Unwitting
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling, so it follows that none of the characters, themes or ideas from Harry Potter belong to me.
"Looking back upon the events of the past, it is those random, apparently insignificant instances in time that quietly shape our future, our actions… whilst we move through them, unwitting." AU. Pairing not explicitly mentioned (at least initially), though I wrote it with a specific pairing in mind :)
A/N: This chapter probably won't make a lot of sense of its own; it'll be continued though :) This is my first ever fic, so if you could drop a review, I'd really, really appreciate it! Constructive criticism is well loved :)
O O O O O
Looking back upon the events of the past, it is those random, apparently insignificant instances in time that quietly shape our future, our actions… as we move through them, unwittingly. There comes a point in your life when you can reflect on those haphazard moments that wove together a complex web, even if you cannot fully comprehend it, even now…
O O O O O
Four horribly solid walls stand, flawlessly symmetrical in their non-descript grey, forming a small, enclosed space. The haphazard crevices within the stonework reluctantly allow frosted gasps of wind and trickles of rain to meander in… momentarily relieving the unnaturally still, stifling atmosphere. The Room itself appears to coldly disapprove of life… or liveliness.
A young girl is jolted from her trance, shuddering despite the rays of autumn sunshine that fall onto her slight frame. She slowly focuses on the colour of her surroundings, the strangely vibrant hues of the dying season's leaves. As she watches, the blowing wind causes them to dance around her and a ghost of a smile forms on her face as she grasps a bright red-orange star-shaped one. She sticks it carefully into the pocket of her faded blue shirt, which hangs loosely off her, as though several sizes too large.
The traces of an epileptic image fade away, but it is a lingering memory that never leaves her completely. There is an unconscious wetness on her cheeks as she lifts herself up off the old, worn stone steps, hauling her bag onto her shoulders with a childish alacrity that promptly sends her long red plaits flying around her. Swotting them away impatiently, and tucking her treasure more snugly into the aforementioned pocket, she begins to plod deftly along, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the invitingly homelike buildings she passes, a solitary figure in the deserted evening suburban streets.
O O O O O
She turns her head abruptly, in an unexplained, spontaneously unthought of movement, and looks, as she subconsciously expected to, upon a certain figure. Invariably, their line of sight meets for a moment. Reflexively, her senses churn almost painfully and her breath hitches so that the words she previously spoke in a cheery stream to her companion awkwardly taper away.
Even while she is decidedly myopic, she is quite confident that she would recognise those deep-set brown eyes, framed in those glasses, that face and profile almost anywhere. This girl, who sports a precisely colour-coded timetable, spare bobby pins and hair bands and neatly folded tissues in her bag (should the need for them ever arise), begins to reason with herself, in an attempt to calm the annoyance that pulses through her mind as she contemplates feelings that she apparently cannot control.
It's because it's sudden, she says to herself. Unexpected. I wasn't… prepared.
Her companion's look prompts her to continue her line of conversation, before her eyes too follow the girl's distracted line of sight. And then, the conversation stops, like a subtle microshift. The girl's voice becomes fainter, her face warms up and her eyes sting a little. She is loosely rooted to the stone floor, as her companion moves forward before turning around to wait expectantly. The figure approaches, and the girl shudders, unable to ascertain whether it is in anticipation… or despair. It is at this inopportune moment that realisation hits her, like a shadow that she had never managed to outrun.
Her eyes nervously wander outside in a stern bid to regain normalcy, and she suddenly notes the autumn leaves outside, a myriad of colour suspended in the air by the blowing wind. Her eyes sparkle with eagerness and her mind clears as she laughingly drops her bag at her friend's feet and begins to run. Outside, she breathes the fresh, cool air deeply, spreading her arms to spin in her habitual, childish way. It's almost a ritual of hers, and onlookers pause to smile indulgently or stare alternatively in mild awe or disapproval at the picture of wilful abandon she makes.
Her red hair streams around her and her eyes close in contentment as the rain begins to fall upon her upturned face.
O O O O O
If you would be so kind, I'd love to hear what you think :)
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