Summer Rain

Summer Rain

By Hwkngrl412

"When you stop seeing beauty

You start growing old

The lines on your face

Are a map to your soul

When you stop taking chances

You'll stay where you sit

You won't live any longer

But it'll feel like it

I lost myself in the summer rain

I lost myself in the summer rain

In a small boat on a generous sea

You let me be your enemy

Tiny hand with a grip on the world

Holding our breath now

Diving for pearls

I lost myself in the summer rain

I lost myself in the summer rain

Just as you find me

Always I will be

A little bit too free

With myself

It's not why you're running

It's where you're going

It's not what you're dreaming

But what you're gonna do

It's not where you're born

It's where you belong

It's not how weak

But what will make you strong"

Summer Rain by U2

Ginny carefully placed each foot on the slippery stones surrounding the edge of the lake, the warm late spring rain slicking her hair into long auburn ropes that clung to her wet face and neck.

"You're going to catch pneumonia," said Harry from underneath the beech tree.

She lifted her gaze from her feet long enough to flash him a warm but cheeky grin, yet continued to balance on the slick rocks as though she had not heard him clearly. Her brown freckles stood out clearly against her white skin, blending into the cold pink flush of her cheeks and nose as the soft rain poured down the collar of her jacket and seeped in through the white leather of her sneakers. Ripples pleated the water of the lake like a glistening stretch of silver gossamer, and it lapped softly at the grass near the shore where Harry was sitting. He was watching her; she could feel the intense green of his gaze burning into her forehead as she stepped from rock to rock. She slowly lifted her own eyes to his and smiled softly. He returned her smile, one that still sent tiny floods of giddy warmth through her body, and patted the soft, dry ground next to him. Slowly, coyly, she made her way over to him, trying not to slip but for the oddest reason wishing she would, because then maybe Harry might catch her. But she didn't slip, and he didn't rush to her rescue, and the full green branches of the tree brushed the top of her head as she walked to him, dropping more dewy droplets down her back. He stood and came to stand in front of her, risking his cautiously dry state as he too was sprinkled with water from the dripping leaves.

Harry's hands felt cold and they trembled as they enveloped hers, but he tasted warm, soft like the summer rain, and sweet like chocolate and old memories. And yet it poured still; this moment was no more earth-shattering then all the other moments they had shared, but it etched itself into her heart, for surely it could not last. There was no such thing as eternal peace. They had learned this all too well.

She opened her eyes and was on the ground without knowing how she had gotten there, and he led her underneath the shelter of the tree, smiling softly. She loved how her hand fit precisely in his.

They sat down at the base of the tree, a cool breeze lifting the hairs on her head and singeing her skin with cold. But soon the breeze passed, and she was left feeling warmer with the glowing happiness that being with Harry brought to her. She looked at him as he moved around in search of a more comfortable position, expecting him to put his arms around her, wet as she was. But he didn't. Rather, he locked them around his legs and drew them into his chest, nestling back into the warm soft bark of the beech tree, raindrops streaking down his face in a startling resemblance of tears. Ginny watched him silently, wondering at the frightening similarity he bore to a helpless young child, tired and worried and hungry. And try as he might to hide it, Harry had looked this way for a very long time.

"You miss them," she said softly, without even noticing the words flowing from her mouth until it was too late to take them back. "Don't you?"

Harry turned his sorrowful green eyes upon her, sending waves of guilt through her body. She knew he didn't like to talk about these sorts of things. "Yeah."

They were once more silent, listening to the pattering of the rain. "I don't think Dumbledore would have gone...if he hadn't believed that...that you were ready." Why in the world couldn't she keep her mouth closed? Ron was right...she never did shut up.

"I don't think he had a choice," said Harry bitterly, pulling his sleeves over his red fingers.

