Smells Like Rain
"Why does it always rain?" Molly asks me, joining me in leaning on the windowsill.
"This is Scotland, the terrible weather is characteristic," I say, watching the drops slide down the glass pane.
"When it rains here, it really pours," says Lorcan, joining us. "That's also characteristic. Never drizzling slightly, always bucketing down."
I like rain. It smells good. It makes the grass greener and the sky bluer when it stops. It's beautiful. I like sitting in rain, feeling it run down my skin, making my hair heavier and curlier. It's cold, sure, and makes me shivery and soaking when I go back inside but then I can curl up in front of the fire in my pyjamas and play exploding snap and wizard chess with Molly, Lorcan and Lysander.
"Where is it, where is it?" Molly says in a frustrated way as she digs through the mess under her bed.
"Where is what?" I ask, lowering my romance novel to watch her.
"My stash of Orpheus Orbs!" Molly exclaims, wriggling out from under the bed with her face and hair covered in a thin layer of dust. "I can't find them and I need to spin some music for the Christmas party tonight!"
"Look behind Rachel's bed in the chest with a blue ribbon on top," I tell her. "She nicked them to listen to the sad songs after her boyfriend broke up with her." Molly runs over and quickly extracts the chest and the orbs.
"Thanks," she says, giving one a test spin and grinning as some old Muggle country music blares throughout the dormitory. "I am going to kill Rachel next time I see her." She flicks her wand at the orb to shut it up and leaves to set up downstairs. I stay and start reading my romance novel again. I've only read a few pages when Molly runs in again.
"The guys are setting up," she informs me. "So we need to get ready." I grudgingly put my book down, marking my place with a Droobles wrapper and get up before summoning the outfits from the large wardrobe in the corner. I pick out mine and get to work.
Three hours later Molly dubs us suitably ready. As the daring one, she is wearing a short dress in alternating drapes of red and gold with high heels. She's straightened her hair and is wearing what is, in my opinion, too much make-up and jewellery. I've gone for the modest approach and chosen a simply white short-sleeved blouse and a knee-length green skirt with plain white flatties. My only jewellery is a piece of carved enamel holly on a silver chain, my hair is as curly as always and I am wearing no make-up.
"Let's party!" Molly shouts, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the stairs into a world of pounding music and flashing lights. Everyone shouts greetings over the music and raises mugs of Butterbeer to us.
"What is there to drink?" I ask the third-year minding the food table and the drinks table.
"Butterbeer, non-alcoholic fruit punch or water," he says. "Want some food?" He holds out a bowl of Honeydukes fudge. I accept a square and a mug of Butterbeer.
I don't do parties. The traditional end-of-term parties our tower always throws have always been my blind spot at school. I'll get dressed up and come down and then sit in a dark corner all night with my drink, wishing I could go back to whatever book I'm reading.
Tonight I have to watch amorous couples dancing to love tunes. I can't bear it. They all look so beautiful and happy, swaying in each other's arms under balls of mistletoe. Even Molly is dancing. I run out of there, past snoozing portraits until I find the secret passage Uncle Harry told me about. I pull aside the woven tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet and whisper, "Incendio," jumping as the torch on the wall flares, throwing shadows against the grey stone wall. The apparently solid wall in front of me creaks open and I rush down the dark steps until I reach another solid wall and another lit torch. This time, I reach up and pull the torch down and the wall slides to the side. I go through and push open the heavy wooden door where I find myself teetering on the edge of a balcony. As I've done many times before, I climb down the ivy that clings to the wall.
It doesn't take me long to reach the Dragon Claw Willow from there. I sit cross-legged on the damp grass beneath the bare branches, leaning on the thick trunk. The moon is bright and clear and I've never seen the stars shine so bright. It's still raining, but it's only a light drizzle. I can cope with that.
"Hey," Lorcan says, sitting down beside me. He is wearing jeans, his feet are bare and his shirt is exactly the same colour as my skirt. It's funny that our clothing matching makes me feel like we are matched perfectly, like we are two pieces of the puzzle needing to be put together.
"I had to get out of there," I say by way of explanation. "I'm no good with parties."
"How did you get down here so quickly?" Lorcan asks.
"Secret passage behind the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy on the seventh floor," I explain. "Leads to the little balcony outside Flitwick's office. I climbed down the ivy."
"That was dangerous," Lorcan chides. "You could've been hurt, and that outfit is hardly climbing wear."
"I didn't know where else to go that no teachers would find me," I say, staring into the depths of the lake.
"I know where," Lorcan says. "Show me your secret passageway."
Turns out climbing up the ivy is a lot harder than climbing down. I never quite appreciated how very smooth and without handholds that wall is. Lorcan seems to have some kind of mutant mountain goat gene, the way he simply leaps up that wall and waits smirking for me at the top. It takes me much longer, a few slides downwards, a few tangling incidents and a lot of swearing to get there, but when I do I show him the way up until we brush aside the tapestry and find ourselves facing an empty wall. Lorcan paces backwards and forwards in front of it three times and a door appears in the wall. He yanks it open and pulls me inside.
I look around. We are under the Dragon Claw Willow again and it's still drizzling and I'm still wearing my blouse and skirt, though the neck of the blouse is now immodestly low and the skirt is shorter. Lorcan is still wearing his jeans and his green shirt. He looks confused and even a little upset.
"This isn't right," he says. "I wanted the room to be what you wanted it to be."
"This is what I wanted," I reply. "To be out in the rain with you." Impulsively, I stretch up and kiss his cheek. He grins at me displaying adorable dimples and kisses my lips. The kiss is short and incredibly sweet.
Suddenly there's a clicking noise and a flash. Half-blinded, I see my sister's skirt whipping around the edge of the door.
"I get you for this, Molly!" I shout. But then again, all the photo will show is me and Lorcan standing together underneath the Dragon Claw Willow. It won't look bad. Then I look at us, seeing things I didn't notice before that are apparently from my romance novel fantasies. We are both soaked through. Lorcan's shirt is unbuttoned and has stains from crimson lipstick that I was apparently wearing. My skirt is rucked up so it barely covers my bum. And I'd forgotten about the disadvantage of white fabric: when it gets wet, it becomes transparent. My blouse is no exception from this rule. And, in my fantasy, I'm apparently not wearing a bra.
Crap.