⋆˙✶Black and White✶.⋆ pv Mirada

I pulled my hood over my head, and put my bag over my legs. It was now raining, extremely coldly. Although it was more sensible to go inside, it was really crowded everywhere inside, as most people were sensible enough to be sitting inside with their friends. I hunched over, protecting my book from the rain.
I was planning to go inside to the library in a few minutes, but knew that now, with the rain, it would be crowded in there, so I stayed outside. I decided to stay outside for about half an hour, before I could go upstairs, get out of the uncomfortable uniform, and wear jeans and my favourite t-shirt, and sit on my bed with Isis.
Then, however, I saw something that made me close my book, and put it back in my bag.
A boy had walked outside, without even a coat to protect him from the rain. His eyes were red, and he walked past me, without seeing me.
I thought for a few moments - did I recognise him? Eventually I realised that I did - it was Derek, who I'd done the unofficial duel against.
I stood, up, and started to walk towards where he was standing, but then realised what his red eyes meant - he'd been crying.
I hesitated for a few moments, before deciding it would be best to go and see if I could help him in anyway.
I whispered, "Excuse me. Are you... okay?"
I stood there awkwardly, and felt a drop of rain get inside my hood, and drop down my neck.

@Mirada Johnson

Derek didn't answer her right away.
It was raining outside, and even the noise seemed to get drowned out by water. Derek stayed motionless, looking past her without seeing anything, as if moving might have somehow confirmed what he couldn't yet believe.
Kids moved around somewhere far off, laughing, speaking, breathing in a way that was almost offensive.
Someone addressed him softly, hesitantly. "Excuse me… Are you okay?"
Derek snorted, his eyes still puffy. "Do I look fine?"
Silence followed, deafening and oppressive in its steadiness.
"My dad died," Derek confessed.
It sounded so foreign coming from his lips.
Silence continued.
Taking a deep breath, Derek looked away from her. "He was alive just last week, writing about Quidditch and threatening to hex me for getting a detention."
He almost smiled but stopped himself. "And now he just isn't here anymore."
"I feel like I’m waiting for a reply in letters again," Derek confessed after a brief moment. "Like everything was just a misunderstanding. That my dad will be complaining tomorrow that death was extremely inconvenient and that we should have arranged something else."
His throat constricted. He hated that. “He could be annoying sometimes, terrible singer, and a really bad cook"
"I just miss him so much."

Derek snapped at me, asking "Do I look fine". I shook my heard wordlessly, not wanting to say anything, in case I made whatever was bothering him even worse. Then, there was silence. The drop of water was followed by many more, making me shiver slightly. Then, he said that his dad had died. My mouth opened wordlessly. What did I say to that?
Then, he started speaking to me about his dad, about how they wrote to each other about Quidditch and detentions. I sat down silently next to Derek, letting his words wash over me, not responding, but just being an open ear for him.
Finally, he said that he just missed him, and we fell into silence. I took a breath.
"I understand. Well, as much as I am able to."
I put my bag onto my lap, and hugged it slightly, thinking of what to say.
"I think... your dad would be proud of you, for how you are taking the news." I swallowed "You're mourning. That's normal. But, you aren't punching anything. At least not yet. That's amazing self control."
I fell silent again, blinking away the rain that seemed determined to get into my eyes. Was my next question rude? I made up my mind to just say it anyway.
"Do you know... how? I mean, it sounds like he was okay before."
I leant back, with my head against the slightly wet wall. I couldn't image my dad dying. He was my favourite. I liked him even more than my mum, she often got on my nerves. But, I thought to the letters that I had been recieving lately, only written by my mum. For all I knew, my dad could have also died. But, then, who was sending me the sweets that I liked, that my mum hated me eating. And, surely, my mum would've said in a letter.
I looked at Derek - his pain was unimaginable. Well, unimaginable for me. Many people had experienced grief. I had been exceptionally lucky, and not had to go through that experience. Something which I was grateful for, even though I hadn't realised it before.
"Will you be leaving? Not fully, but for a few months?"

@Derek Alexander Jay