.aint no sunshine.

..........

It was chaotic, those raging feelings inside. Beats that rivaled the thrumming of the rain with its rhythmic echoes.

A thrill.

A passion of sorts that overpowers the mind. Clasps the heart and wrings the emotions so they pour out like the flood that appears when the bosom of a flower is too soaked to withstand the weight of the cherished elixir.

A buzz.

A hum, I might add. The humming of rain when it pours- pours- pours. A glacial sheet of shimmering water that penetrates and slices through the now fogged air.

Mist. The murky tendrils that swish about the floor of the garden, that twist and curl around the weeds and flowers, and play about your legs and under your flying skirts.

Wind.

Wind.

So much wind.

My hair is pushed about with its long fingers, flying through the air like a dying flag of broken wounds and surrenders. It plays a tune that chants around my ears, the 'whoosh' and 'shhhhhh' that make up its whispers, the playful tug it attains, wrinkling my clothes and blowing it off my collarbones and legs.

Blue. So much blue. Twilight and the full bright moon. The setting of the dying sun and its embers. Beginnings of blue.

Can you feel it?

The picture I made of me. A redheaded girl sitting under the shade of an old aged willow, under the rain and along the wind, surrounded with flowers, watching the sun set and the moon and its rays of blue.

Do you see me?

........................................

………

Rain. Is there ever a word to describe it. The rhythm, maybe.

The strum of fingers and the beating of feet.

The smell. No.

The scent of bathed leaves and fresh air. The smell of rain. You can never experience it without being actually there.

The spikes of heaven. Under the rain.

Like our Ginny is.

Hm.

The tree above her bench made a safe shelter against the drops. She used her hand to shield her paper from getting wet. Her ink next to her folded legs, and her bag under the bench.

Her haven.

The mood was melancholy, like it always is when it rains. Yet, the half smile was playing on her face, and she didnt mind the playful wind, and its fervent caresses.

The strumming continued, and thunder showed. The wind picked up, and the smile was gone.

Her things were quickly stored away, in her bag. But still, she stayed, her legs now unfolded, her back straight, unmoving from her bench.

Thunder struck again.

Disturbingly, the half smile appeared again.

......

From behind the same bushes that veiled her hideaway, a figure entered.

He stepped and thunder beat again, his figure outlined in silver while the rest was seen as back.

No matter. He was already recognized by Ginny.

......

He sat beside her, so close. They would have been touching if it weren't for the umbrella that he so keenly placed in the small space between them.

He had his head turned to the left, away from her.

That hurt.

No much, but it stung nonetheless. Even though he never spoke to her, never even looked at her before, never really went past the flaming red hair and the Weasley name---

"If you want me to go, say so." She voiced, trying successfully to mask the hurt in her voice.

He didnt spare her a look.

"Fine." She said calmly. Albeit a little tiredly, but she did mask the anger in her retort. She knew she didnt have to leave, but she wasn't comfortable. With him.

He made her feel so inferior, so small, so...beneath him.

In the haze of her darkening thoughts, she grabbed her bag, and while striding the small steps away from her bench, she realized something.

Behind her, a small thumping sound began.

Its chronic beats mortified her.

Stupid.

With her eyebrows level, and her eyes bleak, she turned her head and stared back at him.

He was twirling the umbrella in his hand, the one that he was not a second ago tapping against the ground.

His face was still blank, yet Ginny still found the traces of malicious superiority. The control, blank face, yet the mouth was slightly slanted. Slightly, spiteful...

Turning her face away again, facing the showering rain, she sighed and closed her eyes.

A moment later she was back again, sitting next to him. The umbrella tucked safely between them.

Jerk.

....

The rain, by now was starting to lesson.

Still. She sat. Waiting.

He sat. Not saying a word.

....

She left as soon as it cleared.

He sat just as before, yet his face was no longer blank, and his eyes were no longer away from her.

........................................................