A/N: It rained today, so I wrote angsty Draco with hints of Harry
Bitter Rain Falls
It is raining when he steps out into the garden. Not lightly in any way; the rain is pelting down hard enough to bruise the exposed skin of his arms and face. Goosebumps push their way to the surface of his body as he walks slowly down the winding path that leads from the door he came out of to the lake. Gnarled, old trees line the path, their faces leering down on him sinisterly as he moves. The path twists treacherously, the cobbled stones slick with the rain that still falls from the sky.
He slips at one point, falling hard onto his knees in a puddle. He can hear them crack below him, feel the scorching pain tear through the bone and ligament and muscle. But he welcomes the pain; it is a reminder that he is alive, that he's not succumbed to the darkness like his mother, not locked behind bars like his father. A strand of ashen pale hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back angrily.
Ignoring his screaming knees, he hauls himself to his feet and carries slowly on his path, stopping only when he reaches the lake. It's normally smooth dark surface is uneven, ripples spreading out from where the rain hits the water. This is where he spent countless summers, where his mother would bring him for picnics when he was a boy…. where he spent that one unforgettable summer with Harry before the final war began and they both had to choose sides.
Draco wishes now that he had been brave, rather than the coward he knows in his heart he always has been. He wishes he had had the courage to leave the Dark Lord and join Harry. He wishes it more than anything, even more than he wishes the black tattoo on his arm would fade. He had assumed that the death of the Dark Lord would make it grow fainter, but no… it is burned into his white flesh, a cruel reminder of all he had lost. All that will never be.
Draco sits down on the wet grass, and turns his face up towards the heavens. Freezing water hits him in the face, rolls down his cheeks and soaks his white shirt until it is translucent. He doesn't care. He wants to stay like this forever, locked in the moment, never changing. But he can't. He sits there for maybe seconds; maybe minutes… it feels like hours. In the end, he stands and strips off his soaked shirt, pulls off his jeans and the boxers he wears underneath. His socks are the last thing to go, and then he is naked, four pale limbs and a thin torso exposed to the elements. Cautiously, he steps towards the lake, and wades in.
Mud squishes under his feet, and the cold hits him like a Cruciatus curse to the chest. He keeps going, pushing forwards until he is submerged in the icy water. It sears, it burns, it hurts… it's fucking incredible. Shivering in pain and cold, Draco flips onto his back and stares up at the sky, where bitter rain still falls.
