It was the summer, and Uraraka Ochako was discontent.
Then she met the girl by the lake, and things changed.
***
I wrote this in the summer of last year and recently made some minor tweaks to it. It’s far from my usual style, but I still really like it!! You can find the rest of my work on ao3 under the same user, splatplatplat :)
***
Uraraka Ochako was a decent sort of witch, and a relatively pleasant one at that.
She attended her classes regularly, and kept up with her homework, and for the past few years had been a fairly competent Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Herbology was her favorite subject. She had a unique affinity for plants, and tended to them quite well; around the school she was best known for her green thumbs, and for the greenhouses she frequented. People respected her for it, because her talent was rare, and good Herbologists were keenly sought-after.
All her friends liked her. Generally, most people did, because she had a bright smile and spoke kind words to everyone around her. In everyone’s eyes, she might as well have been a Hufflepuff; always smiling, ever-loyal, an unwavering, steady presence.
All in all, things seemed to go well for her. She was well-liked, well-respected, and well on her way to a stable future and career. And she was happy, yes–
But not content.
No, never content.
It was the summer. Uraraka Ochako was fifteen, just edging on sixteen, and her parents had whisked her away to stay with her grandmother in the countryside. There was nothing wrong with this, of course, because the country was clear and sunny; there was always a cool breeze in the air, and the surrounding scenery was vibrant and alive, teeming with lush greenery and wildlife.
Every morning, she slipped into her trainers and set out on a run. Stay fit over the summer, their captain had told them, and Ochako was quite keen on maintaining her spot on the team.
The air was fresh and the trails were empty, so it was always her, alone with her thoughts, surrounded from every direction by nature. Every morning was just as pleasant as the last, and she would run until her legs strained from exertion, and come home and take a nap. It was a soothing routine, and each day she found herself able to run farther and faster and far more comfortably. The progress pleased her.
The only problem, of course, was that the countryside was just that: good weather, good runs, and grass. There was almost nothing and nobody in a five-mile radius to entertain her, other than her runs and her thoughts and her family.
There was nothing wrong with her family, generally speaking. The Urarakas were hardworking, gentle folks, and seemed to possess the same cheery disposition as their daughter. During the school year, they ran an old, quaint little pub, the same pub their family had run for generations. It was good, honest work, and Ochako knew its routines by heart; she’d spend most summers helping out, after all, even when she was much too young to be spending so much time around the drinking adults.
Her parents almost never took days off, let alone an entire summer–but her father had been insistent, arguing for her mother’s health. And so it was decided, and it was final, and now Ochako’s company comprised primarily of her parents, who seemed to tiptoe around the topic of Ochako’s future careers, and did little else other than read the papers, flip through novels, and cook the occasional meal.
And of course there was her rather senile grandmother, who was entirely insistent on teaching the girl how to embroider. And, again, there was nothing inherently wrong with embroidery, but there was nothing right about it either, and there was definitely nothing right about the way young Ochako embroidered, because each session seemed to end with her nan’s exasperated sighs and her own unbridled disappointment.
There was nothing wrong with her family. Nothing at all, because they were pleasant folk. But being surrounded by them for weeks on end, with little to entertain her, with very little to talk about, with hardly anyone to talk to...
Nothing inherently wrong, and nothing inherently right.
---
The days passed with little to mark them. Occasionally, Ochako would write to her friends; she had a little owl with her by the name of Shack, who was prone to irritable fits in the middle of the night, but was reliable nonetheless. And so every once in a while, she’d put a quill to her parchment, and send a message away; a desperate cry for relief.
Things are fine, she wrote once, though it’d be a little more exciting if they weren’t.
When their replies came, she would sit by the couch and read them over and over, imagining someone beside her, laughing at her jokes and smiling when she did. Sometimes, they sent gifts; a book, or perhaps a little trinket, and Ochako would busy herself with it for as long as possible, until there was no possible way to interest herself with it any longer.
It was embarrassing, perhaps, to be acting in such a way.
But she was lonely, and her friends’ tales of faraway lands (they weren’t quite so far away, of course, because most of them were at home) made her heart ache more than she cared to admit.
There were still many weeks to go, and she craved something more.
---
It was an unsuspecting morning, and she woke up sometime before dawn. She ate a quick breakfast of oats, kissed her still-sleeping grandmother on the cheek, slipped on her trainers, and she was out the door by sunrise.
The weather was lovely as always.
She ran onward, past the gates of her grandmother’s country home, and past the fields surrounding it. There was a forest nearby, with a lake that she frequented–she headed in that direction, feet thumping confidently against the gravel beneath her.
