FOUR

The shattered pieces on the floor remained idle. She could still hear her mother's voice reverberate through the battered speakers. Her breathing escalated, her head throbbing beneath her skin. She knelt on the shattered pieces and held the phone by her ear, fumbling with it amidst her sweaty palms. Her heart pounded wildly against her chest, and the lacerations were deep within her veins, forming a clot of despair that will stay for eternity. Not even a single breath was heard from the other line, merely silence. Pure silence. She felt a cloud of confusion shroud her thoughts, disabling her from thinking properly. The atmosphere darkened, the sun refused to shine brightly against her windowsill, her world trapped in darkness as time refused to pass in a normal fashion.

"M-mother?" her frail voice trembled. A mere racked sob on the other line echoed against the walls of her ears.

"Something happened to your father, dear." Her mother's broken voice went into sobs of lost hope and faith. Hermione listened intently as her mother's sharp intakes of breath reverberated, yet amidst her trials to gain composure, the traitor tears refused to stay intact. She tried to breathe slowly, making her blood circulate smoothly so that her head would stop swirling pointlessly.

Slowly now, one breath after another.

"I found him in his room." Her mother continued, her voice pregnant with terror and restlessness.

One breath after another...

"There was blood everywhere and—"

Slowly…inhale…exhale…

"He was murdered."

No.

She felt a laceration form by her chest as her lips started to quiver violently. She tried to calm herself, but a series of hysterical sobs escaped her lips in a raucous manner. She found herself kneeling onto the creaking flooring, her knees bucked from the sudden twist of events. Her lungs ached in agony, and her throat started to run dry.

"I…" The phone fell onto the ground. Broken. Beyond Repair. She felt her hands bleed between broken shards of glass, the same hands she ran over her face. Tears of dried blood. She was broken. Beyond Repair, just like everything around her. No more. No bloody more, please! The eerie scream that emanated from her lips sent a cold chill to run past her.

Father.

She then felt warmth, and found comfort in a pair of loving arms willingly wrapped around her. Ron brought her into his large arms, rocking her back and forth as a few more tears leaked from her cinnamon eyes, trailing little paths all over his dark green sweater. That small inkling of hope rose, and she wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes in bliss. She imagined his pale arms brush against the arch of her back and through her waist, her body so close to his that the murky scent of his cologne tantalized her every being. Sooner or later she would retreat into finding, to her disappointment, blue eyes looking back at her. The green would not be there. The jet black hair would be scarlet. The pale hands would be freckled. The fantasy would turn into disappointment.

"Hush, Hermione."

"Let go, Ron. Please. It just makes me cry more." Her eyes stung of boiling melancholy tears of sadness. Her plead was left unanswered by Ron, who continued to hold her and pull her close to him.

"Cry it out."

"I've run out of tears to cry." His tightened grip made her emit a sob that scarred her throat. She clutched onto his shirt tightly, holding onto her dear life that seemed to be slipping away. She was crumbling.

She was broken.

"I want him here now, Ron. I need him here." She was whispering fiercely into his ears, and even as Ron released of her, she remained linked to him, her face buried on his shoulder. "I need him, Ronald. I want him here with me. " She started to sob with tears that refused to fall. None came. Her voice was dry and croaky, and she wished for the pain to recede. No more. No bloody more. The pain was extreme. She felt her chest tighten, and her breathing paced. It was excruciating. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to vanish. Leave me alone.

Let me live my life in peace.

"Lets talk, Hermione."

"I don't want to."

"But we have to."

"I want Harry."

"Hermione, now's not the time."

"I need him now."

"You have me. Me, Hermione. Talk to me!"

"Father's dead." The bare whisper pierced his ears as he stood still, his hands shaking as if imitating a reverberating echo. They were clutched into two murderous fistfuls. Hermione heard his breathing quicken. No, Harry. Impossible.

"No." and he felt her clutch tighter onto him, and he understood that it was a comforting act. He felt his own eyes brim with tears. No. No. No. The whole tension in the atmosphere basked in the already penetrating silence that hung loosely above the pair.

They both searched their heads for anything they had done to deserve this, yet nothing ever came up.

She clutched onto him tighter.

Absolutely nothing.

……

He grunted in irritation.

People were staring at him as he walked home. Then again, no one can blame them.

His trousers were ripped, and he walked barefooted on the sharp asphalt. His shirt was ruffled, and obscured beneath it were multitudes of dots—dried blood. His coat was muddy and damp and dingy. He was acutely pale, and his breathing was heavy. His glasses were askew and there were bits of glass and leaves in his unruly hair. He pulled his coat tighter around him, trying to conceal what's left of his already suspicious appearance. His only aim was to cover the dried blood and pull the hat further down his head. He felt weak, and the sun's scorching heat over his body was only contributing to his dizziness, contributing as the reminder of who he was—

What he was.

After an eternity of heaving, one foot after another on the hot concrete sidewalk, he finally found himself standing in front of an old apartment with the hinges on the front door rusting, missing bricks and vines curling up the frame of the ebony door. The garbage was piled up at the side of the stairs leading to the entrance, and the heavy waves of 60's music reverberated outside, leaving him annoyed to no end. Yet there he was, climbing slowly, his long, pale fingers wrapping around the rusty doorknob. He pushed hard, the door the door warping so loud that it was hard to proceed unnoticed.

