Written for the Quiidtch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 12. This was written for the Captain's position.
There's a paper sticking out of her bag. It's small, about the size of her palm, and creased vaguely in half. Hermione frowns at it, irritated. It was probably someone's idea of a good joke to sprinkle trash into her bag when she wasn't looking.
She grabs it, and just before she throws it in the trash, a picture from the inside catches her eye. On the paper, drawn in black pen, is a smiley face.
Hermione raises her eyebrow, then slowly lowers her hand again. She tucks the notes back into her bag, unable to shake a sense of familiarity.
Frowning in thought, she heads back to class.
-X-
Its lunch time and she's sitting at the edge of the school, bag placed beside her and lunch in hand. Harry isn't here today, so it's just her in her secret location, hidden from the rest of the world.
It's quiet outside.
Most students choose to eat inside, with their friends and in the warmth of the school.
She sighs. It's hard not to let bitter thoughts cross her mind when she's alone and not distracted by studying or something similar.
Heaving herself up to a crouch, she feels something soft brushe her hand. Hermione turns her head, catching sight of a pure white feather lying gently in the grass. She picks it up, stroking it absently in her hand. She calms, her previous thoughts slipping away with every stroke.
There's something serene about it, and even though she's not the sentimental sort, she slips it into her bag.
-X-
That night, she dreams of swans and blueblue water and freedom and happiness. She dreams of mates for life and being content, but it's too much, and when she wakes, she finds she has tears in her eyes.
-X-
"Hermione," Harry says, and that's really all he needs to say.
She ignores him, and continues looking through the dresses and accessories. They're all garish and flamboyant and she doesn't like any of it, and she's never going to fit in is she? With a frustrated huff, she drops down into a crouch, and cradles her head in her hands.
Harry drops down next to her, ignoring the stares they're starting to attract, and pats her back awkwardly.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go somewhere else. How does a bookstore sound, hm?"
Hermione heaves a sigh and agrees, stretching out a hand to pick up a ribbon that dropped in her jerky motion. It's a light pink colour, plain, without any embellishment.
She likes it.
"Hold on a moment Harry," she says. "I think… I want this one."
He raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn't say a thing.
-X-
"Hold still, would ya?"
"What are you doing?" she asks, twisting in her chair to catch sight of the other girl. She squirms, but the other girl presses her hands firmly against her shoulders, and she gives up, slumping in her hair.
"You'll see."
Something cool touches her temple, and her eyes widen in surprise. Touching her hand to her head, she feels something silky in it. Whirling around to look in the mirror, she sees her hair, held back by a ribbon on a clip.
"I don't like it," she says.
"Liar," the other girl says.
-X-
Tree bark. Why would something like tree bark make her stop and stare?
Hermione runs her hands over the carvings on it, and for once, she's not mad at the destruction others have cause on nature. She's curious.
The heart is a ragged shape, barely there, and she lets her fingers linger for another moment, before leaving it behind.
-X-
The letters are permanently there now, on the tree, and he couldn't be madder.
"It's needless destruction," he grumbles.
The other boy shrugs, and he huffs and storms away.
-X-
The fireworks is a brilliant display of colours. Green, red, yellow, white… they explode in the sky and she's glad she decided to come.
"Isn't it beautiful?" her father asks.
"It's like magic," her mother says, smiling.
"Magic," she agrees, and the word fits in her mouth, like it's always belonged there.
-X-
It's a Saturday and she's spent the whole day studying, and she's mentally exhausted beyond comprehension. So she lays her head on the table and closes her eyes. It would just be a quick shut eye, she tells herself. I'll be up again in a moment.
She falls asleep.
When she wakes up again, the world is darker, and it's halfway into dinner, and why didn't anyone wake her? Even if the others had been playing Quidditch, they could've come and alerted her. As she lurches up and packs her bags away, she notices something at the edge of her essay that hadn't been there before.
It's a smiley face.
Unwillingly, a smile crosses her face.
-X-
"Magic," she says again. But she's alone this time, and she's just had another dream, but it's not really a dream is it? They're lives, memories, and she's been living all of them again. And always, there's someone there.
Hermione wonders who it is in this life.
She wonders, and she waits.
-X-
Time passes, and she grows and matures, but she doesn't forget. On her bedside table, beside her pictures of her and Harry and alarm clock, she leaves the items she's collected. The smiley face note and the feather and the ribbon and the tree bark. They sit there and she wakes to them every morning.
-X-
One day, she gets a note. Smiling, she heads out. It's a short trip to the park, and she in no hurry. She's been waiting all her life after all.
The sky is getting dark and she heads directly towards a bench by the lake. There's a single figure sitting by it, ginger, and the sound of her footsteps causes him to turn his head.
He watches her, and she watches him.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Hermione, and you're late."
He blinks at her, then smiles, and it's familiar and warm. "I'm Ron, and I won't be late again."
Hermione nods at that, and holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you," she says.
He gives her a puzzled look. "But we've met before," he says back.
"It's our first time meeting in this world, and it's polite to shake hands."
Ron shakes his head, a rueful smile crossing his face. He extends his hand out to shake hers.
"You're the same as ever," he says.
-X-
His breathing is slowing, and she's there holding his hands.
"I love you," he says.
She shakes her head. "That sounds like a goodbye, so don't say it."
He smiles, and even that looks painful.
"I won't be late next time," he says instead.