Let The Rain Fall

RomaFlavour

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/08/2004
Last Updated: 05/08/2004
Status: completed

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

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

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.”