A rainy day - Un jour de pluie ENG version

Rain of thoughts

Hogwarts, 1999. 

5 months of cohabitation.

Cordial relationship between two voice raisings.

Stressful homework.

Weight of war.

Unbearable tension.

The rain is falling, and so are their masks. They thought they knew each other, they discovered each other.

The rain is falling, and so are the barriers.

The rain falls, as they fall for each other.

_________________________________________________

On January 24, 1999, the day dawned without sun. The sky was gray, as if it had been drawn with charcoal. Drops beaded on the window of the head students' apartment. It was far from being the first. But for this weekend, the headteacher had decided to cancel all outdoor activities since the two consecutive weeks of heavy rain had taken their toll on the muddy roads and the Quidditch pitch.

Some houses had celebrated the night before without going outside. This was not the case for our two head prefects whose morning started slowly. The exams were still quite far away and the start of the semester had barely begun, the teachers had taken pity on their students stuck in the castle grounds, and had therefore not wanted to make them dive into depression by sinking them under the homework. January was already depressing enough as it was.Both of them had no idea what they were going to do with their day. So we find the brightest witch of her generation, early riser as always, reading Hogwarts History for the umpteenth time on the sofa in the common room, near the crackling fire. When the Prince of Slytherins came out of his room, in a comfortable but classy outfit, like every Sunday in fact, and he saw this scene, he could not repress a grin. "The bookworm is back," he thought. How many times had he seen her reading this particular book? He had lost count. When the Gryffindor saw him out of the corner of her eye, she observed him for a few seconds, then plunged back into her reading.

"Bad morning, Malfoy"

"Bad morning to you too Granger"

It was not a way of ruining one's life as Ronald would say, but the cordial way of saying hello from two people who are complete opposites. There was not a hint of malice in their tones. 

They had been living together for five months, and although it was complicated at first, the two prefects had gotten to know each other without showing it and had developed cordial habits. They weren't friends. But they got along and that was already a lot for them. Draco Malfoy, like Hermione Granger, knew each other's little quirks by observing each other and working as a team as requested by Headmistress McGonagall. He had noticed her nervous tic of biting her nails when she was upset, of popping the tip of her tongue out of her mouth or biting her lips when she was concentrating, her tendency to hide behind volume of her hair when she was embarrassed. She had noticed his reflex to scratch his left forearm when he was nervous, the way his eyes changed color depending on his mood and emotions, she knew not to talk to him when he came home and poured himself a firewhiskey straight away. She had her quirks, he had his quirks. They knew each other.

Well, they believed so. The truth was that if both of them were blindfolded, they would be able to recognize each other's perfume without hesitation, whether they had sprayed themselves with it or not. The truth was that they could understand a message like "private conversation now" just by looking at each other across the Great Hall. And they did not see that. The truth is that they know each other better than they think.

Draco sat down opposite his counterpart and also began reading a book. After about ten minutes, Hermione looked up. Draco seemed absorbed in his reading. Reading which surprised her. On the cover of the book with gold embroidery appeared the inscription Les Fleurs du Mal. A Muggle work. She stared at the back cover to discover that the work was written in French. She obviously was not expecting it. She also did not expect the blond to notice her gaze staring at him, his smirk forming on his lips in the meantime, nor for him to read a passage to her.