I Wish It Was Raining
Summary: Songfic to Sugarcult's "Hate Every Beautiful Day." Adrienne Harlan stares out the window during History of Magic class, and she drifts away to her own thoughts.
NOTE: This is, as teh summary suggests, a ONE-SHOT! Please do not leave reviews asking for any kind of continuation or whatever. Also, this will not, in any way, affect "Rebel, Seemingly Without a Cause", including when it will be updated. I actually have almost half of the first chapter finished.
Thanks and enjoy!
I Wish It Was Raining
I hate History of Magic. It's the dumbest class ever thought up. I suppose it did have the potential to be interesting, but that was probably back before they gave the job to Professor Binns, but that ages ago. I suspect that was when it lost its flicker of hope. It wouldn't hurt us to pay more attention in this class, though. How does that saying go?
Ah, yes.
"If you don't know you're past, you're doomed to repeat it in the future."
Something's gotta change again
I'm losing, my inspirations gone, oh no oh no
Seeing through some different eyes
I can't find, my medications failed, again again
I always aspired to be a writer, a famous novelist known throughout the wizarding world for her works. I wanted to travel the world, to see it all. I get it from my mother, really. She's charmingly charismatic and has always had a flair for the dramatic, for the adventure. I've always had a thirst for things I can never be, never do, and never have.
Lately, it seems that all I've been doing is watching the world go by. I've been sitting here, perched on my stool and simply stared, and stood by as it all happened. I've been rather out of it, really. I cannot remember the last time that I could stare off into a window and not dream up a wild scheme or a wicked tale of deceit.
I can feel a change
I can feel, can you feel it
See it on the street watching heat from the pavement
I fear that I'm growing out of whom I am. Do you know what it's like to stare in a mirror, and see your face but another's soul? No, no, I suppose not. It's rather infuriating, I assure you. It makes me terribly aggravated. I want to tug at the ends of my hair and scream out something along the lines of, "Who are you?" and "What the fluck do you think you're doing to me?"
Sadly, I don't really think that will help at all. The screaming part eases the frustration, of course, but does nothing else for me. I want to know what's happening to me, how to stop it! If I'm not Adrienne Cornelia Harlan, theatrical drama queen extraordinaire, beginner novelist, penniless artist, tempermental redheaded spawn of a dreamer, than who I am? I know nothing else, I wish for nothing else! Who am I to be if not that?
Cause I'm here, ready to take it all here
Everything's feeling unclear
I wish it was raining
Cause I hate every beautiful day
I've never been fond of those sunny days where the flowers are blooming and the trees are lush and green. No, it's all to full of pleasantry for me. Life goes much deeper than all of that. Do you think that Edgar Allen Poe could have been famous writing stories about bunnies, teddies, and flowers, now do you? I think not! One has to focus on the more sorrowful things, the feelings that can alter your life in one death-defying moment of glory. One must consider the inner torture and secrets of the human soul, the human heart, and unbury it and bring it to life so that it speaks measures with only few words.
Behind every smile there is something foul, even if it's only a small bit that can be touched.
Faces in the crowd
Fake smiles for miles
My imitations wrong of them again
Trapped inside this cheap hotel
Bored as hell turning the channels 'round
Rain speaks volumes. It has been around since the earth was formed. It created the steam that oozed from the crust when our planet was bombarded by the asteroids of our solar system. It helped create the pools, not shallow ones mind you, where all life stems from. We owe our existence to water, you know. At least, that is what science says.
Science is a funny thing. I'm half-blood and my mother was the muggle, she's who I live with and whom I've grown up with all my life. Still, even at a young age I fostered a wonder of who my father was! I wanted to know more than his name, of course. I wanted to know who he was, after all there's more to an identity than what's on the outside, and I yearned to know what he did and what he liked, what he was like. Turns out, he was something called a theoretical physicist. I looked into science because of that, but it was Arabic to me. (I don't know Arabic, by the way) The only cool thing about science was Astronomy, but I still like Astrology.
