A/N: Though I am by no means near finished with `That Old House', I've just recently been inspired by the release of the DH film to take another look at this particular piece. Clearly it's been a long while since I last updated it, and after much ruminating, criticizing, and arguing, I decided to completely start over. So to those who faithfully reviewed and enjoyed the original, I offer both my heartfelt thanks and humble apologies.
Now that I am marginally older and, hopefully, slightly wiser, I've managed to approach this idea with a clear head. Though a writer's affection for her creations never dies (indeed, it often refuses to, in my experience), a good long break sheds some light on its fatal flaws. Perhaps it's a good thing that I gave it pause. I rather think my writing has improved since then, if only a little-I'm better equipped to take on something like this.
That being said, I have done my best to retain some of the style and- if I may be exceedingly unoriginal and conceited-rhythmic qualities of the original `Rhythms', as well as its underlying theme. For these reasons I've decided to keep the title and summary (for, as I said, I am rather fond of them). Now, enough of my prattle. Shall we begin?
The rain was almost unbearable; a dark gray flood thrumming and pounding all about him, drenching his clothes and turning the earth into a churning, muddy river beneath his feet.
"Hermione!"
His voice drowned in the thunder and he stumbled again. His glasses slipped off and fell at his feet. Swearing loudly, he dropped to his knees and scrabbled in the mud for his glasses.
"Hermione!" he cried again, as his fingers finally closed around his glasses. He was all but blind; there was simply no use to trying to clean them off. The rain persisted in streaking the lenses and obscuring his vision even more.
Suddenly someone crashed into him, sending him hard into the mud. Instinctively he whipped out his wand and jabbed it into the person's neck.
"Harry, it's me!" Hermione turned around, her face a vague, watery vision in his gaze. "Oh, honestly- Imperv-"
"No!" Harry grabbed her wrist quickly. "No magic."
He wasn't sure she had heard him, but to his relief she seemed to understand. She lowered her wand, pressing her lips together and nodding.
Reaching down, she grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. With her other hand she pointed to the right and broke into a shambling run, pulling him along with her.
The rain only worsened, and soon Hermione's firm grip on his hand was the only thing that allowed Harry to know where he was going.
A few minutes later the rain seemed to lessen and the earth grew firmer under his feet. Then he realized he could hear his footsteps, echoing and reverberating back at him as if he were running in some bizarre glass container.
Hermione's grip on his hand loosened, and as he opened his eyes, he could see her sinking to the ground, breathing hard and struggling to catch her breath.
"Where are we?" he asked, his lungs burning in his chest. When Hermione didn't answer, he peered around and noticed a sort of rock enclosure. Turning, he saw the little cave opening into the dark, rainy forest.
He looked back at her.
"Ron?"
She shook her head.
"I couldn't-" the word broke, and the crack in her voice was even more audible in the cave.
Something in Harry gave an agonizing throb.
He walked slowly toward her and sat beside her.
"He'll be along," he said with a voice of forced confidence. "We'll just… we'll wait."
She looked up at him, her face glazed with rain. He tried to say something more, but the hollow words that came to mind simply snagged in his throat. Instead he reached out and put his hand on her knee.
She surprised him by leaning over and burying her face in his shoulder. Even in the numbness of the moment, Harry was acutely aware of the way she trembled; the way her shoulders hitched as she cried quietly into his already-soaked sweater- the strange, painful gladness he felt knowing that, somehow, he was not alone.
He leaned his back against the wall of their rock shelter, allowing her to curl up against him and weep.
The rain beat determinedly at the earth around them, and the wind echoed eerily about the cave.
He leaned his head against her hair and put his hand on her arm. He could feel a pulse there, fluttering quickly against his fingers.
In all the chaos and noise of the storm, that one, constant quivering rhythm was the only thing that Harry could bring himself to think about.
It was the only thing he could be sure of.
A/N: (2) Yes, it's me again. I would like to let you know that the original `Rhythms' will be available shortly (possibly on my LiveJournal). Additionally, I've got a good chunk of the initial chapters written, so updates should be relatively regular for a while.
Thank you very much for reading!
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