“Raindrops keep falling on my head,” I sing softly to myself, scooting backwards.

It’s actually not raindrops but a deluge streaming through the cracks around the door above me.  My feet are covered in water.  Some part of me worries I’ll drown, that this space will fill with water faster than it can evaporate, and I’ll drown.  That won’t happen, but it might.  It might.

It must be summer because the rain isn’t freezing cold.  I’ve already been through one winter (snow) and spring (birds), so it must be summer.  Right?  Summer is after spring.  The days have blurred, but I’m not too concerned.

Crouched on my heels, I wrap my arms around my knees and rock slowly back and forth.

I’ve learned to forage in my little hole.  I can hang a rat by its tail, letting it die and dry at the same time.  It doesn’t taste too bad then.  I learned after eating the first one when it was still alive.

The last time I actually saw a person was a small section of Malfoy’s face and his hair.  That damned hair was backlit by sun, giving him an unholy corona that contrasted with his taunts.  Come to think of it, I didn’t hear a word he said since I was too distraught by the beauty, the color, of that hair.

For a moment, I step forward and turn my face up into the water.  It streams down my face, chest, arse.  If I were fanciful I’d claim it washed away my sins, but I’m not and that’s not possible.

In winter, the winter with snow, Malfoy taunted me about Voldemort.  I don’t remember what he said.  He hair was speckled with snow and it distracted me.

In summer, when the sun beat mercilessly on my head, Malfoy etched a Dark Mark into the wall of my cell.  I think he expected it to bother me.

When I held a hand out and burned the Mark from the wall, he slammed my cage shut and didn’t feed me for two weeks.  Worms are plentiful in the mud at my feet and slide down my throat easily.

A noise sounds above me, something I haven’t heard before.  A woman’s voice.  I open my eyes, heedless of the rain.

The cover shifts a bit at a time until fingers wrap around the edge.  The fingers move, dragging the cover with them.  A face appears in the opening once the cover is gone.

She looks familiar.

“He’s here!” she calls.

A male voice, its owner out of sight, is indistinct to me though I recognize the spell Accio when I fly from the pit into open air and into his arms.

My momentum knocks him down into the mud.

She runs to us, brushing my hair back from my face.  “Are you okay?”

I’m distracted by the space around me.  So much space.  It’s pressing against me, so large.  Then her hair catches my eye, bringing me back to something close.

I reach out with a trembling hand to stroke her hair.  “Pretty.”  He shifts, catching my eye.  I stroke his hair, so vibrant, with my other hand.  “Pretty.”

She gasps, tears in her eyes.  I smile, trying to make her feel better.  Her small hand grips my chin too tightly.  She moves my head from side to side, searching my eyes, horror slowly dawning in hers.

“Harry?” she asks with tears in her voice.

My smile doesn’t change.  I’m right in front of her, why is she calling my name?

She breaks down entirely, falling onto my chest.  A frown starts, but is dissipated when I see light against his hair, despite how matted it is by the rain.  His hair is very pretty.  Feeling vaguely helpless, I wrap one arm around her as she continues to cry.  He just pulls my hair from his hair, shaking his head.