The trees came into sight after some time. The route narrowed, and the path grew rockier, until eventually the ground, uneven, slowed her down to a jog. Still, she trudged forward, entering the forest with ease. The sun shone warmly on her back.
And then, soon enough, the lake came into view, the forest slowly growing less dense–and, all of a sudden, Ochako froze.
(She was so surprised that she nearly fell, and thank god she caught herself, because she would have made quite a noise, and made an immediate fool of herself.)
There, by the rocks, sat a girl.
Her hair (she could see it was dark and silky, even from afar) was pulled taut into a ponytail, and held her knees to her chest, a contemplative look in her eyes as she watched the water before her. She was small, but had a maturity to her, and she couldn’t have been far from Ochako’s own age. In her hands was a wand; it traced along the edges of the water.
A witch.
Ochako eyed her for another moment before approaching her.
The girl whipped around as Ochako neared. She looked at Ochako curiously, tilting her head to the side and raising a wary finger to her chin. At first, Ochako thought her eyes were wide with shock–but it turned out that she simply had rather large eyes, in a nearly doll-like way. There seemed to be many things about her that were nearly doll-like, in fact; she had a round face, and her hair framed it perfectly, and her mannerisms were so gentle and calm that Ochako could hardly believe the sight.
“Hi,” Ochako chirruped.
“Hi,” came the reply. The girl had a voice that was neither particularly deep nor particularly high, but the sound of it stood out; her tone was even, and edged on curt. Then, bluntly: “Do I know you?”
Taken aback, Ochako shook her head rather adamantly. “Probably not,” she replied quickly, even though the words sounded awkward, even to herself.
“Oh.” The girl blinked plainly, and then turned her focus back to the water. “Okay then,” she said, though she did not look up again. Privately, Ochako thought she looked quite comfortable by the water; occasionally, she dipped her wand in and moved it about, seemingly enraptured by its movements (she didn’t use it–Ochako assumed she was underage).
The movements continued, slow and steady, and the girl did not look up again.
Feeling rather baffled, but having nothing more to say, Ochako remained quiet. Then, after some time had passed, she turned around, and ran the route back home.
---
Ochako met her again the very next day.
This time, she was no longer sitting by the lake, but instead strolling around its perimeter, hands held neatly behind her back. The same contemplative look was back; she had yet to take notice of Ochako, who was watching her silently, back rested against a tree.
When the girl took notice of her, there was no shock or surprise in her expression; she wore the same calm facade as before as she watched Ochako and blinked. “You came back,” she said, just as candid as the day before.
“My running route,” Ochako explained lamely, not expecting the girl to speak first.
The girl gave a thoughtful nod. “Running is nice,” she commented decidedly, though not after a brief pause.The day before, the girl had been aloof, unconcerned with Ochako altogether. Today, however, she looked upon Ochako carefully, taking in every detail of her appearance and stature. “I run in the evenings. But lately I like taking morning walks.”
Seeing her chance, Ochako pursued the conversation. “It’s nice in the morning, isn’t it?” Ochako agreed. “I like being outside during sunrise.”
The girl nodded. “The lake is best at this time.” The girl looked fondly upon the large body of water; it stretched much further than the two of them could see. Some water lilies floated at the surface. “The seahorses don’t come up in the evenings.”
“Seahorses?” Ochako asked. She tried not to sound surprised. “In a lake?”
“Flying Seahorses,” the girl replied easily. Her voice remained nonchalant, but, when Ochako snuck a glance, she saw that the girl was smiling, a glint in her eyes. “They’re common in this region, but only come up in the mornings.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Ochako muttered uncertainly. The two of them moved closer to the lake; the girl seemed eager to draw closer towards it. Ochako peered into the water. When she did, a cluster of gillyweed stared back at her. “Don’t seahorses live in the sea, usually?”
“Seahorses, yes.” The girl, standing by the water’s edge, crouched down so that her knees touched her chest. “But the flying seahorses, the magical ones, live in lakes and ponds. So if you stick your wand in..” the girl drew her wand from her pocket, and stuck it confidently into the lake. In an instant (Ochako looked on in awe), little creatures began to swarm around it. “..They come around.”
Ochako looked upon it the girl’s movements in awe. The girl would move the wand around, and the seahorses, drawn to it, would follow her; it was fascinating, watching the way they swam around.
Her wand was still submerged in the water when the girl looked to Ochako again and tilted her head, as if meaning to ask something.
“Yes?” Ochako said, looking to her.
“It’s nothing,” the girl replied. But she was smiling, and Ochako couldn’t help but do the same.
---
The next day, Ochako found the girl sat by the water again. This time, her wand lay by her side, seemingly unused–half-forgotten, perhaps.
