Rain
Hermione Granger was exhausted. She'd spent her entire night perusing one of the more obscure collections of wizarding manuscripts in the world, and it hadn't given a single lead to the next horcrux. She hadn't slept at all, poring over near-indecipherable scribbles of half-mad wizards. The coffee had run out at around three am, and the few people out on the little side street by the park on which she walked shied away from the woman with the mane of chestnut hair and the dark trenches under her eyes.
It probably didn't help that she glared at every passer-by with a vengeance, venting her frustration in the only way she could. She could scream, she really could. Five months. Five bloody months she, Ron, and Harry had been searching, desperately searching, trying to hide from the ever-searching Death Eaters. They'd been running, fleeing, searching for that one chance for so long. And still the attacks grew more bold, and the body count just kept rising.
Body count.
She felt tears come to her red-rimmed eyes. Body count. She hated those words. They weren't numbers, they were people out there. Sons, mothers, nephews, sisters. They were erased, simply wiped off the board by the most evil man in existence.
Voldemort.
She tasted bile at the back of her throat as she thought of that thing she most hated. He wiped lives out of existence without a backwards glance, destroyed happiness with positive glee. And what could they do to stop him? Absolutely nothing.
Her sneaker caught on the edge of the sidewalk, and she fell, ripping her jeans at the knee, and getting a lovely scrape to boot, sending her books scattering over the sidewalk.
People were dying out there, and here she was, tripping over her own feet and dropping books. Dropping godamned books.
She did scream in frustration then, quite loud, to the empty street.
Five months. No lead. No hope. How could they defeat a man who couldn't die?
She'd found nothing. She was useless. Worthless. Hopeless.
She sat in a slump on the sidewalk, staring at the scattered books with tears in her eyes, unable to get up again.
And then she felt a cold drop trickle down her nose.
The tears spilled over then, as the rain slowly began to fall, scattered at first, but coalescing into a steady shower in short order.
All of this, and now it was raining.
She laughed at the cosmic irony of it all.
The rain was merciless, soaking through her tee-shirt, jeans, down to cold bare skin. It beat an almost pleasant rhythm on her shoulders, and hung with heavy drops on her eyelashes. It was a real gusher, all right, and within minutes, the storm drains were gurgling with excess from the streets.
She at on her sidewalk a minute longer, then noticed a growing puddle edging ever closer. She began to edge away, then laughed. What was she afraid of? Getting wet? She was already soaked. Glancing around at the still-empty street, she hauled herself to her feet, and, with a final furtive glance about for any witnesses, launched herself into the puddle with a force she hadn't achieved since she'd been five.
Water sprayed everywhere, and she squealed as cold water found it's way into the last dry portions of her shoes.
This was fun.
Really fun.
Why hadn't she done this before?
She twirled around for no apparent reason, sending water flying from her soaked curls. She stomped into the nearest puddle, again sending water flying, and in this completely dignified manner, she made her way to the flat she, Ron , and Harry shared. Her shoes squelched as she climbed the stairs, leaving small puddles behind, and she felt a small smile creep across her face as she opened the door. When had she last smiled? She couldn't remember.
Ron looked up as she came in, red hair tousled and eyes bleary as he looked up from some of his notes. But he cautiously smiled, and looked her up and down as he got up to greet her. Wet shoes, soaked clothes, dripping hair.
"You look…soggy." Ron smiled.
Hermione flung her arms around his neck, and he cradled her against him, wet clothes and all.
And Hermione smiled, for the second time that day, and smelled the comforting smell of cologne that would always smell like Ron to her, and rested her head on the softness of his sweater. Everything would be alright. It had to be.
They could do it. They could beat Him.
Together.
Grey light filtered through their widow, and the rain kept on drumming on the roof .