[bloom 5] let the rain fall down

Mount Greylock, Massachusetts, United States
10:25 p.m., 4 August 2001

A storm was brewing.

Ernest was sitting on a bench of his own conjuring, concealed in the forests near the peak of Mount Greylock. The late hour meant that any other campers in the area were likely to be bunked up by now, seeking shelter from the rain that had been forecast on no-maj radio waves. What was more, his no-maj-repelling charms had him quite convinced he would not be disturbed; as such, Ernie was sitting cross legged, hands in lap, as the cocoa @Mildred Franklin had packed for him floated nearby, stirring itself slowly. The purpose of the evening's expedition was routine: a man didn't stay on the International Confederation of Wizards and a Professor of Charms at Ilvermorny without keeping his skills up to scratch. Ernest was planning to redirect the storm, sending it more in the direction the no-maj forecaster had predicted. No need to make the poor bloke's job any harder than it already was.

A loud clap of thunder was followed by the distant sound of rushing wind and rain hitting leaves. Ernest pulled up the hood of his rain jacket contentedly, preparing himself for the familiar feeling of water bouncing off his magically-repellent clothing. Wand out, Ernie began directing invisible charge after charge into the air, pulling the lightening and thunder closer and closer to the park. With a wave of his hand, the wind shifted direction, causing the rain to fall in sheets horizontally as the clouds sped toward him. It was a piece of cake.

That was, until the temperature shifted. Ernest frowned for a moment, trying to extend his magical feel of the air further to detect a change in pressure or wind that might explain the abrupt alteration. Everything was as it ought to be, other than the air temperature quickly dropping. He shivered as the first rain drop transformed into a flake and landed on the tip of his nose. He hadn't brought his winter gear out. A snowstorm in August was fairly unusual, though not unheard of in higher altitudes, but Ernest had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't the only one working his magic on the storm. He squinted his eyes, searching the darkness for the sign of another witch or wizard whose presence might explain the wintry turn of events.


@Aldous Cresswell @Zoé Deveaux

Manchester, England; Sunday, August 5th, 2001; 3:25 a.m.

He could smell the rain first, heavy in the air. Aldous breathed and looked up toward the dark sky. He was in a forest. As he watched the sky through the gap in the trees, thunder rolled, and he felt the first of the raindrops. Suddenly he was very cold. What was he doing here in his t-shirt and sleep shorts? Wet dirt and pine needles squished under his bare feet.

A frigid wind rushed over him suddenly, and he hugged himself helplessly in his wet clothes. It occurred to him finally to move. Stumbling on cold feet, Aldous wandered through the trees until he noticed that the rain had turned to snow, light pinpricks on his skin and white flakes drifting down into the forest.

He turned around and gasped. There was someone else there, wand out. “Hello?” he called tentatively. “Can you help me?” The wizard’s eyes found him and Aldous lifted a hand to wave.

And then he sleepily opened his eyes and blinked. He was shivering, the thin quilt he used in summer not enough to ward off the chill he’d dreamed. He pushed back his covers and reached over to turn on his bedside lamp, the dim orange glow lighting up his room enough to cast weak shadows. His clock said it was nearly half past three. Slipping out of bed and tiptoeing across the floor, Aldous opened his closet and collected his winter comforter from where it was folded on the shelf. Instead of spreading it over his bed he wrapped himself up in it from head to toe, and curled up on his mattress.

It was rare that he recalled a dream in such clear detail even a few minutes after waking, and he should know—he’d had quite a few interesting ones he’d tried to record the stories of but been disappointed when he could come up with nothing more than a few incoherent elements. He wondered whether perhaps this dream was different because it meant something. He wouldn’t be able to take Divination for another year, but his mum might have some dream interpretation books downstairs. Americans took those things much more seriously.

She’d be bothered if she knew he was up at this hour, but Aldous was too curious to find out what forests and snowstorms meant in dream language. Replacing his comforter for a sweatshirt and putting on his glasses, he quietly opened his door and padded down the stairs.