Watching the Drops of Rain

[Ivy Tunstall]

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die,
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.
Kathy's Song - Simon & Garfunkel

Vast swathes of rain swept across the lake, with a monotony that made it seem as though the same passage of time was repeating itself indefinitely. The occasional gust of wind broke the illusion, sending the raindrops swirling chaotically into fascinating, intricate patterns, and also straight into Ivy's eyes.

She had been here so long that she barely noticed anymore, not even shutting her eyes to ward off the stinging of the rain. Her hair hung limply in wet, tangled, congealed strands; she had taken the hood of her jacket down because it had become useless after a certain amount of time out here.

She was soaked, wet-through and very, very cold, but she was only half aware of the fact: the hypnotising effect of the steady rain had caused her to forget herself. How lonely the rain's world was, she thought to herself, gazing out to the far side of the lake. There was no one around. No one wanted to come out in the rain, and it had been raining for hours. Even the birds were silent, hiding somewhere under cover to stop their feathers getting wet. Lonely peace reigned.

It was a loud peace: the weather had its own noises. The wind assaulted the trees, bending the narrow tops of the firs to its will, causing them to sway comically from side to side. It howled its hollow sound through spaces where it was unimpeded. Hundreds of thousands of raindrops hit the choppy swell of the lake, its surface seething with each impact. Small waves blown up by the wind lapped spitefully at the lake shore. The tree behind her dripped steadily, at such consistent intervals that it was possible to forget the sound entirely at times, until a new wave of consciousness reminded her of it. But it was the ubiquitous rain that was loudest, the 'pitter-patter' of the few drops combined into the rushing roar of the many. Noise was everywhere.

Ivy shivered, reeling, and suddenly realised that the noise a bit like a machine gun was caused by her teeth chattering very vigorously. She didn't wish to get ill and decided that she had better go inside. She began jogging towards the castle, wanting to reach it as quickly as possible. The lonely communion with the elemental world had already left her feeling sick, frightened and drained. So that she didn't get in trouble with Filch for dropping gallons of water onto the Entrance Hall floor, she made for a small wooden side door rather than the main doors.

The door creaked horrifically as she opened it. It led to a steep, narrow, slippy staircase. Once she had negotiated the staircase, her reward was to find herself in the Courtyard, where the sounds of the rain were altogether gentler. There was a covered walkway along one wall of the Courtyard and, drawing her wand, she sat down on a bench. The drying charm was simple enough and one that Ivy never usually had any trouble with; she used it on a regular basis in her work at Catalina's Cubby in Hogsmeade. But today her lips trembled with cold as she tried to pronounce the incantation, and it took several tries to dry herself slowly from soaked to merely damp.

The loneliness had been too much, striking surely at the insecurities within her. She felt empty and lost. She wanted the company of a best friend she hadn't talked to for months. Well. There were unlikely things and there were impossible things. Exhausted, she sat in a reflective stupor, trying to find something to think about that didn't bring tears to her eyes.

((Originally posted and set in March.))