No seahorses, Ochako thought, moving closer.
“I had a feeling you’d come,” the girl remarked as Ochako took a seat beside her. The ground was dry, and Ochako could feel the cool rocks against her legs.
“I’m here everyday,” Ochako reminded her, and, under her breath, the girl let out a small chuckle. It was a breathy, gentle kind of chuckle. A moment passed before Ochako looked to the girl and saw the knapsack beside her. “What’s in the bag?”
“I brought it,” the girl said, by means of an explanation, though it said very little. The girl sat up, and drew the bag closer to her. She unbuckled the clasp, and dug her right hand through it for a moment before turning to Ochako. “Do you like sweets?”
Ochako nodded eagerly. “Very much,” she said, watching as the girl continued to rummage through her bag.
Finally, after another long moment, the girl drew a closed fist out of the bag. With her free hand, she motioned for Ochako to stick her hand out, and the girl obliged.
“Oh, I–”
The girl dropped a chocolate frog into her hand.
She looked to Ochako with a large smile on her features. “For you,” she said happily, closing Ochako’s fingers around the sweet.
Suddenly, Ochako’s felt herself go warm. “Thank you,” she said quickly, and bowed her head in embarrassment. “I, um, didn’t bring anything for you–”
“That’s okay,” the girl said. The smile on her face remained firm. Then, clearly pleased, the girl turned her attention back to the lake.
Ochako unwrapped the chocolate and, taking a bite, did the same.
---
They continued like this for some time; Ochako would arrive at the lake just slightly later than the girl did, and they would sit there for a while together, admiring the scenery around them. They would stay there until Ochako felt it was time for her to return home, and then they would exchange a brief goodbye before parting ways.
There was no explicit promise of meeting again the next day–but Ochako knew implicitly that they always would.
In the meantime, life back at her grandmother’s home remained the same as always; her father had recently bought himself a new muggle book, and was deeply engaged by it. Her mother had rather adamantly insisted on perfecting a few baked recipes. And her grandmother, still insistent, would teach her embroidery in the afternoons.
They did not make much conversation, even at mealtimes, because there was very little to discuss. Ochako did not mention the girl she had met, and her parents never inquired as to why she was coming home later in the day from her runs. When they asked her how she was keeping busy, and whether she was bored, she told them no. She was occupied studying for the next year, she said.
This was not a lie; she did study, and quite diligently. In the evenings, she would head to the living room and sit by the fireplace, and immerse herself into the books she brought. And she, truthfully speaking, was not bored–
Because even while her nose was buried away in her books, and her quill scratched fervently against the parchment, her mind was at the lake, watching the girl all over again.
---
“Where are you from?” Ochako inquired of the girl one day. It had occurred to her the night before that, even though they met regularly, she still knew very little about the girl.
It was a quiet morning, and the distant chirping of birds could be heard. They were lying together on their backs, watching the sky above them; it was a pale yellow, the dark of dusk already dispelled.
“My family is from Cork,” the girl replied. When Ochako looked at her. “I think the accent is gone, mostly.” Any semblance of an Irish accent was, indeed, gone. “I haven’t been in a long time, though.”
Furrowing her brows, Ochako turned to look at the girl, who was still watching the clouds. “Why not?”
“Why?” the girl repeated, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I’m here in the summer.”
“But where are you when it’s not summer?” Ochako asked.
At that, the girl turned to look at her, seemingly puzzled. “At Hogwarts, of course.”
The words did not register until, finally, they did, and Ochako shot up with a start. She could feel her eyes widening. “You’re a Hogwarts student?” she blurted, looking incredulously at the girl, who had begun to sit up as well.
“I’m going into the sixth-year,” the girl said calmly, seemingly unfazed by Ochako’s reaction. “Aren’t you a Hogwarts student too?”
They were the same age. “Well, yes, but–” Ochako spluttered– “I didn’t know you were one too!”
“It’s okay,” the girl said. Still calm. “I’ve seen you before, though.”
Ochako’s eyes were certainly bulging out of her head by now. “When?”
“Just in the hallways, sometimes,” the girl shrugged. “I knew you didn’t recognize me, so I never said anything.”
Ochako took a moment to process the revelation. She knew she was at a loss for words; and yet, at the same time, her mind was racing, mind conjuring ideas she neither understood nor welcomed. It wasn’t until some time had passed that she finally thought of something to say, and it came out rather abruptly.
“What’s your name?” Ochako blurted.
“Tsuyu Asui.” The girl smiled, extending a hand. “But you can call me Asui.”
Ochako took the hand in her own. It was warm, and she shook it.
---
Ochako sat by the fireplace that night.
