Harry Potter loved the rain. On the days when it rained Dudley and his friends would stay inside, letting Harry wander the streets of Little Whinging unperturbed. On some days, when the rain was more sprinkle than drizzle, he even got to play at the local parks.
He loved the puddles he could jump in and the smell of the wet asphalt. He loved the way the grey clouds would part for just a moment and rays of sunlight would beam through the clouds; painting stretches of the sky with ethereal beams.
But most of all he loved the soft pitter patter of the rain drops. They would calm his young mind and let him forget, if just for a moment, the cruelty of his family and his classmates. All that Harry's mind would focus on was the drops splashing against the pavement, or window, or whichever other surface it landed on, and he would think about how far that drop traveled.
His instructor had told him that water was recycled, so that every drop he heard may have once been the sweat of a dinosaur, or water in the glass of a great king. Harry would imagine thousands of years passing by for each drop, from ocean to land and back again, ultimately winding up right here, in Surrey.
That would make his problems seem smaller, and that was why Harry, now aged nine, had snuck out of his cupboard in the middle of the night. He was standing near the windows that overlooked the back garden and taking in the sound of the rain, letting his mind drift as he did.
He wondered idly if there were any other children who thought the same as him, and hoped that if there were, he might one day meet them.
Harry had eventually met someone who shared his love for the rain, another pluviophile as he had learned they were called.
He had met her initially in passing during his first year at Hogwarts, noticing that she was the only other student willing to brave the Scottish winds and rains other than himself, even though they never braved them together.
That first time he saw her, he thought she might've been some beautiful magical creature he had never heard of, or maybe an angel. Her blonde hair hung around her, raindrops weighing the strands down and causing them to stick to her face.
Her eyes, a startling blue, pierced through the gloomy weather and found his, sending shivers down his 11-year-old spine. He had been too scared to speak to her then, so he had retreated to the safety of the castle.
A week later he realized that the pretty Slytherin called Daphne that shared some of his classes was none other than the same girl he had seen in the rain, and he began to keep a closer eye on her.
She was a good student, as smart as Hermione he thought, although less likely to show it. She was quick to pick up concepts and mastered spells before almost anyone else, but Harry didn't care much for that.
No, what intrigued Harry the most was her attitude on the days it rained.
He noticed it easily now that he was watching for it. The way she looked longingly at the windows when it was raining during classes. The way that her eyes lit up when storm clouds hung over the great hall in the mornings.
Harry wanted to reach out to her, he could sense a kindred spirit, but he was still shy and years of having no friends left him nervous. That didn't stop fate from pushing them together, however.
On one rainy day she found him while Harry was snuggled into an alcove near Ravenclaw tower. He was watching the raindrops splatter against the window and staring at the grey clouds that engulfed the grounds, fogging the forbidden forest from view, when a sudden noise pulled him from his reverie.
She had climbed into the same alcove, not saying a word or even sparing him a glance as she sat across from him. Instead, she looked out the same window and began to trace the drops as they rolled down the glass on the other side.
They sat in companionable silence for what could have been hours, and then just as she came — without a word or a glance — she had left him again.
That moment was the first of many they would share. Harry didn't know how, but she had a knack for finding him wherever he sat to watch the rain. No matter the part of the castle, the time of day, or how small the nook or cranny he hid himself in, she would sit with him.
After a handful of silent encounters, she spoke first.
"What draws you to the rain?" She asked him simply, her probing blue eyes staring straight into his.
Harry contemplated his answer. He didn't know her and wasn't in the mood to share just why the rain had become a safe haven for him. Instead, he regarded her a moment longer, chewing on the words that came to mind.
"Escape." He finally answered, looking intently at her and attempting to decipher her reaction.
Daphne's face softened ever so slightly, her eyes becoming less probing and more compassionate.
"I understand." She said simply, and Harry knew she did.
They spoke more after that encounter. Speaking of things big and small, important matters concerning life and death and those so trivial he didn't even share them with Ron or Hermione. As the years passed, they confided in one another, a bond stronger than the ones he shared with most otrhers forming.
She became his confidant. She comforted him after Hermione was petrified and was his strength when the dementors wandered the grounds. She helped him train for the tournament and had been there for him the next year as he wept at the visions Voldemort sent his way and his nightmares of Cedric. She was the only thing that kept him sane after the death of Sirius and Harry's new knowledge of horcruxces.
When Harry had been on the run, he had missed Hogwarts. He missed Dumbledore and Sirius, but more than anything he had missed her. When it would rain, he would sit outside the tent thinking of her blue eyes and blonde hair, and it was almost like the draining negative effects of the Horcrux would dissipate, if just for a moment.
After the final battle he found her and told her he loved her. She replied that she always knew.
Years later, at their wedding, Harry smiled at the guests that looked flustered and annoyed at the rain that had begun to pour down in thick sheets. He sat at the altar patiently, thinking back to their first encounter.
She made her way up to him, the strings of violins and cellos playing a soft march. Just like their first meeting he saw her then through the rain. And just like that first time at 11, when he saw her wet blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, he couldn't help but think she looked angelic.
A/N: A quick Haphne drabble based off a prompt from the Haphne Discord. I wasn't planning on posting, but thanks to the encouragement of those on said Haphne Discord Server I decided to upload. If you would like to join the server let me know and I can get you an invite :)