Note: You're so sweet. Really and truly. You're reviews left me floating. I feel almost guilty for your strong confession; I wish you could read the stories I've read on this site. Four years of 'Fanfiction.net' was enough for me to separate the good fics from the exceptionally written. I should probably list them on my fav and share. I hope you have fun reading them. Love, Eman On.

…

A certain Slytherin's point of view.

[ Red, the way you feel ]

…

+++

It's such a magnificent feeling that envelops you. Truly and completely universal, this feeling. Words of long ago, thoughts ingrained, and feelings all collide and blur the vision.

In the middle of the snow, with the whipping of the air, its lashing tides of wind…White…

My favorite season.

Could it get any better?

Hm. It just did…

Rain.

… And snow. And wind.

Cold…
Harsh. And cruel.

My haven.

My world.

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You don't understand?

Perhaps you haven't tried it?

It was too cold for you, wasn't it? The wind too strong, love? Your clothes not warm enough?

Wimp.

Fool.

You're missing it.

Hm, better you did then.

Your delicate bones wouldn't handle the wind's caress. Its kisses will drown you in shivers-

You'll gasp when it finally lashes and enters your soul.

I am laughing.

Me- laughing.

How strange. Yet so freeing.

I love this.

I love how the wind loves me. How the rain shields me. How the snow covers me.

+++

I look up. And the rain and snow look down. And we meet.

+++

You gasp. The first time you see me. I see your eyebrows knit. Even from where I am standing, I can hear the shocked gasp that tears its way from your flushed mouth, a puff of air surrounding the sweet sound.

I watch you still, as you fumble with your umbrella, looking over continually, as if fearing that I might somehow disappear. Away from you.

Hm, I have done that. Numerous times.

But not now.

Not now.

You finally throw the damned thing away, offering it an angry glare for not working properly, and especially when she needed you most.

"Stupid little thing"

I hear you shout. Angry. I've never seen you angry before.

It makes me tilt my head in fascination. Makes me wash away the rain from my face, even as it appears again, to gaze at the red flush of color adorning the pale expanse of your neck.

You're trudging in the snow. Your boots too big, your gloves torn, and your jacket not thick enough.

And no umbrella to shield the elements away.

My lovely friends.

They don't take pity on you.

Shame.

You fall three times. You lose your scarf on the way. And your eyes shut tight as the coughs convulsive around you.

They don't take pity on you.

And I am still standing. Watching. Waiting.

You finally reach me.

And I look down on you.

And you look up at me.

And we meet.

+++

Funny, how long and tiring a short distance could prove to be. For her.

I had her in my arms, her small form shivering and her delicate fingers clasped tightly to her chest.

I walked the small distance form the middle of the Qudditch field to the Great Castle's door, where the useless red umbrella lay on its marble steps.

I pushed in and headed for my private room.

The halls were quiet, the floors untouched and the air inside infected with dreams; Dawn.

This time of day, she liked best.

She said it had to do with the quietness that almost purifies the Castle's walls. The knowledge that a powerful place that harbors many powerful wizards, could lay still and quiet; could lie eternally and enjoy the warmth and rise of the sun across the sky.

That something so powerful could be so humble to something so simple as the rise of the sun and its rays.

She had a way with words. This Gryffindor.

+++

I shut the door with a short kick of my ankle, laying her on my couch; I went over to my closet to pick up two towels and one of my pj's.

She was still shivering. Her coughs sounding more than once in the breadth of a minute.

I changed her position, so that she was sitting on the couch instead. And began toweling her.

Ripping her hair tie away, I rubbed the scandalous locks dry, letting them fall nimbly on her shivering shoulders.

Her eyes were still shut.

Even as I began unbuttoning her shirts buttons, the jacket long since discarded.

The wet garment, now fully stripped off, revealed a linen undershirt held by thin straps that wrapped themselves elegantly around her bony shoulders.

Now, in the process of warming her shoulder blades and arms with the towel, I found my eyes wandering dangerously to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck.

A little birthmark. Clover shaped and tantalizing.

My little reason for relishing this addictive place. For kissing and tasting the little alluring blemish that mars her otherwise perfect skin.

Working my way down, I pulled her pants and toweled her legs dry, my eyes lingering on the scars adoring her knees and legs.

Fingering the small scar on her upper thigh, marveling in spite of myself at how soft it feels; I neglected to acknowledge the startled gasp from above.

It was only when my index finger played with the elastic band of her, not surprisingly, white underwear, did I look her in the face and smirk.

She let out a sigh of relief.

I wasn't interested in her.

No. I wasn't.

Now ridding her of her drenched socks, (the boots were kicked off as soon as I laid her on my couch), I felt her arm snake around my shoulders.

I finished. And now it was my turn.

+++

She was still sitting on the couch, toweling my head against the softness of her stomach, my nose buried in her scent inhaling her strongly as the towel ravaged the wetness in my hair.

My arms were resting tiredly by my side, my fists lying limply on the floor. She couldn't get my shirt off, and I wasn't helping.

An annoyed grunt was all she made before ripping the buttons off and flinging the shirt away.

I chuckled and moved to stand up. Getting my pj's, I threw the shirt at her and took the pants for my self.

I saw her turn her head away as I pulled my pants down, smirking sardonically at the faint blush creeping across her neck.

Walking over to her, throwing my wet pants in the process, I grab the silken shirt from her trembling hand and motion for her to stand up.

She does. Barely.

She obediently raises her arms as the satin feel of the nightshirt slips over her head. The end reaches just over her knees.

For a minute there, we just stand there. Her eyes lulled and sleepy, and mine just gazing at her.

And then. I reached out and lifted her hair from the confines of the shirt, letting it lay freely on her shoulders and down her back.

The contrast of her red hair and the green satin of the shirt was startling to say the least.

And somehow, I wanted to be back in the middle of the Qudditch field under the snow again.

I soon found her against me though, her arms wrapped lazily around my waist, her face buried deep against my neck.

+++

Seconds later, I found myself wrapped in warmth and tangled about your heat.

The covers tucked over us. The rain and snow tapping silently against the window.

And as sleep claimed me several hours after you, the thought of leaving this for anything was very unlikely.

+++

Ginny slept the day away, dreaming of a white haired boy, with gleaming eyes that laughed lovingly under the rain and snow.

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note from sick author: try the piano piece from chapter one. i really love that piece.