She had a Herbology book with her, and it was a newer edition of a highly-recommended series; Professor Sekijiro had given it to her the semester before. Normally, she would have enjoyed curling up with a book like this; she liked Herbology, and it didn’t take her much to truly immerse herself within the subject. The knowledge came easily to her, like a second nature.
That night, however, she found her mind drifting, as if the book before her was hardly there at all.
Her mind was on the lake again, and on Tsuyu. The slight curl of her lips, the confidence in her words, the way she would lose herself by the lake, the way she looked into Ochako’s eyes and simply watch her, as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.
Her hand in her own, warm and pulsing.
She shut the book, and left the living room.
The fireplace was much too warm to be around.
---
Tsuyu was waiting for her again the next day, a little hat perched atop her head. Her hair fell into her face with them, and she had to tilt her head a little extra to make eye contact with Ochako as she plopped down next to her.
“I can’t believe I never noticed,” Ochako murmured. “I can’t believe we’ve gone to the same school for five whole years, and I’ve never even seen you before..”
The girl–no, Tsuyu–smiled again, the kind of smile wide enough that her eyes nearly shut. “But now you have,” she said, the same grin on her face. It was a rare look on her, and Ochako couldn’t help mirroring it.
She placed a hand on Ochako’s, and they watched the lake again.
The little heart inside of Ochako’s chest was beating far too loud, but she made no attempt to silence it.
---
“Can I have a friend over tomorrow?” Ochako asked her mother.
It was a fairly standard dinner, but the question seemed to change things.
“A friend?” The mother looked quizzically down at her daughter. “Who?” She put her fork down somewhat worriedly.
Her father had his eyes narrowed at her. “Is someone Floo-ing in from London? Our fireplace might be too small for–”
“They’re not coming from London,” Ochako interrupted quickly, and her parents both seemed rather puzzled. She could feel her face burning. “A friend–” the word didn’t feel quite right– “from Hogwarts, and she’s from around here. I met them on a run. Please?” Her eyes darted between them.
Her parents glanced at one another.
“Well,” her mother replied slowly, “as long as they don’t mind the mess.”
“Of course,” Ochako said, and then dinner resumed.
---
Asui Tsuyu came over the very next day wearing a floral sundress. Ochako had fetched her from the lake in the early morning, and then they’d walked the way to Ochako’s home together. It was the perfect weather for a run, but even better weather for a walk; the sky was clear, and the walk was pleasant, filled with an easy laughter.
When they did reach the house, the door was already open, and Uraraka’s mother stood at its frame.
“Hello,” Tsuyu spoke as she approached, bowing her head deeply. She held out a hand; the woman at the door took it. “Tsuyu Asui.”
“Hello, Tsuyu,” Ochako’s mother greeted, and let the two girls in; Ochako had already filled her in with the details. The two of them took their shoes off, and left them just by the door. “Please don’t mind the clutter–we’re not very neat, and it’s really quite embarrassing..”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tsuyu replied politely.
Ochako’s mother guided them into the dining room, where the smell of biscuits wafted through the air. She offered them to the girls, who took them with profuse thanks. “Take as many as you like,” she told them, and then, turning to Tsuyu, “and you’re welcome to take some home, dear.”
“Thank you,” Tsuyu said, and bowed again.
The woman said something or other about continuing her book, and then went upstairs, leaving the two of them alone.
“Do you want to go to the garden?” Ochako offered, her hands full of biscuits.
“Sure,” Tsuyu told her, and then they went outside.
The garden was a little thing, and was really less of a ‘garden’ than it was the backside of the house, connected to the open field around them. A patch of cabbages grew by the wall, and a neat berried bush was planted quite near it. In another area nearby lay a row of planters, each one containing a different species of flora.
“Valerians,” Ochako said, pointing to one. She pointed to another. “Leaping toadstools.” And then another. “And a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.”
Tsuyu seemed interested in the latter; it was a small cactus, covered in rather unsightly boils. “This one is ugly,” she remarked, although her voice sounded as if she were rather endeared by it.
“It is,” Ochako agreed.
They moved away from the plants, and moved further away from the house, where a large tree grew. It was the only tree in the vicinity, and it was quite old; Ochako’s grandmother had planted it as a youth, and it now stood taller than the house, with a thick, sturdy trunk.
They sat by it, and leaned their backs against the bark. The wind blew around them, and the grass rustled calmly. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the sound of a crow.
They sat there, and, together, shared the biscuits in a comfortable quiet, shoulders touching.
---
Ochako’s mother found them there several hours later, with Tsuyu’s head buried in the crook of Ochako’s neck, fingers interlocked. Their eyes were closed, and their breathing was soft, and the woman smiled at the sight.
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