Hi, it's foo-ood! I really appreciate you coming to read my story, especially since I'm a new FF writer :) Just tell me what you think and thank you!
-DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. If only I did...-
It had rained that day.
Hermione sighed as she looked up at the gray sky at 7:00 in the morning, raindrops falling on her hair and rolling down her cheeks, almost as if she had been crying. And she almost did want to cry; her whole look was being ruined, from her hair to her light makeup to her clothes. How unprofessional. And at this rate, I won't even get to work on time either, she thought.
"Ugh, I'm going to be late," she muttered. Taking off her jacket, she pulled it up over her head as a means to prevent her hair and makeup from getting even messier. After making sure it had complete coverage of her face, she ran as fast as she could to the nearest bus stop; luckily for her, the bus had been delayed as well and she was able to clamber up the steps into the bus taking her to the London Ministry's—a news publication at which she worked as the managing editor—headquarters.
She sat in the only available seat, which was in the front, diagonal to the bus driver's seat. Everyone was in their own little conversations; Hermione could hear everything and nothing all at once. She didn't recognize most of them, but there were some familiar faces.
Over there was Jason, the one who she had taken, along with a few other of her particularly good workers, out to lunch. He was a nice, good-looking guy with a gentle, patient personality, and was extremely good with his work. She wouldn't be surprised if he became a regular employee in a year or two. However, the Ministry's executive editor Harry Potter, no matter how much she loved her best friend, had a frustrating way of being unpredictable.
Jason was busy talking to his twin sister, Carolina. Hermione recalled Jason talking about her and how she was trying to find her way through the music industry. She's really pretty, noted Hermione. The twins seemed so perfect, much more perfect than she had been when she was their age; Hermione couldn't help but envy them, even though there was no reason to do so.
Neither of the twins saw Hermione, so she kept quiet and passed the time by looking out the bus window. Although it was slightly foggy and water kept streaming down, the view was more or less clear. Everything looked more sharp to her when it rained, so the green of the trees on the sidewalk and the bright reds and blues of neon lights particularly stuck out to her.
That is, until she saw him.
He was a bit different than other pedestrians she had seen, besides the fact that he was outside in the pouring rain, sitting down on the damp sidewalk, trying to put on his sneakers as he waited for the bus to stop. She had never seen him before, but a part of her felt like she knew him in some way she couldn't explain or understand.
The bus was approaching closer to the crosswalk; he had gotten up at this point, his sneakers laced up. He looked like he was in a hurry, with a worried expression on his face, his feet shuffling forward, as if he were about to run for it. He had a gray sweatshirt on, and he put his hood over his rather intensely red-colored head to protect it from the rain.
His hair… it's very… red, thought Hermione, laughing silently. It almost looks as if his head's on fire. Hermione saw that the sky looked grayer and the lights looked dimmer when she compared them with his bright ginger hair. She struggled to resist the urge to laugh out loud; she felt a bit bad for making fun of him, especially since she didn't even know him, but she couldn't help it.
But he's actually kind of good-looking… if you can get past the hair. Where is he going?
She watched him vanish into the distance as the bus stopped for him to cross the crosswalk. He panted heavily as he sprinted to wherever his destination was. A motorcycle which suddenly ran the red light nearly hit him at one point—Hermione's jaw dropped for fear of an accident—but Ginger Boy was fortunately fast enough to get out of its way.
While the motorcyclist sped away ("By God, motorcycles," Hermione heard the pudgy bus driver mutter in exasperation) Ginger Boy kept running. Although he was far away, Hermione could see his expression, which was one of a worried, angry, and scared man all on one face.
Resting her head on her hand and leaning against the window, she watched until the bus lurched and began moving again. I could see his hair for ages. He probably ran five kilometers away and I could still see it. She tried not to laugh once again.
"It's a good thing he didn't get hit," said the bus driver, trying to make small talk as he drove down the road. "If it were up to me, I would outlaw those damned motorcycles. All these youngsters nowadays don't use them like they ought to. They're rather rude, don't you think? Nearly killed that poor man…"
In response, Hermione politely nodded and listened quietly as the bus driver ranted on about how motorcycles were "a threat to society". However, the image of Ginger Boy stayed in her mind. His expression, his face, his hair, his sweatshirt…
She remembered everything.