this is for you reppad! Thanks so much for pulling everyone in our team together, and keeping everything organized! You were always really encouraging and responsible and always got your stuff in on time, and I'm really glad we got the chance to work in the same team! :)
It's raining again.
She sighs sharply in irritation at that. Covering her books, and not bothering to look up at the ever darkening sky, she heads out of the school building. Immediately, the water batters down at her, sharp and prickling, and she severely regrets forgetting to bring her umbrella with her that day. The puddles forming on the ground splatter up against her legs, chilling her until she's left shivering and tense.
And then, the rain stops.
She starts, tilting her head up first to glance at the bright red of the umbrella above her, then at the person standing a little ways back, holding it out to her. A male, studiously avoiding her gaze, until the awkward silence is enough for him to lift his head.
They meet eyes, and time is suspended for a moment, burning the moment in her head.
She says hello, and it sounds like a promise.
-X-
She keeps the umbrella.
Well, it wasn't like she had much of a choice on the matter. It had been shoved at her with a brief, "Keep it" and that had been that. It sits in the back corner of her room, right next to her bookshelf; its colour is bright and cheery against the drab browns and beige's that make up her room.
She looks at the umbrella and thinks that it matches the stranger's hair nicely.
-X-
Her name is Hermione and she's a History student. She's smart, clever, intelligent, and you'd be hard pressed to find someone else better. She has dark brown eyes, with brown frizzy hair, and she can usually be found with Harry around the university. She has two loving parents, and had a happy childhood.
She's also undeniably boring.
She knows this, yet she can't do anything to stop it. It's who she is, and she can't change it. She's tried before, over and over again.
A strange feeling of sadness spreads through her, settling down in her body, permeating down to her bones.
She tucks her book under her arm, watching the bus head towards the stop, and she frowns thoughtfully. The last time she thought those kinds of thoughts was in middle school, before she met Harry and Luna and Neville. It was before they beat all those thoughts out of her, before she accepted herself for who she was.
It's been a long time, and she doesn't want it to surface again.
-X-
Her name is Hermione, and he met her by accident on a rainy day in February. He remembers the day well, especially the fussing that his mum made afterwards, and the subsequent cold he caught afterwards.
He spends the day miserably in bed, the box of tissues rapidly disappearing from his bedside table. He sleeps fitfully, only waking up to take medicine, and eat a bowl of porridge.
That's the last time he'll be kind to strangers.
He remembers waking up once, and seeing Harry's concerned expression, before allowing the soothing grasp of sleep to take him once more.
-X-
It turns out that she's not such a stranger after all. He complains about her, the girl named Hermione who he gave his umbrella out to and that's the reason for his cold and also did you know that—
Hermione's not really such a common name; and Harry knows her.
It takes a split second for him to decide to tag along with Harry to his university on one of his free days.
He just needs his umbrella back, he thinks.
The excuse sounds feeble even to himself.
-X-
The first thing she see when she walks out is him sees him; standing out with his bright, bright hair.
She blinks. He glances away. Harry shifts uncomfortably.
She says hello, and it sounds like a question.
-X-
It starts slowly, subtly, creeping up on him until he realizes just how much time he actually spends in her presence. The realization isn't anything world shattering. He's lazily flopped out on his bed procrastinating when the thought occurs to him.
Well shit, he thinks, absently scrolling through the hundreds upon hundreds of messages on his phone.
He thinks of her smile, the way she goes on and on and on about everything and anything. He thinks of the way she scrunches up her eyebrows when she's thinking, and the way she likes swinging her bag in her hand when she walks. He thinks of the places they've hung out, the things they've done, and he knows he's screwed.
It's too bad he's already past the point of caring.
With a small smile, he sends off a message, and closes his phone.
Are you free this Sunday?
-X-
He walks briskly through the park, walking the familiar path to their tree. It's their most common hiding place, just outside of the view of regular patrons, but close enough to hear the faint noise of activity occurring. They found it together, and when he saw the way she relaxed, just like that, they decided to claim it as their own.
He finds her reading on the grass, and lets a rueful smile cross his face. Striding across the short distance, he plops down next to her and peers over her shoulder. It's a book on travelling.
She glances up, startled, but relaxes upon seeing his face.
-X-
She's happy.
For the first time in a while that she can remember, she's happy. She thinks that (maybe, just maybe) this could be love, but whatever it is that they have, she would've have it anyway else.
And sure, maybe he's not the prince charming she thought he would be, but that's okay. She likes what they have much better. Stupid arguments, coffee at six in the morning, tickle fights and laughing fits and everything is so much better than she thought it'd be.
But at the same time, everything is so much worse.
Those thoughts come back (notgoodenoughnotprettynotinteresting) and they haunt her waking moments. It's brilliant and terrible and she knows the high she's on is going to crash soon. Sometimes, she thinks she free, but it never stops, and she's not getting enough sleep anymore, and—
She can't take this anymore.
She eyes the letter on her side desk. It's a chance to study abroad, to go look at new cultures and people like she's always wanted.
-X-
It's a few months later that a phone call comes. Ron leans halfway across his bed to grab it, answering the call as soon as it comes into reach.
"Hello?" he asks.
"Ron," comes Harry voice, made tinny by the distance. It's smaller than usual, and the touch of concern he hears in it is enough to make him alarmed.
He listens intently as Harry speaks, and by the end of it he's grabbing his umbrella, and sprinting out of the house.
-X-
It's raining again.
He watches as she packs her bags without looking at him, his bright, bright umbrella dripping puddles on her floor. She had explained to him earlier, when he barged into her house, avoiding his gaze the whole time. Now, he's just numb.
He should be happy for her, he thinks. He should think about the gleam in her eyes, how happy she is when talking about the world, what she wants to do, how she's going to do it.
He's a little too selfish though, so he doesn't think of that.
"Take the umbrella," he finds himself saying, breaking the tense silence that had settle over them. "You might need it. Who knows what the weather will be like?"
She pauses in her movements, shoulders rising up and she looks so defensive right now. Turning, she gives him a look that he can't decipher.
"I can't," she whispers. "I just can't."
Something in her face stops him from saying anything else, and he watches as she stuffs her things away. When all is over and done with, she stands, and faces him.
She says goodbye, and it sounds final.