A Storm Inside

You can hear the rumble of the thunder as it rolls across the sky outside, and you wonder wistfully what it would take to sneak outside and revel in the storm for a while. You've been so stiff and cold inside lately; the feelings you've been keeping inside are just as turbulent as the tempest building outside, and you long to find a release for them, as surely as the clouds will unburden themselves very soon. Ron is fast asleep and you know that the storm won't wake him, so it would take very little to sneak out of the room. It's getting down all of the stairs and past the elder Weasleys that might be tricky, and before you know it, you've already begun tiptoeing down the dark staircases.

You're pleased to note that you've become comfortable enough in this house to know that the second step from the bottom of the third landing squeaks loudly when trod on, and so you carefully avoid that potential pitfall. The door to Percy's room is ajar, and you cringe before you realize that this room is empty; that Percy doesn't live here anymore. It seems to take an age to reach the bottom of the stairs, and you let out at sigh of relief when you make it. As silently as you can, you ease open the front door, aided by a sharp crack of thunder, and slip out into the ozone heavy night.

The wind is blowing hard, and the trees all around the house thrash, as their branches are storm-tossed. You leave the safety of the porch and walk out into the garden despite the fat raindrops that are beginning to fall. One falls on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine and gooseflesh erupts down your arms. Your glasses are beginning to fog up, but you don't care; you came out here to feel the storm. You are not disappointed. The very air vibrates as the booming of the thunder becomes more intense, and the lightning jumps from one tumultuous cloud to another, occasionally striking the ground in the distance. The rain comes down harder and drenches you, washing away the fog on your lenses, allowing you to watch the clouds boil by the light of the forks of electricity that fuel the storm. You raise your arms above your head and just feel.

You're not sure when you realize that the wetness on your face is not just from the rain, or that you are making your own contribution to the noise of the storm. Your chest his heaving as your sobs burst forth from you violently, snatched away on the wind as it lashes rain at you, and then you feel it. The second storm of the night; breaking while the first still rages. Arms still out stretched, you let it all go as the rain comes down and the thunder crashes and you do what you came out here to do. You feel.

Fin.