Chapter One - Hermione:

There is a feeling surrounded by the kind of rain where you can hear nothing but the ocean around you. The heavy downpour that erupts from the skies, weighed and warm, coats everything in its way with a thunderous power. That which brings with it whipping winds, wild branches, rivers of rain flooding the cobbled streets outside your window. This kind of rain blows so ferociously that with your face pressed against the screen, you feel a mist - a kiss of the forces of nature, a breath of the freshest air you strain your lungs to devour, an almost maniacal joy that pulses through you in rhythm with the wild outside. It awakens an insanity within you that makes you want to burst through the door, out into the street, and soak in the energy. Makes you dream of running barefoot, tracing the cobbles underneath your stinging toes, rain coating your entire body, hair clinging to the nape of your neck, your face raw and exposed to the droplets. It almost makes you want to just lie flat on your back in the soaking grass, and relinquish yourself to the storm, feeling in all five senses what it means to be one with nature.

Hermione, for all intents and purposes, was a fairly logical person. Headstrong and, after all, the brightest witch of her age, she never cared much for whimsy or indulgence into fantasy. But no matter how old she grew, how much she learned, however many books towered in her bedroom, there was one childish feeling that she couldn't shake - a reverent respect, an almost submission, to nature's most crackling storms. As a child, she could remember her mother - graceful, beautiful, and strong, reading bedtime folklore to her on their nook by the window. Hermione could still smell the soft wafts of vanilla as she nestled into her mum's busom, hear the whispering lull of the story, and remember losing focus to the storm raging outside. Sometimes her mother would notice, and she would put the book down, stand little 'Mione up to the glass, slide open a little crack to let the smell of the rain in, and just hold her quietly - both women lost in the colors, the energy, and the ferocious beauty that raged around them. Sometimes they'd sit this way for hours, waiting for the storm to pass, silent to the conversations between the wind and the rain. Sometimes her father would come into the chilled room, holding woven blankets to drape around their shoulders, cups of cocoa to let steam by them, with rich scents of dark chocolate to warm their insides. He, too, would sit by her mother, and let himself be lost to the world. The three of them; cheeks flushed from the wind escaping through the small space in the open window, noses warmed by breath as they pressed against the glass, hearts pounding with the flurries of thoughts running through their minds - a beautiful storm, both inside the quiet house and out.

This reverence for a good storm never left Hermione; from the moments by the window sill held upright by her parents, to the solitude she found as Head Girl in her room at Hogwarts. Today - bundled in her childhood blankets interwoven with faint hints of vanilla and dark leather, a steaming mug of cocoa one of the kind elves in the kitchen had prepared for her clutched between her hands, with homemade whipped cream lining her upper lip, she sat mesmerized on the floor by her tall gothic window. One of the many perks of being Head Girl gave Hermione a beautiful, quiet room towering over the castle with an undisturbed view over the lake. Through it, she was given an almost film-like scene into the storm outside. Dark clouds raged over Hogwarts, rain pelting down with un unprecedented ferociousness, thunder grumbling so powerfully she could feel her heart jump every time in response. And there, sat in the middle of the lake, the Giant Squid playing with the lightning - reaching out its massive tentacles as if trying to catch it, splashing about as if tickled by the shocks every time they touched the water. Unbeknownst to herself, Hermione was smiling. There was no more perfect moment than the one she was lost in now.

Chapter One - Draco:

Draco Lucius Malfoy, proud descendent of a wizarding family rich in history, in secrets, and in wealth, with silky golden hair and eerily flawless porcelain skin, knelt cowering under his blankets while the storm raged outside his family's manor. Cold, he burrowed as far as he could under his pillows, trying to drown out the noise. Pulling the thick, emerald blankets around himself, he knew better than to call for his mummy no matter how desperately he wanted her there, so he did what any five year old would do - he started to cry.

The thing about Narcissa was neither her family history nor her complicit involvement in her husband's circle of followers could chill and harden her heart. She was a smart woman - she knew how to survive, how to be proud and look strong. The night she had Draco was the only time she had felt so defenseless, so vulnerable, so raw to an immense power of emotion she couldn't place - love. She vowed to never let herself get so weak again. And so she cared for Draco from a distance, keeping tight command over the elves, making sure he was coddled and warmed and fed, dressed and kept active and educated, alas, never by her. But on this night, in the dark hours of a stormy morning, as she lay wide awake, she wanted nothing more than to succumb to her motherly instinct, and run straight for her whimpering son. Turning slightly to look at the peaceful slumber which had taken over Lucius, she allowed herself to try. Slowly peeling away her covers, Narcissa rose off the bed. Turning to her husband for any sign of awareness, her body moved as if on autopilot, dressing quietly in a robe, pulling the hairs by her face behind her, feet sliding into silent slippers that carried her feet to the double doors before her. Hand on the gilded serpent which wrapped its way around the knob, Narcissa's mind was made - her act of defiance, to herself, to her nature, was already in motion. Thin, pale fingers pushed the doors apart, and suddenly she was breathing freely, quickly striding towards the other side of the corridor.

As she quietly slipped into her son's room, she saw him freeze and fall quiet, trying to figure out what he had just heard. A small, flushed face emerged from underneath the covers, grey eyes shining with tears. Turning to the door, he barely had a chance to recognize his mother's silhouette before she scooped him into her arms, burrowed his face into her neck, and held him closer than he could ever remember. The initial shock lasted only a moment before his arms went around her and he clung on to her for stability, for safety, for comfort. And as Narcissa held her trembling child, his eyes still fixated on the storm outside - he realized how safe he had felt, so different the rain seemed now - so far away from his shelter in his mother's arms. Slowly, with the rhythmic patter of the drops against his giant window, nose buried deep into his mother's vanilla-fragrant skin, Draco was lulled to a peaceful sleep. And Narcissa, warm child against her breast, heart again raw against the softness of his skin, the tight grasp onto which he held, felt herself exposed to the storm both outside the window and in her soul. This way she held him, until the storm finally passed and the brilliant colors of sunlight shone through. Until she softly pressed her cool lips to his warm forehead, gently laid him down taking great care to tucks the covers tightly around him, lips slighting upward as she watched her son's thumb drift to his mouth. Like a ghost, she slipped back out the doors, through the corridor, and back into her silken sheets, heart light, mind free, relinquishing herself to the caress of sleep.

Twelve years later, a 17 year old Head Boy, Draco sat at the furthest point in his room from the stone windows as the storm raged outside - yearning deep within his being for warmth and protection. Brows furrowed at the whipping of the wind against the panels, he softly rose to grab a pillow off his bed, holding it tight to his chest. Somewhere, in the distance, he noted a faint waft of rich chocolate, filling his lungs until his stomach grumbled and his heart lightened. "Strange" he thought, but he was glad for it - this small little whiff gave him a deep sense of comfort. Fluttering his heavy eyelids shut, Draco smirked at a silly revelation: chocolate heals everything, as all wizards and muggles know. Unbeknownst to himself, Draco's brow softened.

It could have been worse - this wasn't a terrible moment, the one he was lost in now.


Of course, it all starts with some chocolate. Thank you all so much for reading! This is my first work so please leave all your comments below, I'm so happy to read them. I've been wanting to write for the community in which I grew up for a while. I will be posting more chapters soon, just wanted to throw this intro out there and see what you all thought. Hope you're all staying safe and well. Let me know what you think! See you all in the next chapter soon...

~Yofi