The challenge is to write a story with no dialogue, which means they will not be speaking to each other through words, but through body language. Written for the "When You Say Nothing at All Challenge" from hpsauce.
I have also entered this story into TenthWeasleyWriter's "Sad Story Challenge" who apparently happens to love sad stories as much as I do.
The idea of a wizard's grief conjuring a storm actually came from when Ron inadvertantly conjured snow after 'breaking up' with Lavender.
I'd love to hear from you, so please be a dear and leave a Review.
A grieving wizard stood at one of the grand windows of his deathly quiet manor willing his pain and grief to somehow subside while watching the rain pour.
His only heir… his only beloved son was dead and no words from the masses expressing their condolences were able to comfort him in the slightest.
It had been a week after the funeral and still he felt only pain, grief, despair… and the sting of death; the death of a father’s dreams, the death of a hopeful future for his son and grandchildren that would never be. Sick thoughts consumed his mind as he thought of how his son, once full of life was now buried under the ground never to breathe again.
Flocks of owls had descended upon the manor delivering letters and cards of sympathy from all over the wizarding world. He let them pile high until one late evening he magically moved them onto his living room carpet. And while sitting in a velvet high-back chair, he painstakingly tossed them into the fireplace… one by one. He had no intention of opening any of them. He would only glance at the return address taking a mental note to see who sent it, then toss it into the flames.
Without opening them, he already knew what they said. They would speak of how sorry they were for his loss and tell him not to question God and then remind him that time heals all wounds. But even though they meant well, their words felt empty and did nothing to truly take away his pain.
In truth, it would've taken him a year to actually read them all, as they would be entirely too painful to go through, every single one ripping his heart into pieces that would never be put back together.
By the time he summoned the very last sympathy letter from the carpet, his eyes were so watery he couldn’t read the name of the sender. He tried to make it through them without breaking down, but he could not. One remained.
The handwriting blurred into unrecognizable letters and soon he heard the sound of his tears dropping onto the envelope. He had to pause as his breath caught and a slight sob escaped his throat.
He was about to toss the final card into the fire before reading who sent it when his eyes cleared just in time to read the name… a name that reminded him of something very important to him.
Draco Malfoy ran his fingers across her name like a blind person reading Braille and then held the envelope to his chest, directly over his heart. For Hermione Weasley had something that was his… and he suddenly and desperately wanted it back.
After a few long moments, he managed to pen his request and despite the rain that poured, sent his best owl to deliver it as fast as possible.
And as he waited by the window, he watched as the rain came down wondering how Hermione managed to keep breathing through her own tragedy a year before. For in a moment she not only was the brightest witch he knew, but suddenly she was the strongest as well.
And the rain poured down…
Hermione Weasley stared at her husband’s magical portrait that never had come to life.
If ever there was a right time for his likeness to wake and speak to her, it would be now. Forget that she needed him to wake just so that she could see his blue eyes smile at her again. She needed him to wake and console their daughter. She thought if Rose could hear his voice, maybe she would respond.
It had been a year since his death and now her daughter Rose was going through nearly the same heartbreaking tragedy as she had. Except Rose not only lost her love, but she had lost her father the year before. It was too much for her to take and she was now being cared for in the mental ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital, unresponsive.
As she stared into the portrait, she had to face the fact that it never would wake, no matter how many hours she had stared into it or shouted at it. With each passing month, the likelihood of it ever wakening became slim to none. It was far too long now. It would never wake.
Giving up, she was about to leave their home for the magical cottage she loved. She had wanted to purchase one as a vacation home, but Ron had protested, sighting the cost too high. But when he passed away, she bought one anyway and filled it with the books she loved.
The thatched roof, whose shape reminded her of a Beauxbaton’s hat, gave it that cute magical look that she fell in love with. It had warm wide-plank wooden floors, an oversized stone fireplace, and a porch with a wonderful swing overlooking a brook. Her favorite was the whimsical bookshelves that held books in circular patterns on the walls. It was picture perfect and a place that was only hers and not a constant reminder of losing Ron.
There was only one thing at the cottage that brought memories of him. It was the queen-sized cottony covered bed that felt so wonderful she never wanted to get out of it. She loved the size, always thinking that a king-sized bed was much too large. She always liked to have Ron close. She would miss him when she closed her eyes and he wasn’t there breathing beside her.
With Hugo at Hogwarts and Rose now at St. Mungo’s, Hermione wanted to get out of the house and visit her perfect little magical cottage.
But just before she was about to leave, a graceful owl made its presence known and delivered a post written on beautifully embossed parchment, sealed with the Malfoy coat of arms.
She expected a thank you for the funeral flowers and the sympathy card and such. But instead, she read Draco's hand-written wishes to retrieve something that belonged to him. And he wanted to arrive in person that very evening, if possible.
After glancing at the clock on her mantle, a wedding gift to her and Ron from Harry and Ginny, she carefully penned her agreement and sent the owl with her reply.
Hermione climbed up the thin winding staircase that lead to her daughter’s bedroom and found the silver Malfoy ring on the bed, binding together a bouquet of decaying roses from the funeral of Scorpius Malfoy.
Scorpius had worn the snake-shaped family ring proudly until he fell in love with a girl, which caused him to do something he should not have done. He magically reshaped it into a dainty feminine heart-shaped promise ring and gave it to his love, Rose Weasley.
But when Scorpius died tragically, the magic died with it and the ring returned to its original snake-like form.
Fresh tears fell for her devastated daughter as she slipped the ring from the dead flowers; knowing her daughter’s dreams were dead as well.
The ache in her own heart swelled within, missing her husband and wondering if she would ever be able to slip her wedding ring off her finger someday.
She was still Hermione Weasley, after all… even if Ron was never coming home again.
She looked at her ring and turned it slightly. It would not come off just yet. Even after a year, she still wasn’t ready to remove it.
Hermione didn’t mean to, but her thoughts had caused rain to fall outside. She heard it falling against the window and watched as it trickled down the glass.
She held her breath and wiped her tears, effectively stopping her rain. Draco Malfoy would be visiting soon and she didn’t want him to have to stand there getting all wet because of her.
She fully expected him to show up precisely when he said he would. He had always been the formal one, always meticulous in his details, and always seemingly so put together.
She wondered if he ever did anything spontaneous or if he ever swayed in his path at all. Not that it mattered.
As she sat on the bed, she looked at the Malfoy ring a bit closer and remembered back to her Hogwarts years, remembering him wearing it. She wondered then what he would want with an old ring when he could buy countless more to replace it. Why couldn’t he just let Rose keep it? He always was selfish to the core.
Like a clock that held the perfect time, the doorbell rang precisely when he said he would be there.
She expected to see Malfoy with all his grand aristocratic arrogance barge into her home and demand what was rightfully his, but to her shock, he didn’t show up as she expected at all.
And the rain was now a downpour.
He was wearing his signature expensive black robes, but he clearly came as a father who had lost his son.
At first, he hadn’t been able to look at her in the eyes. He stood there dripping wet and soaked through as if he had words planned, but they wouldn’t form and his voice could not be found.
She realized then, that the rain wasn’t coming from her.