Lucius and Andromeda had just finished their lunch. Lucius paid the bill for the both of them (as was custom, of course, despite however many times Andromeda would roll her eyes at this), and they got up to leave.

As though on cue, the minute they rose from their chairs, the sky outside that had formerly been a gentle blue, with soft breezes blowing in the air, turned gray and dark. Next second, rain began to fall in bucket loads from the sky.

"Oh, God," Lucius muttered, stopping several feet shy of the door, as he peered out the large glass panes of window.

"It's just rain, Lucius," said Andromeda angelically.

"Exactly," he said. "It's rain. It's wet and extremely unpleasant to stand amidst. We don't have to spend much time in it, thank Merlin, but we do have to go out there if we ever expect to Apparate away from here."

Andromeda shook her head at him despondently.

"You can't possibly stand there and tell me you like rain," said Lucius, rather grumpily.

"Sometimes I like it, and sometimes I don't," said Andromeda frankly. "I do prefer the snow, though," she added, with a sly glance in his direction out of the sides of her eyes.

"Snow is – tolerable," Lucius proclaimed, and Andromeda grinned at him. It had only been last week since their little 'scene' together in the snow, and since then, their relationship with one another had changed drastically. Lucius did not even totally understand it, but somehow, in some way, things were different between them. There were no boundaries, no barriers, no feeling as though he were always doing something wrong in their relationship, or she was always looking at him with contempt: they were just themselves, just together, simple as that. He'd never experienced anything like it. It was strange for him. But certainly not in a bad way.

"I can deal with the snow," he went on. "But rain? No."

"Well, you know what Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said," said Andromeda.

"Long-who?" Lucius asked, perplexed. "Is he some stupid Muggle?"

"Muggle, yes, but he was not stupid," she replied.

Lucius rolled his eyes: as if any Muggle was not be stupid. But he refrained from comment.

"As Longfellow said," Andromeda continued brightly, "the best thing one can do when it is raining – is to let it rain." With a last grin at her fiancé, she burst out of the restaurant door and ran right into the middle of the Hogsmeade road.

Lucius gaped at her for a moment, then, cursing himself for the stupid things 'love' made humans do, raced out after her into the rain storm.

"What else could we possibly do in the rain aside from let it rain?" he shouted, holding his arms over his head as he dashed towards her. "It's not as though we can control the weather and make it stop! That has got to be the most illogical statement I have ever heard!"

She was standing in the middle of the cobbled sidewalk, her arms spread wide, her face tilted towards the heavens with her eyes closed. Rainwater poured down from every inch of her. "The quote is not supposed to be taken literally, Lucius," she called back to him, still not opening her eyes. "It just means to enjoy what life gives you. To not wait for the rain to cease, but to go out and learn how to dance in it."

"You're being too metaphorical," Lucius told her. "Now can we please leave this place? I'm drenched, and so are you, this is silly."

"Oh, just shut up for a minute and try to enjoy yourself," said Andromeda, her eyes fluttering open as she grinned over at him.

"Yes, fine," said Lucius peevishly. His arms were still held tight over his head, though this didn't really do much good; every other part of him was soaked right through to his bones. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

She lowered her arms, and turned to face him, her clothes clinging soddenly to her form. "Raise your arms to the sky. Drink the rain as it comes down on you. Splash in the puddles. Skip and sing down the sidewalk. Whatever suits you."

"I would look completely absurd doing any of those suggestions," he responded.

"Oh, and you don't already look absurd?" she laughed, and mimicked him by wrapping her arms over her head and whimpering pathetically, looking more like a terrified cat in rain than a dignified man.

He scowled. She laughed again, and took his hands in her own, pulling them away from his head. "Come on," she said, and she began walking backwards, towing him forwards.

"Am I supposed to be having fun?" he asked her, after a few moments. His clothes were getting ruined, along with his leather shoes. "Because I'm not."

"If you weren't such a prig, you might be having fun," said Andromeda archly.

At this, he tugged one of his hands away from her and cupped it towards the sky, letting it collect a small puddle of rain. Then, after a few seconds, he lifted his hand upward and threw his hand forward, splattering her already-wet face with more water. She shrieked as the water hit her face, and quickly retaliated by wringing out her soggy robe sleeve over his arm. Before he could do anything in return, she was running away from him, laughing, splashing through the puddles along the cobbled street. Not pausing to think about how stupid and immature they were acting, and what people would say if they saw him now, he tore after her. They chased each other through the rain for some time, flinging water and splattering through puddles and yelling and calling and laughing.

"Ready to give up?" Andromeda asked over her shoulder, as he pursued her along the road yet again.

"Never!"

