Let The Rain Fall
by RomaFlavour

Rating: PG
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 1,339 words in 1 chapter
Published: 5 Aug 2004
Last updated: 5 Aug 2004

Ron watches Harry and Hermione walk in the rain. One-shot, very short.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/2715/

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Disclaimer: Harry and co. belong to JK Rowling, obviously. If they were mine, why would I be posting this here? I’d be
too busy spending my fortune.

Note: This is a one shot I was inspired to write today because this is exactly what the weather is like right now.
Besides, I’ve always wanted to write H/Hr from Ron’s POV. Poor kid. I really do like him and I hate it when people
villainify him or dismiss his crush on Hermione in two sentences. It came out really short, just like everything else I
write. Words don’t spill out of me the way they do some people! I’ve got to work on that.

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You’re both gone when I wake up. It’s about noon on a cold, gray October day. Even inside the 7th year Gryffindor boys’
round stone dormitory the air is frigid. Four empty beds and mine stand in a circle around the walls. I crawl to the
foot of the bed and push the heavy scarlet curtains back to the posts, letting in what little light is straining through
the dark clouds. I can see through the tall, iron framed window between Seamus and Neville’s beds. The sky is dark and
its saturated clouds unleash their torrents on the grounds. The heavy mists linger around the hills and a cold wind
blows. Gray is the only color I can see. I pull the scarlet comforter up and settle back against the padded headboard.
It feels like the early morning, even though the sun was up hours ago (although we can’t see it) and I don’t feel like
getting out of bed just yet.

And then I spot you. You’re huddled together, moving slowly despite the cold rainfall, two tiny figures, the only ones
in view. You both look so small, surrounded only by the huge Scottish hills. He has his arm draped around your shoulders
and water falls from his fingertips, mingling with the drops falling from your hair. His dark hair, made even blacker by
the wetness, still doesn’t lie flat on his head. It stubbornly sticks up in all directions and manages to look as though
he’d spent an hour with a bottle of styling potion. Through its messiness, it achieves a sort of grace. Water flows down
his face and is caught in his lashes. He’s looking down at his feet, apparently resigned to the fact water will get in
his shoes. I know how he hates that. Then he looks up at you, and I see his brilliant green eyes sparkle. They don’t do
that often, you know. Especially now. He’s so subdued, so serious. Not many people can coax a smile out of him these
days, except you. He smiles now, that lopsided grin immortalized in stupid limericks by his fanclub. The skinny boy we
met on the train six years ago has turned into quite the witches’ posterboy. The left corner of his mouth turns up and
that little dimple in his cheek shows. He says something back to you and you blush. He smiles wider and tilts his head
towards you in a rare physical display of affection. He doesn’t usually like to be touched. Whenever anyone else tries,
he stiffens and turns so it’s impossible to hug him. Except you. He turns to you instinctively and you give him what he
needs.

He doesn’t have it so easy these days, I know. Cedric’s death over two years ago was just the beginning. He blames
himself for all of them. Cedric, Sirius, even Dumbledore. He has a lot to deal with and he doesn’t seem to want help. He
seems to think he has to do this on his own. Or maybe he’s just trying to protect everyone. Only you refuse to be pushed
away, and maybe that’s part of the reason he’s drawn to you. You aren’t afraid of him and you aren’t afraid of what
being with him might mean. Maybe you really are the only one who’s willing to care for him unconditionally, the only one
who can comfort him without wondering if it’s marking you for death by the most evil wizard who has ever lived.

He pulls his wand from the back pocket of his baggy jeans (he may be the Boy Who Lived, but he still wears his cousin’s
hand me downs) and conjures a ball of blue flames. They flare and falter in the wind and rain, but always come back
strong. He hands it to you and you take it with a smile, warming your fingers and then holding it below your face. You
give it back to him, and when your fingers touch the flames shoot up higher than before. He laughs, mumbles something
and the ball disappears. You rest your head on his shoulder and he smiles again at you.

You’re beautiful, you know that? You lean into him, your head close to his shoulder. Your hair is soaked and sticks to
your face, your clothes, his clothes in brown ringlets. All the water straightens it and makes it seem longer than it
normally is. It hangs down to your waist and he plays with it casually with his long, gentle fingers. You look up at him
with what can only be described as adoration. When you catch his smile, your dark eyes shine even brighter than before.
There’s something about rare gifts that make them all the more precious. I love your eyes. They’re dark chocolatey brown
and they seem to glow when you’re happy. And no one makes you happier than him. They’re flecked with black and lighter
brown. I wonder if he knows that. They crinkle at the corners when you laugh hard, and they do now. You wrap your arms
around his waist and he kisses the top of your head. You blush again, your pink cheeks becoming even rosier. They match
the color of your shirt, almost hidden by a dark blue jacket with belled sleeves that fall almost to your fingertips.
When you reach up to wipe the rain water from your straight, retrousse nose, the soaking fabric somehow manages to
absorb it. Your jeans hug your figure like your own skin until your knees, where they fall in a flare over the laces of
your shoes. You’ve changed quite a lot since that day on the Hogwarts Express, too. You’ve become a woman. Your hair
isn’t quite so busy now, and your personality has certainly softened. Your lips are fuller, you’re much curvier, and
you’ve become beautiful. Not just because you have a pretty face, either. Your shoes are covered in mud but you don’t
seem to care. It’s like you don’t even notice the sheets of rain falling. All you see is him. You adore him. No one
would ever think Hermione Granger would give up a morning good for studying two days before a major Potions exam, but
you did for him. You’d do anything for him.

You’re almost at the castle now. Before you climb the steps up to the main entrance, he stops you. Holding both your
arms, he says something else I can’t work out. His face is serious once more, but not in an unhappy way. You look at him
for a moment, your face shining with something I can’t quite name. Then suddenly, you cup his face in your hands and
kiss him. He doesn’t seem taken by surprise. He wraps his arms around your waist, one hand playing with the ends of your
long hair. You make a perfect picture. His jaw is strong and defined as he tilts his head to kiss you again, the water
still running down both your faces. Your fingers peeking out from the long sleeves of your jacket caress his face and
move down to rest on his chest. You both break away, but he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. You whisper
something back to him, and that I can read on your lips. “I love you.”
