Harry Potter Oneshots and Headcanons

Rain

Rain trickled down the car window in trails, mirroring the tears on Remus's cheeks. He watched the water run in more directions than he could count as the hills of the countryside flew past in a blur, greens of every shade leaving him dizzy. It helped to watch nature and stare at a white sky, instead of thinking about the lingering ache residing in his bones. The hint of dusk on the horizon sent waves of fear ebbing through him but he chewed his lip, sniffed, and pushed it away.

The first night was hell, or worse. It was the uncertainty that Remus hated. His parents left him in the woods, alone and shaking with both cold and terror. The blank stare on his father's face as he drove away in their Vauxhall haunted him and his mother's tears were no comfort as silver light crept over the dirt at his feet. Trying his best to hold back sobs was no easy feat and before long there was nothing left of him but blinding moonlight and searing agony poisoning every inch of his small frame.

Most of that night is a black void, as are many of the days that came after. Not the pain, though. That memory lasts.

The water on the windows of the steam-train he rode in first year was different from the rain he watched at age five. These trails were not heavy like before but fine, delicate splatters on the glass that looked as if bubbles had burst against it. Remus smiled as he thought of bubbles, remembering a dog he once met with the same name and pondering the faint bubbly feeling he felt in his stomach - was it happiness? He felt sure it was.

The castle was home to Remus but it was also ancient, and every storm that hit the grounds the first year sent echoes howling through the corridors and bellowing through dormitories. On those nights, Remus would hide under bedcovers and pretend the whistling of the wind did not sound like the cries he could in the forbidden forest at the full moon. It didn't always work and the sheets were too heavy, and suddenly the air was too hot and too cold at the same time, and a thousand beads of sweat prickled his skin until-

they didn't. A familiar shape at the end of the bed, best friend a few feet away in the darkness. No words were ever exchanged - for this Remus was thankful - but the faint scent of lemons and cigarettes told him without words that it was Sirius, and for some reason that was enough.

There were times when the rain wasn't just on glass; it was beating hard on fur or skin. Third year was the first time Remus transformed with friends by his side, friends with fur coats and claws and more teeth than smiles. The usual grins of his three closest companions flashed white in the moonlight and black eyes glinted as the ache began to pull at his bones and Remus lost himself once more. The rain was hard that night, trickling first on bare skin and then on fierce muscle and hair. It didn't matter this time though, with the canine by his side.

Rain stings when it freezes, Remus discovers in fifth year. He is left in the castle for the winter holiday and all his friends have gone home; save Sirius Black. Although something deep inside tells him that word no longer fits what they are. Nothing is ever said regarding the matter and neither of them ever really think about it but, like the pull of lunar light on the wolf inside, it's always there. They spend those two weeks in the dorms mostly, a few feet between them, the sound of ice pecking at the window panes in time to the beat of their hearts. When Remus's teeth chatter on those nights, and his toes turn blue, a familiar weight finds itself at the bottom of his bed; a large black dog snores soundly.

In summer, the water on Remus's body is warm or at least the fingers tracing his spine are. The breath on his neck is too hot to bear by sixth year and all thoughts of the moon and the stars are drowned out by the boy named after one. His nose tingles when Sirius's cigarette smoke finds its way into his lungs and when the dark haired boy smiles, Remus feels summer rain falling softly down each of his vertebrae, tracing each edge of his skin and bringing him to life.

He swears water is no different from fire in the moment Sirius first kisses him. Lips find his own with the softest of touches and the past six years of his life almost make sense and the pain in his joints, there since the age of five, momentarily subsides. He is filled with a new sensation, a new feeling, as warm hands link with his own and a foreign smile tickles his lips. If this is what rain can feel like, he'll welcome a monsoon.

Seventh year, snow is bitter sweet and Remus almost believes it has healing powers. Transformations are easier than ever and the scars on his body feel fainter, more so when Sirius kisses them. Butterfly kisses peppered on his neck, collar bones, chest and other places that make him blush. The moonlight shines through the glass panes of his window, illuminating the pale of his body and the tanned skin of Sirius's curled behind him. They only do this after the others are asleep. It's no secret but some mischiefs must stay in the dark, as James once said.

For all of his life Remus felt like his heart was close to bursting, from pain and love and longing, but never did it feel more explosive than on the thirty-first of October, 1981. That wasn't rain, it was hail. Dark clouds had been rolling in for months, punishing him with thoughts of war and loss. But this was different. The clouds aren't lifting as he cries on the hard floor of the morgue; his kitchen; his bedroom. Ice hardens his spine and once warm fingers now belong to a traitor's hands, ghosts of past kisses are only bitter reminders of what now lies rotting in Azkaban. Remus wants to hate but he can't, not truly. A heart becomes numb when it gets too cold and Remus's is well below freezing.

There is only solace and moonlight for many years. Darkness and dullness. Not even rain breaks through the clouds.

More scars than before litter the werewolves' pallid skin and the red, angry scratches hurt more than ever. Remus is used to it, now. He sleeps alone and misses warmth, almost forgets what love felt like. Something new replaced it; but hatred only lasts for so long before it becomes routine. All Remus has left is routine, he finds. A mundane existence kept regular solely by the twenty eight day cycle of a white circle in the heavens.

It was always destined to be this way, he thinks, as droplets fall from a darkening sky. Water clings to his hair, his skin, his eyelashes and runs in trails down sallow cheeks.

It was all he should have expected, from that first night at five years old. Rain and darkness was all he deserved.

The horizon line is darkening across the fields. He can see for miles on the hills, hear every scuttling creature around him. Every scuttle except the ones he wants to hear.

There is no sound of hooves and no scratching of a Rat's whiskers. There are no laughs and no shouts; no smiles and no kisses.

But worst of all, he finds. Worse than anything, there are no stars.

That night, the rain burns more than ever.