He brushed his feet over the 'Welcome' doormat sitting by the entrance. Its old age was visible, and Harry clearly remembered it's existence way before he and Ron moved in. The only visible letters were 'elome', and in a fashion known to the two for so long, all the visitors who passed through the door never failed to declare that the 'W' and the 'C' were missing. After Harry had brushed all the dirt from his feet, bits of rock laying idly beneath it's exterior, it was then that he noticed that the letter 'o' was missing a few bits, thus making it look like a 'u'.

Elume. Great.

With an irritable sigh, he continued on. The stairs were creaking, and Harry managed to maneuver around them. He had gotten too used to this after one too many nights of sneaking in. He subconsciously ran his hands along the banister, splintering his thumb in the process. The aged apartment has been there since World War II, and it was a miracle that it continues to remain intact and sturdy amidst the modern times.

It was then, underneath the crackling ceiling, did his actions haunt him.

Murderer.

MURDERER!

"im not a murderer." His moaned under his teeth, his feet stomping louder onto the creaking wood.

Murderer!

You killed me, Harry Potter!

"Stop it. Stop it!"

Mark my words Harry Potter.

His head ached in such scorching pain. He held onto the banister tightly, yet the pain refused to recede.

I will make your life a living hell!

Hastened steps, he took. More, quick and desperate. Get out of my head! He pleaded. He now stood outside the door, clutching the doorknob in desperation. The door flew open, and he stood by the doorframe panting. No more pain. No more pain!

After a few more heavy steps, Harry finally made his way through the dusty corridor and clasped his long, pale fingers around the rusty golden doorknob, after shaking it hard and pressing his weight against the old wooden door, it opened violently, his power incapable of being restrained. His display of force brought the door down, and to his demise, he had seen Hermione, the woman he had loved for so long trapped in a tight embrace with his best friend.

His heart would've hurt…

If it were only beating, that is.

In an instant, the bright emerald green twinkled in an ominous manner. They turned cold and lifeless, the rage rising from the pit of his stomach. He felt his knuckles close by his sides, his pals bleeding as his nails ran deep into his skin. Enraged as he was, they continued on like a lifeless picture. Images of years living in the dark, years of watching his beloved only through broken windows and moth-eaten curtains, years of denial and self-anger. And here he was, marveling on how it took him only seconds-- seconds to realize that with every minuscule thing he had done was for his beloved, that of course she would've picked his best friend over him. Seconds to realize that he would never see her again, to realize that she would hate him forever after he had just murdered her father.

It only took seconds.

"Sorry. Im interrupting."

His voice trembled violently, the blood dripping from his palms and vanishing into non-being as it reached the floor. The rage grew and grew, and he felt the couple stare at him in panic. Another hissing sound escaped his lips in anger and echoed throughout the living room.

He smelled fear.

Their tight embrace disappeared immediately, and for a moment he really thought that he would leap on Ron and beat him to a pulp. There was a battle raging within, and now it looked like he was about to lose. Hermione's gasp was the last he heard before storming through the creaking door, hearing Hermione's frantic cries and pleas as his cloak dithered behind him. He paced to the fire escape and jumped down in haste. He wanted to get away, to erase the image that started to haunt him. He heard small footsteps chase after him, her voice shaken as she called out his name.

Images

They still wouldn't leave his head, he ran hastily, feeling his injured ribs send waves of pain throughout his body. He was breathing so heavily that his lungs felt like bursting. Everything just hurt. The air was unfriendly, sending chills down his spine. He felt cold.

Oh so cold.

"Harry! Wait, please!"

The haunting voice resounded in his ears.

I will make you pay, Harry Potter. I will make you pay!

The stairs seemed to squeak louder now, making him grunt in irritation. Each step brought the image of Ron and Hermione, and it lingered in his mind, camouflaged by the rage and the emanating anger that he felt at that very moment. He turned onto the crevice, leading him onto a dark musky alleyway that smelled strongly of rusted iron and gasoline. He rested his hands on his knees and panted heavily. Feeling bile rise up from his throat, he groaned as a sharp pain originated from his right. He had forgotten that he was bleeding, but blood was not a necessity anymore. Vampires are condemned to immortality. They are no longer familiar with emotion.

"Harry!"

Harry felt himself lose another fragile piece of himself eternally to her angelic voice. He saw the alley retreat onto a field of trees, and he chose to run. Hermione followed after him, running so fast that she felt her muscles burn. They were only a few feet away and she stretched her arms. Only a few more inches.

"Will you listen to me? Harry, stop!" The frustration was now evident in her voice. Grasping the hem of his sleeve tightly, she pushed further, so that her hand clasped around his arm. It took every ounce of his power to avoid her heart-wrenching stare and jerk his arm away. "Stop." She was panting, her hands by her chest before he saw crystalline tears fall to the green grass. Harry looked away immediately, feeling tears of his own burning his eyes. How could he stand to look at the person who was just inflicted with such great pain all because of him? He felt shame build up by the pit of his stomach. Her nails dug deep into his arm, grasping it tight as she stepped closer to him.

