When It Rains

When It Rains

Rain. Cold rain. Never warm. Never soothing. Just cold. Harsh. Judging. Mocking. And yet she loved it so much. She could spend hours watching it. She loved the sound it made. So soft. Peaceful. Free. And yet, when the rain touched her, then she knew how wrong she had been. When it poured down on her, it wasn't soothing, or warm, or calm. It was cold, harsh, hitting her, scolding her. And yet, she went back for more. She was a greedy girl, she knew, wanting something that bad for her all those times.

They never noticed the fact that she didn't really like sun anymore. There was no real reason for that, really. She just loved the rain more. She used to complain every day when it didn't rain in autumn. She liked rain. She liked it dripping from the trees, splashing in the lake, tapping on the window. To her, when it rained, everything was alive again. Hogwarts was alive, her grandmother was alive, her aunt was alive, even Crookshanks was alive again. And then she'd remember them, and it was then when the rain became cold. Anguish would sweep over her, angst would take over, and she'd feel alone, scared, just like a little girl.

She'd always go to the Astronomy Tower when it rained. She didn't care if people were there. She had once interrupted a tryst, and when the boy was screaming at her foolishness, she just looked at him, head cocked to one side. When he finished talking, she'd say nothing, just swiped past him, and go to the rail, hypnotized. There, she'd place her hands on the railing, take a deep breath and lean into the abyss. She never jumped; she didn't feel the need to do it. She might have been sad, but not as sad as to consider suicide. Yet, she stood like that, feet propped on the lower railing, hands holding on to the last bar, body leaning dangerously on the outside of the balcony, the rain and the wind messing with her hair, and she was a tad bit more happy.

She used to think of life when she was there, her life depending of how tight she could grab a piece of metal. She never told her friends about her late night walks. They were always vexed when it rained. To them, rain meant no Quidditch, no fun. To her, it meant reminiscence. The war was finally over, yet deep inside her soul, a war was still taking place. It tired her to no ends, as well.

She wished for release, yearned for it, but she couldn't have it. The rain reminded her of the war as well. The day she had killed many people. People who had had family, who she never knew, perhaps, never cared nor tried to know. But they were no better than her. They killed and mauled people just because of what they had been born as. They couldn't care less who they killed, or who they were hurting. So why did she feel sorry for killing them? Why did their voices have to haunt her, day and night?

She could live through each day, a mask on her face, cold, bitter, but at the same time soft, warm. She was like the rain. On the outside people saw her as a sweet, soothing, warm, nice, calm, generous and helpful girl. But when she was angry, when she was freed from her cage, she was bitter, harsh, uncaring, soulless, untamed, unreachable, judging, mocking, angry, hypnotizing, captivating. Cold. She loved the rain, and the rain loved her.

But it wasn't just because of this that she loved the rain. It's not because of the rain's coldness that she hanged on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, her only support a piece of tubular metal. It wasn't because the rain's sound that she felt freed every time it poured upon her. It was because she could cry when it rained. She could cry for her dead ones, and for the ones she killed. She could cry for the inner demons that tormented her at night. She could cry because she, unlike the others, had lost hope long ago. She cried because she couldn't cry in front of her friends. She cried because things would never go back to normal for her. She would cry because through her tears she let loose all her pent up sadness. She cried because they didn't notice her torment, didn't know how much she had wished she had never killed a soul, how much she had missed her dead aunt and grandmother, even her cat. She would cry because it passed unnoticed to everyone.

You can't see tears in the rain. And for that sole reason, she waited and yearned for the rain to come. So that she could cry her sadness away. Hermione loved the rain. When she had been little her grandmother and she had been caught in the rain. She had squealed in joy, and her grandmother had smiled at her. Then her grandmother had been killed. And then her mother's sister--Hermione's favourite aunt--had been killed. And then Crookshanks had been killed in a glorious fight against Nagini. But she had prevailed. Hermione had prevailed. She had been left to live. She used to think the gods were against her, letting her live in all her pent up anger, unshed tears and agony. But then the rain came and she was happy yet again. She cried for everybody, and for herself. She cried because the rain understood her, soothed her, and hid her. You can't see tears in the rain. So Hermione always cried when it rained.

END