Wow it's been a while since I've posted anything. Here's a quick one-shot from the prompt "December Rain".
Diclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or affiliated subjects. There, that should do it.
Love,
Moretta
"It's raining again."
Why is it still raining?
The sky is a dark, murky grey. It has been for the past few days. It isn't normal.
The rain itself comes down in fat pearly drops that barely make a sound when touching the ground, but hammer at our roof as if all our doubts and regrets and what-ifs had come knocking.
Maybe they have.
Harry is sitting in front of the fire. Actually, it's more like slouching.
It looks like he's given up on the world, lost the faith he had in mankind, in fate, in that hope that everything will turn out all right.
He's staring into the flames almost as if he could find the answer in them. Knowing Harry, maybe he can.
The rain taps gently on the window, getting my attention. I hope this means the rain will stop soon, but if anything the sky has got even darker. We're in for an all-night storm.
Hermione hates the rain.
She used to love it. When she was younger she would go out and dance in it, or stay in and read, but now she won't do any of that. When it rains, she'll go to bed.
She's upstairs now. She refuses to come down to do anything until the rain stops.
She took me rain-dancing once. It was an August evening before Harry had come to the Burrow, about 5 years ago now.
We snuck out the kitchen door and she ran into the middle of the field with bare feet, arms open wide and a content smile on her face.
She came back to me, took my hands and we twirled round and round like I used to when I was small, round and round until we both let go and fell back onto the grass.
We went back into the house soaking wet, but happy. That's when I knew I loved her.
Harry's muttering to himself. I could hear him if I wanted to, but I don't think he realises he's thinking out loud.
I go to the window and look outside; it's almost night-time now.
The rain is still going strong.
I wonder how many other people are watching it pour down.
How many people are dancing.
How many are crying themselves to sleep.
How many are seeing it for the last time.
Harry's stopped whispering to himself. I turn to look at him, only to see that he's standing next to me.
"They look like tears, don't they?"
The window is reflected in his glasses and the drops on the glass do look like tears on there. I nod.
Harry gives me a small smile. The smile that took me by surprise when I thought I knew everything about him.
Maybe he found his answer in the fire.
He takes my hand and squeezes.
"Come on. Hermione needs to come out of that room."
He's sure of himself now. He got his purpose back.
"It's almost seven. No one will be out."
He laces our fingers together and pulls me towards the stairs.
"Let's take her dancing."