Warnings: Major character death

Chance of Rain

There will come a time when it'll all end. And then – then you'll wish that you knew why. You'll try to trace it back, like tracing wood grain lines to the edge of the block, like watching a movie in reverse where effect is always followed by cause and watch as the world crumbles down around you bit by bit.

But now – now there's happiness and the solid weight of Severus's arm across your stomach as you doze. He reaches down to brush the hair away from your scar, like he does every morning, and you smile sleepily up at him. "Morning," you whisper.

Severus – never one for idle comments – simply nods. The silence that follows is companionable; it's the silence of hundreds of lazy weekend mornings just like this and the hopes of hundreds more to come.

Your peace will be shattered in exactly five days, six hours and twenty-six minutes.

Tick. Tock.

It begins.

The morning's just like all others, with the sun rising in the east and proceeding its merry way across the sky to ultimately set in the west. (When Harry looks back, he traces the journey of the sun back to its cradle; effect preceding a cause.) The alarm rings at exactly ten past seven, and Harry jumps out of bed with a horrified look on his face. "I'm going to be late!"

Severus turns over in bed. "If you set it earlier, you wouldn't have this problem," he grumbles good-naturedly like he does every morning.

Harry ignores him. The tap in the bathroom is as temperamental as usual so Harry employs his normal method of hitting it with a spanner.

Severus appears in the doorway. "Must you do that?"

Harry throws a damp washcloth in his face. "We need to get to work."

The morning is almost boring. With hindsight, Harry wonders if that was the first sign. His mornings are never boring.

It ends.

It's just a normal day, but these things always happen on normal days. (When Voldemort struck at Godric's Hollow, it was just a normal day for James and Lily Potter. She had just hung out the laundry a scant three hours earlier and was scanning the sky for rain clouds.)

The sky is a deep blue when Harry steps out for lunch. There's only a hint of darkness at the horizon. He walks over to where Severus's sitting, waiting for him. It's their weekly lunch, the one indulgence that Severus allows him. ("We see each other every night already," Severus tells him each time, but Harry knows that he enjoys these outings.)

Harry isn't on guard. Why should he be? They're in Diagon Alley; it's safe. There are even children running around and mothers smiling fondly down at them. When he looks back on this, Harry thinks that he should have known, he should have felt something – what kind of Auror is he if he can't even protect the person he loves?

Severus's smiling when it happens. It isn't a wide smile, in fact, Harry knows strangers have mistaken it for a grimace before, but it's still a smile. "This is nic-"

There's a gurgle instead of the rest of the sentence.

"This is nice?" Harry teases. "Is that what you were about to say?"

Severus slumps against him. Harry's hands freeze as he feels a dampness spreading across Severus's chest. And then he's smells the metal tang of blood.

Time is fluid, and Harry knows if he can get his hands on a time turner, he can change things and make it so that Severus stays in bed this morning. Then Harry can take the day off work, and they can spend the entire day in bed like they did on their last holiday

Harry like that idea.

He can almost hear Severus's sarcastic retort that he's not a teenager any more. Well, neither is Harry, and he can now do things that his teenage self couldn't dream of. It means he can save Severus.

But no – NO. Cause always precedes effect and Harry knows he can't change the immutable past any more than he can predict the unknown future. (No matter how many times Trelawney insists, the future remains cloudy and the prediction is always: a chance of rain.) His breath hitches in his throat as he looks down at Severus's limp body.

It's a Muggle bullet wound in his chest.

That's what Harry's Auror training tells him. He can filter out the sounds of screaming around him and the concerned hands trying to drag him up because he's almost slumped over Severus's body. He can sort out the unnecessary noises around him so that later, he can debrief his colleagues and maybe they can catch the son-of-a-bitch who's done this to him.

But all of that is no use – no use at all – because all the training in the world won't bring Severus back to him.

Harry feels something hit his hand. He looks up. It's begun to rain.

There will come a time when it'll all end. Nothing is as you predicted. You expected a happily ever after and against all odds, you had twelve years together. Twelve short years just to see Severus being attacked right before your eyes. There wasn't even a green light, is your only thought as your life – the life you built together – begins to collapse before your very eyes.

Your predictions were wrong. You don't leave Severus. He leaves you. Leaves you to the world with almost cruel abandon.

Prediction: It will rain.

The skies open and Harry Potter is soaked to the bone.

-The End-