And as much as she hated to do so, Ginny agreed with him. For so long since Dumbledore's murder she had struggled to believe that maybe there was a big mistake, that Dumbledore was not dead, and that there was still good in Snape. But as the days went on, and there was no Snape to sneer at her spell work in Defense Against the Dark Arts, no Dumbledore to entertain them with silly jokes at supper, she found it harder and harder to believe that things would turn out all right in the end. She wanted so much to know that Dumbledore's trust in anyone was as solid and concrete as redemption, but all of her trust in...that man...was shattered. It had shattered the night she pulled Harry away from Dumbledore's limp and broken body at the foot of the castle.

"Let's not talk about this," she said, standing upright. "Let's not talk about the past. I want to make the most of right now...with you...before the end."

Harry looked sadly up at her, though his green eyes re-emitted Dumbledore's twinkle, as though to say, "You're so naïve it's almost cute." But he gladly took her out stretched hand, and they ran out from underneath the shelter of the tree into the warm rain.

"See? This is fun!" Ginny shouted, whirling around with her arms spread out. Harry chuckled. It was the most beautiful thing she had heard for a long time. She kept spinning, eyes closed and face tilted into the rain, wishing she could wash off all the pain and destruction that filled their lives as easily as she could wash the dirt from her hair.

Ginny suddenly realized that she was terribly dizzy from so much turning. She opened her eyes and thrust out her arms to Harry. This time, he did catch her. She let him hold her close to his cold and trembling body, breathing in his warm scent of broomstick polish and pastries and many other wonderful things. She sighed happily. Chills quivered down her spine as he mumbled something into her hair.

"Hmm?"

He removed his face from her hair, his glasses streaked with water, and grinned weakly at her. "Thanks."

"For what?" Her breath caught in her throat as his cold, red hand placed itself upon her cheek.

"Just...for stuff. For everything." She was positive she was catching several types of fevers as he looked at her with those mournful green eyes. "For not giving up. For staying strong. For being brave."

"I'm not brave," she replied in a sad whisper. "I was too scared to save him."

For a long while, Harry was quiet, and Ginny was scared to death that he was going to cry. She would have never forgiven herself if she had made him cry. And perhaps while it was not all her fault that Dumbledore was...gone...she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she could have done something to change the tides. But she was too weak...too cowardly...too naïve.

"You're not a coward, Ginny," Harry said softly, squeezing her tightly in his arms. "It's not your fault."

"But..."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this anyway," he said sadly.

"I don't."

"Then why are we?"

Before she could answer, she found her heart had jumped back up into her throat, for he had once more bent down to meet her wet mouth.

And once more, when her eyes opened and Harry stood straight, it took Ginny a few moments to remember that she was standing on solid ground and not in the wispy clouds above. Gently, he held her in his arms again. She mustn't cry, not in front of Harry. That was unspeakable. But the tears would soon pour as softly but as relentlessly as the rain, and so she broke their embrace. "I'll race you," she choked. She saw that rare glimmer of a smile that was so seldom found gracing his features, and he grasped her hand in his and ran toward the castle.

Several times they slipped on the mud and fell, not quite laughing but almost, to the soggy ground. Several more times he rescued her from sliding down the slick pathway. And for several more hours, they sat together, wordlessly and needlessly, in the rain.

They were behind a hill, away from the prying eyes of those watching from the castle windows, where he spun her around in the air until they tumbled once more to the wet grass. Ginny, wiping red hair from her face, said she liked the rain and didn't want to go inside. Because the rain, she continued, was either hard or soft, but it was always just water. You could always tell when it was coming and if it would soon end. It didn't change.

Harry ran a trembling finger along her face, and as he did, he smiled at her. That real, true smile she hadn't seen for weeks. The one that froze her skin and melted her insides. The one that spoke of happier, easier times. The one he saved for those times when he was truly content. But there was something different in his eyes. Because even though they flickered with happiness, there was a depth of despair, hopelessness, and affliction buried beneath the cheerful green.

And she never knew if the water on their faces was only the rain.