The weather has very little regard for emotion. It takes no heed of your ups and downs. The weather doesn’t care about what may or may not have happened. If you’re alive today and gone tomorrow then it won’t bother the weather. The sun will shine on even if you’re not here to see it.



That was happening now; the hazy summer sun was blazing down over the rolling hills of the Scottish valleys despite the heavy sorrow that was filtering through the air. The sky was crystal blue, with faint whisps of white cloud here and there. Droplets of bright light were falling across the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Like the weather, the castle showed no signs of buckling under the intense grief that swam through its hallways. The grey bricks were as solid as they had ever been, and although the cracks on the surface showed their age, they weren’t yet ready to crumble.



The beaming sunshine served only to enhance the beauty of the castle grounds. The grass had rarely been such a vibrant and healthy shade of green. The trees stood tall and magnificent against the picturesque skyline of the castle, providing ample shade for someone to relax comfortably underneath them. Even though it was relatively early on in the day, someone had already secured themselves a spot under the Beech tree on the banks of the lake.



She was leaning back against the wide trunk of the tree with her eyes closed lightly, almost as if she were sleeping. The only sign to the contrary of this was the movement of her left hand. Her fingers were gently combing their way back and forth through the soft green blades that carpeted the ground beneath her.



The jeans she wore were crumpled and her dirty trainers lay abandoned at her side. Next to the well-worn shoes was a small, scratched metal box. There were several minutes where she did nothing but breathe deeply, her blue vested chest rising and lowering steadily. She eventually managed to tear her eyes open and glance down at the tin beside her. There were a matter of seconds as her finger swirled around in the air before it dived into the box. When her hand re-emerged, it had a soft pastry clasped within it.



She began gently nibbling at a corner of it as she stared out across the still water. The giant squid was nowhere to be seen, it was more than likely that it had retreated to the depths of it’s watery home where it was still cool. The undisturbed surface gave a clear reflection of the surrounding forest and the clear sky above. If she had looked closely enough, she would have seen the reflection of a pensive bespectacled boy who was sitting almost opposite her amongst the thick trees on the other side of the water.



Harry had left his dormitory extremely early; long before any of his fellow Gryffindors. In fact, the birds had only just begun to sing when he had taken up his current perch amongst the dense trees on the lakeshore that was furthest from the castle. It offered him a sense of solitude that it was not possible to find anywhere else, and it gave him the time and space to contemplate what had passed and what was to come.



Dumbledore’s funeral had been held on the previous day. Even now he could see the bright rays shining off the pure white marble of the headmaster’s tomb. It all felt so un-real. The events had unfolded all too quickly. There were things that he still needed to say to his mentor; there were a thousand emotions that were desperate to leak out of him, but the only person with any understanding was gone.



There was another person who would have had something close to an understanding. She was the young girl now sitting across the lake from him with a sullen look on her face, a book in one hand and one of her mother’s delicious pastries in the other. The way the sun fell sporadically through the trees made her hair glint copper and gold. Her brown eyes were downcast and seemed to be critically assessing a hole in the knee of her jeans. Her pale skin was looking fairer than ever, and even her freckles were muted. The way her jaw was set emphasised her likeness to Fred and George; it was squared ever so slightly and her chin stuck out proudly.



He smiled as he admired her from afar. She was now reading one of her mum’s silly romance novels; the kind she so often scoffed at in public but in private greatly enjoyed. She finished the pastry and gently brushed the crumbs off her worn blue t-shirt. The hand, previously pre-occupied with the food, then went back to skimming through the grass. Every now and then it reached up to gently turn a page, but it always returned to the therapeutic stroking of nature’s carpet.



He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for. It could have been minutes or hours, or even days. All he did was sit and watch her, and think of her, and imagine what it would be like to be sitting over there next to her. She filled every single thought he had that morning. When the sun finally started to die away, his thoughts were interrupted by an absurdly loud grumbling in his stomach. It was only then that it occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten anything that day. Ginny was still sitting peacefully on the opposite bank; her book now lay forgotten next to her trainers. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her head back against the tree. Her eyes were once again closed and her chest was rising and falling slowly. He wondered if she had perhaps dropped off in the calm early evening breeze.



As he rose from the tree stump he had been sitting on, there was one last sentiment that drifted across his mind. Merlin, Ginny, he thought, you’re beautiful.