediately wanted his hands back in her hair.

"I'm Darren Smith, by the way."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"No, you're not serious! I had no idea! You're the actual Darren Smith? The representative player for Sweden? I watched almost all of your Quidditch matches! I didn't know you were so good-looking in person-"

She cut herself off mid-sentence. Did she just say that out loud? Hermione could already feel her cheeks burning. The tips of her ears turned red, and she cupped her hands around her cheeks, wanting to disappear.

"I'm so surprised! The famous Hermione Granger, a fan of mine?"

Hold on a minute. How on earth did he know her name?

"You know who I am?"

"Of course I do. The only female member of the golden trio. Best friend of Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. I still remember the time your picture appeared on the Daily Prophet. I spent days staring at your profile."

Well, this man certainly wasted no time.

She felt a pang of hurt at the mention of Harry's name. She had announced the opening day of her bookshop a few weeks before, and Harry had promised he would make it to the party. But he had failed to arrive. He didn't show up. It had been an important day to her; and it made her angry to think that her best friend had missed it. Harry had gotten an emergency mission. It was "a must", as he liked to put it. He sent her flowers and cards to make it up to her, but she had never truly forgiven him for it.

After all, the old Harry would have never missed out.

"Are you all right?"

Darren's voice interrupted her thoughts, cutting in sharply.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You looked a little lost there."

Hermione managed to squeeze a smile.

"I was asking you if you wanted to join me for dinner. It would mean a lot to me if you'd say yes."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. She couldn't believe her luck. Standing right in front of her, wearing a polo shirt and a cheeky smile, was the man of her dreams. Well, not exactly the man of her dreams, but pretty darn close. And he was interested in her. That counted as something. And he seemed pretty sincere.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Hermione found herself asking.

Darren shrugged his broad shoulders.

"If you want me to be."

Who could resist him?

She spent the rest of the day with him. They chatted happily through dinner, and Darren had taken her to an ice cream pallor to grab an evening snack. They walked together down the street. Hermione couldn't remember when it had started, but they were holding hands, smiling at each other, oblivious to the chill of the night. It felt exactly like love. And it was.

They dated steadily for five months, while Harry was away, working. She called him as often as possible, updating on the events of her life, events between herself and Darren. Harry had not been happy when she told him that she was seeing someone new. He had never shown any interest in any of the men that she's dated, and was often critical. He had almost convinced Hermione that there was no one suitable for her in the world; until Darren came along. And she knew, from the first time she looked up to see his smile, that he could be the one. None of what Harry said could change her mind. So she said the words "I love you", and got engaged.

Everything was perfect.

She should have known it wasn't going to last forever.

Because she knew that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, she still had that soft spot for that someone all along.

She still thought of that man, even when she was wrapped in Darren's comforting arms.

The strong denial that had stood strong grounds in her heart had been diminished the day Harry came back from his mission in Ukraine. He had written to neither Ron nor Hermione to announce his return, so it turned out to be a complete surprise. She had been dating Darren for three months, and was head over heels in love - it seemed, until she saw Harry.

He was in her apartment when she came home, warming his hands by the fire. It seemed such a ridiculously old fashioned thing to do; but there he was, sitting, rubbing his hands together. It shocked her with such intensity that she simply stood by her door, dumbfounded, with her door wide open. She hadn't made any noise when she entered, but Harry had sensed her presence. He always seemed to know exactly when she entered a room. It always unnerved her, this special talent of his, yet it pleased her a great deal. He turned to her then, just his head, his skin glowing by the dim light of the fire.

He had changed. She had never noticed it before, but he had. It wasn't the accentuated line of his jaw, or how the color of his eyes had became a green that was so disturbingly enchanting, but there was this sadness about him that she had never noticed before. And he had every right to feel sad; of course he did. He had lost so many people that were close to his heart - but she had never actually seen him cry. He wasn't crying, but the melancholy aura about him could not be mistaken. He wasn't going to remain that naughty disobedient boy forever, she knew that for certain, but he had changed in a way that was foreign to her. For a split second, she had absolutely no idea who the man sitting by her fireplace was. Of course the thought was preposterous. But she still had it nevertheless.

