New Lights | Drarry

01 | The Actual Story

The scent of thunderstorms filled the air, asphyxiating pale pink lungs of those bold enough to breathe its heady and suffocating aroma. It was an atmospheric blend that clung to the senses, a volatile concoction of damp earth, electric tension, and the promise of impending release – as though Nature itself was exhaling a deep breath.

The fragrance of the impending storm enveloped everything, leaving a mark on the sense like hands stained in ink. The air crackled with anticipation, and with each inhalation, the taste of the storm danced on the tongue—a mingling of charged ions and the metallic tang of impending rainfall.

It carried the weight of an imminent tempest, a storm in a teapot pouring steaming cups of destruction, falling from the heavens with such force that not even the Quidditch grounds could be seen, as though the hoops had sunken into the ground in fear, unable to handle the raw power that was unleashed in the clash of thunder and the dance of lightning.

The ceiling of the Great Hall only aided in showcasing their power, providing an expansive stage where the magic unfolded, a spectacle that never failed to captivate the people who saw it, whether they were witnessing it for the first time as tiny, twitchy, trembling first years or bidding their final farewell with the air of a long-lost lover.

During warm days, the ceiling adorned itself in pristine blue, soft clouds drifting like marshmallows in hot chocolate. Night skies sparkled with an array of stars, winking at them as they had their final meal before slipping into Morpheus' realm.

During the colder months, a staff member would sometimes cast an enchantment, and as winter descended upon Hogwarts, gentle snowflakes would cascade from the ceiling. The flakes shimmered with an array of colors under the warm glow of the candlelight, a small reprieve into a winter wonderland.

It was hard to believe that the ceiling didn't open up to the heavens, and while Harry appreciated its beauty, he found himself liking it for another reason. How often did a chance arrive where you could stare into space, lost in your own thoughts, without being judged?

Not often, if such a chance arrived at all. And Harry liked the fact that he could stare up at the ceiling, his mind a million miles away, without the concerned or appraising looks from other people. It was peaceful, calming, a reprieve from the hustling and bustling that his life had become – a breather from the ache that seemed to swallow him whole.

He could discern the glittery cloak the ceiling desperately attempted to conceal behind, much like everything else at Hogwarts that cunningly feigned normalcy. A bewitching façade, often sought to deceive, coaxing individuals into believing that everything was as it seemed – that everything was normal.

Humanity, as history tirelessly demonstrated, was about as trustable as a Dragon—majestic and powerful at one moment, only to burn your house down the next. It embodied a duality, a cruel essence hidden beneath a veneer of normalcy. Like poison held beneath a cork of ignorance, it lurked, ready to be unleashed with a single sip. And once that toxicity began coursing through one's veins, it proved unstoppable, an unrelenting force that only ceased when it reached the heart—a graveyard where the remnants of those once cherished lay in eternal response – once remembered, once loved.

Hogwarts, in stark contrast to the godforsaken world beyond its enchanted walls, had no intent to cruelly rip one's heart out, to unravel the mangled threads of their existence until they snapped, reveling in the inevitable mournful loss of faith in humanity.

No, its purpose was far more insidious, too devious to indulge in such mundane tactics. It operated like an unnoticed stray cat in the recesses of an alleyway—dismissed, overlooked, and seldom given a second thought.