Rain II
By darkmosmordreheart
Summary: D/H. He always leaves me when it rains. After Hogwarts.
Warnings: Bitching . . . and reference to really good, muddy sex.
Disclaimer: Nope, not J.K. Rowling. Nope, don't own Harry Potter. Nope, not rich. Yep, I'm crying.
Author's Note: I need a life, seriously. I'm on this site too much, but I just can't stop writing! Sorry! Anyway, the following may or may not seem as if I'm trying to make Ginny out as a bitch. I am. I really, really don't like her. Haven't since the second book. I wanted her to die. Wow, that's mean . . . Anyway, here's the story. –DMH
He always leaves me when it rains.
It's the middle of the night. I don't know what time it is. The kids are asleep, out cold I suspect, but their father is up. And leaving me alone once again.
I know where he goes. I've always known where he's gone.
I listen to him as he ties up his boots, then walks slowly---so not to make a sound---towards his desk and grabs the jacket he keeps hanging over the back of the chair. That jacket isn't going to keep him dry, but I think he knows that. He likes being wet. Almost always has.
I listen to the rain warring against the window pane and focus on the repeating sound, so not to hear the soft click of the door closing behind him. I pretend so much. We both do.
At parties. With our friends and family. Our children . . .
I pretend even with myself. I lie to myself and claim I don't know where he's going or even know that he leaves. Instead, I absorb myself into the rain, wondering if it is a manifestation of the tears I refuse to shed over this. I will not cry. Tears are for him and his bitch.
Not me. Never me.
I am his wife.
I have loved him. Stood by him. Been there for him and he leaves me in the middle of the night for someone who he cannot even be seen with in public.
I should be everything that he needs. I should be everything to him. Everything.
I cannot block out the sound of the rain. I want to, but . . . I remember that night. It was the first time I had seen them together. I'm guessing it was their first time being together. Both had lost someone close to them that night. One lost to waste away in the confinement of a prison cell, the other lost behind a whispering veil. Is this the reason that bonded the two? I have no idea, but that night . . .
The rain seemed unnaturally sweet. I ached to stand in it for hours. After that night I wanted to be cleansed. The rain was new and fresh and it was welcomed. So I walked in the rain that night--- wandered aimlessly, really---in search of nothing, but finding probably the most important thing I would ever find in my life.
There, by the lake, in the exact spot where he fought off a hundred hooded demons to protect the one he loved most, sat my love. His usually unruly hair was plastered to his head and he sat, his knees curled up to his chest and watched the lake as the raindrops caused thousands of ripples across the surface. Why was he out here? Why hadn't he come to me for the support he seemed to need so badly?
Maybe he wished for the rain to cleanse him, too.
I remember seeing a shift of white to my side. At first, I thought it to be a ghost, but I couldn't see through the pale figure making its way towards the one that was mine. His black robes blended so well with the shadows that I don't even think my love noticed until the blonde was standing right above him. His face lifted slowly and he looked at the phantom; I know they both had spoken words, but I know not what they said . . .
The ghost collapsed in front of what is mine. It appeared to plead and I watched what seemed to be angry words spill from my love's mouth. I was proud as I stood in that sweet, sweet rain and watching him; his shoulders shaking with raw emotion, his glasses glinting ominously in the moonlight. I just knew that the hand reaching over to the pale figure would strike the phantom down . . .
I learned that night that I assume too much.
Clearly, it was too much to assume that my husband was truly mine.
That night, I learned. I learned as I watch my love's fingers curl into pale, pale hair, as I watched them use the light strands to pull the phantom's head back to angle a rain wet kiss. I learned as I watched article of clothing after article of clothing being tossed this way and that. I learned as I watched two figures tangle together into the mud the sky's tears had created. I learned too much that night.
And I know too much now. And I will continue to pretend I don't. I never heard his footsteps nor the door closing behind him. I never heard the rain. I never remembered that night and I never will again.
He is my husband.
Mine.
I won him. I earned him. What does that ghost do for him that I can't do?
I am everything to him, but I pretend too much. I should be everything. I hear the last of the rain and finally open my eyes to see the trails the sky's teardrops have left behind on my window and, as I curl further into the sheets, I wonder if they are as bitter as the rain that night that I do not remember.
I ignore the pain in my chest and turn to stare at the ceiling. The rain has stopped. He should be home soon, but now I will say the words that I'll never say to him.
"I hate the rain."
Author's Note: Oh, please tell me how it was! Did you like it? Thanks! -DMH