Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own Rain by Breaking Benjamin. I barely own this computer really…
Draco sat silently on the garden bench, staring silently up into the gray clouds. Rain spattered his face, hiding his tears. He marveled at the rain, the clouds, and the storm.
The power of it all made him feel powerful. The sadness of the rain brought out his own tears. The clouds painted the picture, making it better.
Dead rose petals floated silently around the boy. The wilted garden crushed under the rain. Nearby stood the burned manor. Smoking remains showing only that the large house had once existed.
It was the picture of despair, the platinum haired boy sitting silently in a dead garden near an old burned house.
Draco was crying. Remembering the war, the ones he had seen dead, the burned bodies of the refugees, and the madness of his heart. The wind blew violently, shoving his hair over. The boy reached up and grabbed on of his arms, trying to shelter himself from the wind.
Silver eyes stared into the sky, brimming with tears, and looking ready to break. Draco held his pain and fear inside himself, not wanting to let it out. Not wanting to show to the dead roses and burnt house that he, Draco Malfoy, felt hopeless.
But, soon, the tears forced themselves out.
Draco fell to his knees, still looking up at the sky. His shoulders shook violently, shaking his body.
Flowing freely, tears snaked their way down his face. Making rivers of clean skin on his dirt marked face. The rivers leaked of his face, dropping in clear drops, spattering near and on the dead rose petals. The rivers and snakes grew larger, unable to hold themselves back.
The rain stopped for a moment, but the tears kept coming.
They cried for the needless deaths of the Golden Trio. They cried for the death of Dumbledore. But, in the sorrow, they held the joy that Voldemort had perished.
They cried for the broken bodies of children. They cried for the corpses of his parents, his mother killing his father, and then herself. They cried for the long-dead but staring eyes of Remus Lupin.
They cried for the refugees of the war, that Draco had sheltered. Only to have the refugees shelter, his manor, burned by the remains of the Death Eaters.
They cried for the clarity he had once had. The purpose he had lost. They cried because madness had installed itself in all those living. Himself, Molly Weasely, McGonagall, Parkinson, and so many others.
The man was soaked silently, by the tears of his sorrow, and the tears of the world, rain. He stood, for the first time, not staring at the sky. His body itself seemed broken, no longer held with an aristocratic dignity. Not making a noise, he made his way through the dead roses. Waiting for the storm to be done, waiting to begin his life, trying to live on with the death of his comrades.
Rain, Rain go away, come again another day, all the world is waiting for the sun…
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