On nights like these, pitch black and rainy, with thunder louder than the roar of Uncle Harry's motorbike, Roxanne likes to lie in the garden of the Burrow and let the rain pelt her face.
Here she feels at peace, at home.
Rain was cleansing.
She knew she'd be drenched to the bone, but the stresses in her life would temporarily be forgotten, washed away with the summer storm.
There was no fighting with Fred, who seemed to just want to make her cry.
Her dad wasn't drinking his life away, while his children tried to run the shop.
Her mum wasn't depressed, barren, and lost; her children wild and her husband absent.
There was no guilt for her mistakes, for enabling Lily and letting Lily enable her.
Roxanne was happy.
She was beautiful like Victoire, smart like Rose, creative like Lucy, ambitious like Molly, pristine and pure like Dominique.
She was the perfect Weasley, not "the wild one", not "the darkest one", not "the bad influence".
She wasn't whispered about at family gatherings, or fussed over by a distraught, worried grandmum.
"Yes, Nana, Lily and I have food at the flat."
"Yes, Nana, I'm sure I'm not sick."
"No, Nana, I don't need to go to St. Mungo's."
Soothe their worries, and they'll leave you alone that much longer.
In the rain, Roxanne was the same little Roxy who jumped in mud puddles with her dad and uncles, smothered in their love and protection. The little Roxy who was destined to grow up and take the wizarding world by storm.
Merlin, were they wrong.
In the rain, Roxanne imagines a new life, a happy one.
Teddy isn't with Victoire and she and Lily aren't addicts avoiding their family.
There's a double wedding, at the Burrow of course, with Teddy and his turquoise hair, standing next to blonde, spacey Lysander; and both boys are beaming as she and Lily walked down the aisle.
The girls are glowing. There is no sickly skin, hangovers, or scars. Just healthy, happy girls, marrying their healthy, happy boys.
She gets lost in this fantasy world and the rain pelts harder. So hard she doesn't see Lily coming to join her.
She feels her hand though.
Her best cousin's hand is small and delicate next to her strong, athletic one.
They don't speak; they never do.
They just lie in the rain, drowning in fantasies and what-ifs, escaping reality and their mistakes. Together.
Once the rain was gone, they come back. They were just the daughters of lauded heroes, fallen angels with once bright futures; dulled by bad decisions and self-loathing.
They party, drink, smoke and hook-up. Indiscriminately.
They were the girls used as examples by parents, the "girls you can't bring home", "girls to watch out for", and "girls not to trust".
That was fine, honey, because they had the rain. They had the rain, and they had each other.
They'll go back to their messy flat, their destructive lives, their lost futures and shuffle through days, waiting for more rain, waiting to imagine better lives.
A/N-hmmm...idk about this one. needs a little reworking, acceptable, I guess. REVIEW!