Neville hated the rain.
The rain reminded him of constant tear drops, falling.
Some caught suspended on objects that stood from the ground.
But the rain still folded and ended up on soft grass or rolling down man-made concrete.
The rain seemed to say 'I am sorrow.
'You cannot stop me.'
Oh yes.
Neville hated the rain.
Death is kind of a constant to humanity. It happens, it's part of life. Every story, ultimately, has to end.
But that fact alone can't simply prepare us for it. We've still got to fell it's pounding after-vibrations. We've still got to go on living.
It's like flying a broom, you know that you've got to fall down a bit to keep going. Because it's like to promise of victory; that life once you know how to ride a broom is supremely and ultimately better then before.
Keep flying.
Keep living.
It all seemed endless. But still not moving fast enough.
Going through the motions sucked.
Pain. Mourning. Spurts of feeling better. Then back around again.
Neville looked out at the rain- his sympathetic companion.
'Does it ever end?' he asked it.
The rain pounded against his window.
Neville looked down at the solemn face, framed by starch white hair which was encased by rough wood.
It looked sad.
The rain found it's way down his cheeks.
Damn the rain. Damn the sorrow.
Damn death.
His dress robes were stiff. It seemed oddly appropriate.
He turned around and saw more rain-hit faces. They looked sadder when their faded light turned in his direction.
They seemed to say 'I know, I feel'.
Neville envied them.
He felt nothing. Not even when the rain soaked earth took the final separation. It made a bed of no return.
Neville didn't even say goodbye.
He thought the rain said it for him.
How many moments had passed?
How many days? Weeks? Months even?
How many deaths had occurred since then? How many births?
How many rain-soaked people had marched down to the ministry and have a lined old man tell them he was sorry?
How many moments of love had taken place? How many moments of hate?
How many people made up? Broke up? How many felt happiness?
How many felt pain?
There were many manys, Neville decided.
Yet he could feel for only one.
The last bit of my other Neville/Hannah fanfic will be up later. This just kind of needed to be written. Hope you're all still doing well, Lori.
