Outside, there's a green smell on the breeze,
A storm's rising, lightning on the way.
But for a brief and precious moment,
all is calm, all is quiet, all is neat.
You'll ride the storm as the dolphin rides the sea,
When the whirlwind meets the waves
And flames flicker through the forest
I know you'll be there - fighting and free.
And they were pretty words, pure truth that concealed the truest lie. Draco thought this, as he wrote words on a page, a missive to a person who might never know him at all. Some would call him a fool for such...sentimentality, for daring to expose even the least of himself to someone who doesn't share a scrap in return. Draco, however, doesn't need her to share, he can read her like an open book. Gryffindors, like Hufflepuffs, were easy. Ravenclaws, too, though in their enthusiasm, they often forgot how to feel entirely. Besides, Blaise had been right, putting pen to page was like opening a clepysdra - sending out a small waterfall instead of an explosion of water and wind.