She burst out giggling again at his earnest and fervid tone, which slowed down her pace some. Within moments he had caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm, lobbing the droplets of water that clung to his fingertips at her. She caught her breath, and looked up at him, panting for breath, her normally wavy locks plastered down flat to her skull, her robes falling limply against her body. Next moment – he was not exactly sure how it happened – they were a tangled mass of limbs entwined together, their wet bodies pressed close as they kissed passionately. The rain continued to pour down around them, over them, on them, and yet there they stood.

"Anyone who says sunshine is happiness has never danced in the rain," Andromeda murmured against his mouth, as they slowly broke apart.

"Another Muggle saying?" Lucius questioned, rather dazedly, leaning his chin against the top of her head.

"I don't know," she replied, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. "It's an anonymous quote. But whoever said it was absolutely right, Muggle or not, don't you think?"

"Yes," he sighed, "I suppose they were.

"They must have been a wizard," he added as an afterthought several seconds later, smiling, at which she lightly shoved him against the chest.

"The rain finally stopped," she observed later on, glancing up, and indeed, though Lucius had been too occupied to notice, the rain was certainly not falling anymore.

"Well, we can't possibly enter any other building here now," he said, chuckling. "They would kick us out immediately. Come, we can go back to my house and dry off, my parents are out." And, sopping wet, they joined hands and Disapparated from the water-filled street together.


"I bought you a present," he told her, as they sat there at his kitchen table, still sopping wet from their 'adventure' in the rain.

"Oh?" Andromeda replied, leaning her elbow against the table as she propped her head on her hand. "What's the occasion?"

"Do I need an occasion to buy my fiancée a gift?"

"I suppose not," she consented. "What, then, is your reason?"

"Do I even need a reason to buy my fiancée a gift?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lucius, you never do anything without a reason."

He chuckled, and withdrew a box from within his robes, placing it on the table and sliding it towards her.

"Oh, a container," Andromeda purred, picking it up and examining it with mock delight. "How wonderful, Lucius, thank you so very much. How did you know I've been desiring such a thing for ages? I mean, truly, this is exquisite – "

"You are very difficult, do you know that?" Lucius inquired of her.

She only smiled.

"Are you going to open it or not?"

"And ruin my beautiful container?" she asked, grinning, but she did as he requested, cracking open the small velvet box. Her eyes rounded into two large, coin-sized shapes as she stared at the contents of the box for a moment, and he knew she was admiring the elegant silver chain, upon which an emerald green pendant in the shape of a tear-drop was hooked. He smirked, satisfied with her reaction. But when she looked up to meet his eyes again, her orbs were normal-sized, and her tone was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"Green, Lucius?"

"Pardon?" he said blankly.

"This stone here. It's green."

"It is good to know you are not color-blind," he returned.

"You are missing the point," she said, seeming to be trying not to smile.

"You are not making your point clear whatsoever."

"This jewel is green."

"And your point?"

"It just seems to suggest . . . Slytherin."

He smirked. "What is wrong with 'suggesting Slytherin'? I was a Slytherin at Hogwarts, in case it's slipped your mind. But since you seem to dislike Slytherins so," he went on, indicating himself with a hand motion and an eye roll, "I would be willing to exchange it. What color, in the future, would you prefer?"

Andromeda thought for a moment. "I like yellow," she said finally.

"Yellow," he repeated condescendingly.

"What's wrong with yellow?" she demanded to know.

"Nothing," said Lucius delicately. "It is just so very . . ."

"Yellow-like?" she suggested.

"Yes," he said. "No," he corrected quickly, realizing how very stupid the statement 'yellow is so very yellow-like' would sound. But too late – she had already burst into a fit of giggles. "That's not what I meant, stop that – I just meant – "

"Of – course – Lucius," Andromeda said, choking on the last few of her laughs. "I – understand completely. We can't be having any yellow whatsoever around, obviously, it is far too yellow-like, you're absolutely right – "

"It is just that yellow is so – blinding."

"Blinding," she repeated.

"Yes, blinding – bright and blinding. And it reminds me so of those Hufflepuffs," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"And that's a bad thing?" she questioned, returning the lifted brow.

"You cannot fault me for it – you are the one who does not like the necklace I bought you because it is so 'Slytherin'."

"Well, if it makes you happy," she said demurely, "I will keep it."

He sighed, exasperated.

"Oh, come – I'm not going to give the jewelry back to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It is good enough."

"'Good enough'," he repeated back. "Not excellent, just 'good enough'. Passable."

She smiled at him endearingly, and scooted her chair nearer to his as she lifted the necklace up from the box, offering it to him. "Help me put it on?" She turned so her back was to him, and held her hair out of the way as his fingers clumsily fastened the chain together.

"It looks lovely on you," he told her, when she turned back around.

"Doesn't really match my robes," she observed off-handedly, plucking loosely at her purple sleeve; and, indeed, the green charm and the purple robes were certainly an unusual combination. But Andromeda Black could have worn a barrel every day and still have been the most beautiful woman on earth. In his humble and unbiased opinion as her fiancé, at least.