Because despite how hard I tried to remember, I forgot to tell you that I own nothing. Not even the umbrella. I know, how sad.
Before I go any further in this story, I feel that I must tell you something. I was stolen. The night before the war at Hogwarts, sixth year, I was stolen by Draco Malfoy. That would explain why I was sitting in the corner of his flat, watching the rain outside. I won't tell you that he's a happy, rich young man. I won't be telling you how his flat is furnished, and I won't be telling you how his Mother loves him and his father is in Azkaban. I won't tell you any of these things because they are not important. What I will tell you is this.
All the photos in his house are scenery, all lightly swaying in the wind, all deep, dark colors. All except for one. It sat on his bedside table, turned down so he didn't have to see it. If you were to pick it up and look at it, you would see a very strange sight. A young woman, holding a camera, her long, straighten brown hair flying in her eyes from the strong winds, laughing as she took pictures. She was around his age, twenty three, and she wore a pair of white shorts with black suspenders, a wife beater, and a dark blue velvet sweater pushed up to her shoulders. She looked beautiful on the beach, the orange sunlight of a setting sun blurring the image. Do not ask me how he came across this photo of Hermione Granger. All I know is that one day he came home, his hair sticking up in strange angles, his shirt frayed and a bruise appearing under his left eye, holding the photo. He immediately went to his room, and placed it facing down on his bedside table. He never looks at this photo, only runs his fingers across the frame.
He picked me up, opened the door, and shook me open. Ah, the rain. I never understood why people hated it so much. Everyone is always running, trying their best to hide away from the rain. Strange. I loved the rain. We were headed to s coffee shop that Draco loved to visit. He'd been going there for years now, and he never went inside. He just stood at the window, and looked at her. She looked up, every time, and watched him. This would last until she was interrupted by a waiter, or some other thing, and he was gone. I never understood why he never went inside to see her. I never understood why she was always there. Every third Thursday. At exactly two forty three. She was always there, in the same booth. Waiting. I never understood why, for two years, once a month, why they never even tried to talk to each other.
Let me take the liberty to say why I think that is.
She hates him. He stole her heart, and then he shattered it. That was why she was there, every third Thursday of every month, at exactly two forty three, waiting. She waited because she loved him once. And because she hated him once. Now all she feels is utter indifference. She feel no need to talk to him, the cold glare she gives him during these moments telling him all he needs to know. Honestly, he's a little masochistic.
I loved these moments, though. I got to see my Lady. The woman I was ripped from so long ago. I never did stop hating Draco for this. But I was thankful when he happened across her figure in a coffee shop.
Today was different. She raised her hand, and placed her fingers against the window. She looked at Draco's blurred image, and Draco looked at hers. He tenderly raised his hand and placed it against the glass. She looked away, at the waitress and Draco slipped away. He didn't notice her hands and face pressed against the glass, straining to watch him walk away.
The next month, she wasn't there. She'd finally given up on this. Draco didn't seem surprised by this, he only brushed his fingers across the window, and turned to leave. And there she was, hiding underneath her own umbrella. She looked him in the eye, no emotion on her face. He looked the same. No one moved. No one looked away. No one said anything for the longest time.
Then something shocking happened. Hermione looked down and reached out, gently entwining her fingers with his. He let her, his eyes widening and lips parting slightly.
"Come to lunch with me?" She smiled. Another moment passed and he nodded. Slowly, she walked forward, pulling him along after her. When they walked inside, their hands came apart to shake their umbrellas closed (I love it when they do that! It's like a roller coaster ride!). She went to the bench she always sat in, Draco close behind. They remained quiet, examining each other until the waitress came over.
"So how have you been, Draco?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.
"Why'd you wait for me?" Hermione looked up from her food.
"I got tired of waiting for you to come inside."
"You were waiting for me?"
"How have you been?" She smiled, taking a sip of her water.
"Pretty ok, I guess. I'm living on my own, now."
"And with my umbrella." Her smirk was one to rival his.
"You knew I stole your umbrella?"
"Kind of hard not to notice."
He smirked. "What's going on with you?"
"Well, my two best friends married each other."
"Weasley and Potter finally tied the knot?" Hermione laughed.
"No. Ginny and Harry. Their wedding was beautiful, and they now have a child name James who is a very troublesome child who would make his Uncle Fred proud." Her smile dimmed slowly, and her voice lowered, a soft and thoughtful tone. "Ronald finally proposed. The wedding is in a month. You should come."
"Why are you marrying him?" He asked after a while, his voice just as low.
"I love him. He loves me. We decided it was time to make it permanent." Draco nodded.
"He doesn't love you like I love you." Hermione's head snapped up. "Goodbye, Hermione." He stood up, shook on his coat, and picked me up. Hermione only watched him with wide eyes, gaping after him.
Yay!!! Cliffhanger! Okay, not really.
And just in case ya'll were wondering, the umbrella is capable of lying to you, and it is easy for him, too. He doesn't like Draco one bit, so don't trust everything he says. ;)