I can feel a change
I can feel, can you feel it
See it on the street watching heat from the pavement
I wanted to be like my father, so I could have a little piece of him with my always. But, no matter what I try, I'm my mother's daughter through and through. My mother is a famous actress, Gillian Boothe (It's Gillian, literally gill, like a fish?). She's an actress on the London stage; she is the epitome of utter brilliance. She is truly a drama queen, in all aspects of her life. She has more than a flair for the dramatic; she has an affair with it! Gillian Boothe is a true, honest-to-god artist.
I failed miserably with science, especially once I came to Hogwarts. My mother was a bit relieved really, now when she traveled I wasn't such a burden on her. I loved Hogwarts – I love Hogwarts. I'm free to be myself here, whoever 'me' may be. It's a silly prospect, my dear, to not know who you are. Eleanor Roosevelt once said that "Somewhere along the line, we discover what we really are." I'm almost seventeen and I have not reached that point, and I fear I shall die before I do. We're at war, and I fear I shall become just another face, just another corpse, just another casualty of war.
Cause I'm here, ready to take it all here
Everything's feeling unclear
I wish it was raining
Cause I hate every beautiful day
I wish I were a Gryffindor, then maybe I'd be brave enough to take it. Just maybe, I'd be strong enough. I'm writing furiously down on the paper, my quill poking holes in the parchment. I've been writing this my whole life, it's the story I was born to write! It's my tale of sorrow and woe, it's hard to be the daughter of a star, don't be so hypocritical dear. Maybe I didn't grow up starving, or beaten, or broken or whatever. I'll tell you how I did grow up: starved of something, and thing was love.
I idolize my mother, she's famous, a star, everything I want to be but in a different way. Growing up, she wasn't really around and when she was she was… stuck up. Nothing was good enough, clean enough, perfect enough for the precious Gillian Boothe. I've spent my life waiting for her to notice me. My life is waiting, but I am going to wait no longer. My adoration of her was one-sided.
I can feel a change
I can feel, can you feel it
See it on the street watching heat from the pavement
The bell had rung five minutes ago, or so Professor Binns told me. Of course, he called me Perkins, so you can never be too sure. However, glancing at my watch as I exited the classroom, I noted that maybe Professor Binns didn't know his students but he knew how to tell time just fine. I was supposed to go to Divination next, but I didn't need to know my future, or anyone else's for that matter, because it wasn't going to matter much longer.
I passed one of the big windows on my way to the main staircase. The sun was shining bright, which wasn't unusual for that time of the year. I hated May, everything was blooming and it was horrid, I was sneezing all day long. I took a seat on the grand staircase, and soaked in my surroundings. Biting my lip, I knew I could do this.
I can feel a change
I can feel, can you feel it
I'm not the same, not the same lost my feeling
Can you believe it! Out of nowhere comes that egotistical Harry Potter. Just because he killed Voldemort all those years ago (great lot of good that did!), he thinks he can barge in on anything whenever he wants to!
"What are you doing?" he asked, sitting next to me. I sniffed snobbily, but hurriedly as I realized I sounded exactly like my mother.
"Sorry, I'm not in the best of moods right now." I sighed.
"Why?" He inquired, curious.
"Because my future is bleak, babe. It's very bleak." I sighed once again, this time more heavily. "Death is inevitable, and it's coming soon. She shall approach on the blackest wings of the darkest angels to carry me off to the afterlife. Tell me Harry, my dear, is it better to die by one's own hands, or at the hands of another?"
"I don't know." Harry stared at me, puzzled. "I've never thought about it."
"Well I do." I admitted. "It's everywhere these days, sad as it seems. I know I won't live through this war, and I'm not just being my mother."
"Your mother?" Harry asked, and I blew my curly brown locks out of my eyes.
All I know I'll never know
All I know I'll never know
"Gillian Boothe." I replied half-heartedly. "Have you heard of her? She's a muggle actress."
"Of course!" Harry nodded. "My aunt adores her."
"Adores her?" I laughed. "There is nothing to adore about my mother, Harry."
