A faint drumming echoes on the windows and I breathe a sigh of relief. I discard my book and hurry towards the nearest window, surveying the scenery hastily. The dark clouds and deep thunder can only mean one thing.
It's raining.
I have always loved the rain, ever since I was a child. My mother would take me to the park everyday, regardless of the weather. If it was particularly wet outside, I would be zipped into a large waterproof suit, with matching wellington boots and a bobble hat. My mother would watch me happily as I splashed in the puddles and caught raindrops on my tongue. The rainy days seemed to be more fun than the sunny days; the park was always deserted so I had the entire place to myself, my own private wonderland.
The entire of the Hogwarts ground is near deserted as I race down the stone steps and onto the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I see several third year girls racing towards the castle and shrieking loudly. I ignore them, running in the opposite direction, my feet carrying me further away from the school. The rain pours, ominous clouds masking the sun and dimming the landscape. Drops of water surround me, scalding my flesh and reviving my skin. My breathing becomes more irregular as my heartbeat thunders almost as loud as the sounds above me.
As I grew older, the trips to the park became less and less frequent, but my love of the rain stayed. I didn't splash in the puddles any more, but I never avoided the rain or bought an umbrella. I embraced the weather, but I began to understand why people hate it so much.
Rain is miserable.
The dank clouds cast foreboding shadows, darkening the world. Thunder crashes whilst lightning destroys and kills. High speed winds tear down trees, ripping them at their foundations and shaking the trembling world. Cold water, that is all rain is, drops of cold water that soak and drown. Rain is misery, and yet it is beautiful.
I gradually grow to a stop, my legs ceasing to move any further. I stand, lifting my head to the heavens so the water bathes my face. The rain trickles down my cheeks and clings to my chin like teardrops, my wild hair billowing in the breeze. My fingertips hang loosely at my sides, red and raw. I don't care that my body shivers weakly or that my heart stutters feebly. I just stand in the rain, allowing time to slip through my fingers, hoping that the storm will never end.
I understand why I love the rain so much. I wonder if he loves the rain too. There is something so tortured and melancholic about him, he tries to hide it but I know the sadness is there, waiting in the background. My misery lingers until the rain comes, letting my sorrow free in the downpours. Rain is desolate, but so is this feeling. I love rain because it is what I am, it is what I have become, a self destructive storm that wrecks and ruins. I am a selfish, lonely fool that can't admit her feelings, not even to her best friend. I can hardly admit them to myself.
Gradually, my lips stretch into a wide crescent, baring my pearly teeth. Somehow, I still manage to smile in the rain. Even though it pours and rages, I still grin inanely. I guess it is because I still know that the rain is beautiful. To those who are happy it may be miserable but to those who are unhappy, rain can be a wonderful thing. Sunlight scorches and burns, snow and ice freeze but rain can soothe, cleanse, eradicate and wash away.
I lift my arms to the heavens and outstretch my fingers, my palms catching each tiny droplet. I spin and laugh as I dance in the rain, I should be crying but I just can't let it show. My mirth echoes throughout the grounds and yet no one hears me. The hammering of the water drums against the floor perpetually and the lightning illuminates the clouds.
After all, this is misery. But it is the sweetest kind of misery.