This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Harry always liked thunderstorms.
When he was a little boy, he would sneak a peek out the Dursley's front window when he saw one coming. There was always some kind of dangerous, elemental magic about them.
From the whip of the wind, to the smell of the rain, to the sound of the angry lightning, even the unique quicksilver color of the clouds, it was an all-consuming treat to his senses.
While some children would run and hide under their beds at the mere sound of the storm, he would welcome it, and relish the feel of the cold rain on the palm of his hand and fingertips.
While thunderstorms were treacherous and seething, they also had a calming effect on the world, and served as a balm to the scorched earth from the blazing summer sun. They had a way of washing away all the pain and sins of the past, and yet also had the power to drown anything in their wake.
He would stand in awe of its raw power, and wish more than anything that he could be a part of it, and take it all in. But alas, while he could let the rain soak him to his skin, take a picture of a lightning bolt, and let the wind whip his ebony hair to and fro, it would always be impossible to possess a thunderstorm.
That was until he met Draco.