That's when he looked at me, with those to-die-for green eyes. They weren't unlike cut emerald, to tell the truth. One could drown in such eyes. I however, am not one of them. I'm not one for younger men, or should I say younger boys? Anyhow, he simply pursed his lips and stood. Harry tossed me a smile and continued up the stairs. Him being a sixth year, I supposed this was one of his free periods. I shook my head sadly, I hoped he lasted longer than I.
Cause I'm here, ready to take it all here
Everything's feeling unclear
I wish it was raining
Cause I hate every beautiful day
After he disappeared, I carefully withdrew my wand. My hand stopped in half-swish. What kind of effect would me using magic do? Magical ways to take a life are so mundane and for the most part, painless. I wanted to leave an impression on the world, to leave a gigantic stain on the fabric of life. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear with my left hand as my right dug around in that bottomless bag of mine. I first pulled out the manuscript, the story of my life I had been writing. I also pulled out a quill, and scribbled the title on the blank front page.
Under Siege: The Memoirs of Adrienne Reina Boothe-Harlan
I smiled, placing the bound book of pages next to me on the steps. I rummaged around a bit more and withdrew a silver knife. It was supposed to be a letter opener, at least that's what I used it as, but it had always been a knife.
"To die at another's hand is disgraceful." I whispered fiercely as I closed my stormy blue eyes, the only memento of my father I ever had. I carefully placed the blade over the pulsing vein in my wrist, and slashed upwards. It hurts, as my friend Tyler would put it, like the dickens. It was hard to withhold a scream, and when the blood seeped out I refused to let the tears seep as well. The knife switched hands, and no matter how much it hurt, I did the same to my other wrist.
I placed my hands in positions where they would not drip on my manuscript, only on the white marble of the stairs. I could picture in my mind's eyes; the blood dripping down the stairs, to meet in a pool at the bottom. It would probably not happen as such, but one could always hope, no?
My eyes drooped sleepily, and the urge to close them met no resistance. The quiet of the hall was changing into nothingness – there was no other word for it. After a while, all I could hear was a soft whisper, of what I don't know. There was a breeze, I could feel it, I could feel it like I could no longer feel anything else. I made an effort to smile, I don't know if it worked, the Lady of Mortem had arrived.
Every beautiful day
Every beautiful day
Every beautiful day
It was only a few mere moments later when students came running down the stairs, by the stairs, and were met with a gruesome sight. There, on the steps, lay the body of a girl whose identity was well known; Adrienne Harlan. Girls screamed, and boys gaped. Harry Potter stood there, amongst the crowd, staring at the lifeless body like no other. He couldn't believe it… he had just talked to her only a while ago!
Teachers pushed their way through the crowds, and all turned to Flitwick. The small man trembled at the sight of one of his prize students, one in his own house, dripping blood all over! Severus Snape was the only one with enough courage to approach the corpse, and noticed the manuscript that lay next to her, blood free. He picked it up, stared at it with a face void of emotion, and handed it off to another professor. He wasn't sure which one, possibly McGonagall. At that precise moment, Albus Dumbledore entered the entrance way in typical Dumbledore fashion. He seemed unmoved as he looked solemnly at the body.
"Someone contact Ms. Boothe, I don't care where she is and whether or not she is a muggle." He ordered, voice stern and controlled. "As well, contact a man by the name of Riley Harlan. He will want to know, I am sure."
With that, everyone went their own ways. She was on everyone's mind as Dumbledore picked up her bloody body and carried it off. One final scream was heard from a group of Ravenclaws.
"NO!" the girl shouted, latching onto a boy, also in Ravenclaw. "How could she do this to us, Tristan? HOW COULD SHE DIE ON US LIKE THAT?"
The boy, Tristan, wrapped his arms around the girl, Maura, and held her there. Many others did the same, but not because they knew Adrienne or even liked her, they did it because they knew this would not be the last violent suicide Hogwarts would see. But one thing was for sure, no matter how many deaths, suicide or homicide, that they would see… Adrienne's ghastly smile would haunt them forever.