He stared at her for a long moment. She stared right back, suddenly realizing how attractive her best friend was. The midnight hair, the curls that always fell in front of his eyes, his emerald orbs that were dancing and wicked. Then she almost cursed out loud for even having that sort of notion, but she couldn't help herself. Yes, there were certainly reasons to why he was so popular amongst the female population. He was the most elegantly handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. For a split second she was almost sorry she was with Darren. But it was only a second.

Then he whispered her name.

He said it in a way she never thought possible. She never heard Harry use that tone of voice with her. It was like some sort of purr, a wounded, deep, guttural sound. A plea of desperation. It sounded like he almost...well, almost wanted her. Badly. But of course that was impossible. Of course. But in that instant, she realized she wanted him too. And all of a sudden, she was very, very, afraid. She wanted to smile and envelope him in a friendly hug, as she had so many times before. She wanted to laugh and ask how his trip had been, to savor over every little detail he offered her. But she couldn't. All her attention was focused in that deep arousal he had caused in her. She stood until she thought the tension would snap her body in half. Then she fled. Ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn't hear Harry call after her, to inquire what had caused such a reaction. Perhaps he understood. Perhaps. She turned on her heel and left him there, still sitting by the fireplace, a hollow look on his face.

She spent the night with Darren.

When she woke the next morning, everything felt normal. She left Darren before he woke from his bed, with a simple note telling her that she had gone home. And when she made her way back to her flat, she discovered both Ron and Harry, quarreling over the last chocolate frog she had stored in her sweets cabinet. She interrupted them with an eruption of laughter. For no reason at all, the sight of them fighting over something as trivial as a chocolate frog was so frighteningly familiar, she just found it so...hilarious. And of course, they started laughing together, although Harry was blushing in that adorable way he does. Then everything was the way it had always been, Hermione chatting nonstop about Darren, whom Harry had never met.

He never mentioned the incident again.

She went along with it. She was fine with never having to have a discussion. She didn't want to deal with her newfound emotions. She had been so surprised; the only course of action she could think of taking was to ignore it. Pretend like it never happened. Besides, she was happy with Darren. So that was that. Neither Harry nor Hermione ever talked about that night. Perhaps Harry had felt it wasn't of much importance; after all, nothing outrageous had occurred. But it had shaken Hermione, because she was the one that held the conflicting emotions. So she busied herself with Darren. And when she was with him, she forgot about Harry completely.

Harry left for another mission two days after his return.

She didn't know whether she should be relieved or heartbroken.

So she was neither.

---

It felt like a lifetime of loving the one thing he could not have.

He knew it was only about a decade, how he'd fancied her for all those years. She never seemed to notice. She was the same, his best friend, mentor, and companion. She still scolded him bossily when he forgot to finish his assignments, gave him textbooks every year at Christmas. It was torture, the waiting. And yet, was he really waiting? What did he expect to happen? She wasn't about to turn into his lover over night. She wasn't about to start noticing him as anything but a friend.

He had lost his chance ten years ago.

And now she was getting married.

What could he possibly do? He couldn't make her fall in love with him within two weeks. How could he force her into loving him? The entire concept was wrong. She was in love with another man. Darren, the mule. Time to face the bloody truth. And even if it was going to hurt him, he still had some satisfaction knowing that she would be happy.

And that was all that really mattered.

He had always been the "watcher". Viewed her from a distance, making sure that nothing harmed her in any way. He came to think of himself as her guardian angel. And Hermione would need him there to protect her. Of course she never thanked him for any of his deeds, since the coming onslaught never actually occurred, but he knew she would be gratified. That was good enough for him.

He was damned to be this way.

Just watching from the shadows.

---

A/N: I said it was about time I finished something. I don't see how that ends my story.