"Stop running away from fear, Harry. It's not who you are."

"You don't know me." He tried to jerk his arm away, but she held onto it tighter. "Go away." That small, unintended growl that escaped his lips made Hermione's grip loosen against his sleeve. She looked unperturbed, yet her eyes portrayed fear—fear towards him, and it was like a stab in the chest. "Just leave me alone, Hermione." At once, he missed her hand clinging onto him. Her face dug deep into her palms, and her shoulders racked together with her broken sobs. It reverberated around the forest, hauntingly melodic and rhythmic. Her knees gave in and rested on the dewy grass, her crying growing louder. Harry looked away and bit on his lip, the tears in his eyes falling. It was then that it evaporated completely that he felt the guilt.

"Don't do this, Harry…" Harry saw her eyes, red and swollen, looking back at him pleadingly. If he could just resist…

"Tell me what's wrong. Im tired of being left out in the dark, Harry." A cloud of tears blurred her vision, and she could see his figure standing above her. "Haven't we known each other that long to at least know that I will never leave you? Nor will I ever lie to you?" Her voice was now just a mere whisper. "That I will never stop loving you?"

Harry stared at her, and somewhere, he felt a smile tug at his lips. That small display of emotion made him shake his head irritably. Now was not the time; There was a thick knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He had just murdered her father, and yet it seemed as if he had done so years ago, and not only a few hours. He recalled resenting the man for keeping him away from Hermione, his Hermione, but he couldn't find it in him to tell her... Not now... Now today...

You murdered me Harry Potter!

His shoulders shook with guilt and pleasure—she had just confessed her feelings to him. The weight of all his sins had come to him so suddenly, like a blow to the jaw, painful and numbing.

"Tell me what's wrong." She tried to sympathize with him, yet he remained stubborn.

"Just go away, Hermione. Go to Ron, for all I care!" His voice was pungent, and it seemed to pierce through her heart. "Just go, Hermione. Get out of my face."

"Harry, goddamnit! Tell me! Stop being so stubborn and let me into your life!" She tried to reach for him, to touch his sleeve and know that her friend was still there somewhere, but he jerked his hand away. He scowled down at her, and at that very moment he saw anger. With as much strength she had, she stood up amidst the dew on her soaked pants, her vision blurry from the tears. His feet stiffened, as if glued to the very grass he stood on, his head throbbing violently that it mimicked a roaring jackhammer.

"You are unbelievable, Potter! Completely unbelievable! Here I am, trying to be a friend to you and all you do is push me away!" He heard his last name escape her lips, and he knew that there was hatred. He felt the rage emanate from her skin, which was now flushed pink with anger.

"Everything doesn't revolve you, Hermione! Sometimes, people like to be alone! Sometimes, people don't want nagging women by their side each and every minute of every fucking day!" His scream was loud-louder than he had expected it to be. She remained still, yet he sensed the fear morphing inside of her. She was afraid of him. Fucking afraid of him.

In a bare whisper, evident that she has given up on the argument, she spoke "I just need to know that you're okay. I just need to know if my best friend is still in there, somewhere. I just need to know…"

"Oh, I'm fine, really! Really! Im a vampire, Im usually on a killing spree every single day. It's a good life for me, Hermione! It truly is. But your friend Ron needs all the help he can get! Yeah! Ron! Maybe you can nag him instead of me? Maybe you can give him hugs instead of me? You know, maybe you can even kiss him instead of me! After all, he is the one who needs help not me. Not me, who practically tries to bleed to death, only to find out that he'll live again anyway! Yeah! So go ahead to Ron and be the little whore that you are-" A sound resounded through the trees, and he found himself looking down onto the floor. His cheek throbbed in the most excruciating pain…so did his empty chest. She was standing dangerously close to him, her eyes blazing with anger, her cheeks stained with tears. She could feel her breathe heavily onto him, deep breaths of rage. It frightened him…

It frightened him that she looked cold and heartless.

Like himself.

"How dare you insult me like that! I have done nothing but care for you, and here you are, acting like some jealous bastard!" She was breathing heavily, taking a step forward for each menacing word she let out. Harry hadn't noticed himself backing away.

"For once, I don't feel ashamed for hurting you." She stopped abruptly. With a step backwards, she wiped the tears evident on her face. There was silence. Nothing more but mere silence. Harry felt the guilt arise in his chest, and he felt the rage come just as quick.

"You broke my heart, Harry."

"Hermione, look I'm-"

"And to think that I loved you." With one last glance at him, one lingering glance that Harry wished he could steal away and keep forever, she turned her back on him and walked away.

Harry Potter, welcome to hell.

……

A/N: Done. Sorry it took so long, I've been very busy with everything. And thank you so much to theghostchic for helping me with all of this.

The teaser-riddle for the next chapter:

Heart forlorn, melancholy nothingness

Two hearts broken, in a state of restlessness

Lacerations down so deep

Will he ever have her heart to keep?

TheFunkyDurian