Burning Rain

Incendio. Such a simple word. Hogwarts students learned the spell in their first year.

Incendio. You wouldn't think a simple firestarting spell a weapon of mass destruction. Lucius Malfoy smiled, placing his wand against a small pile of sticks, grass and a Muggle fluid known as gasoline.

Incendio - the Forbidden Forest was burning.

~*~

Harry stared disconsolately out the window of Defense Against Dark Arts. His books were stacked on the desk before him, a shield against an enemy Harry could not fight.

"So there I was, surrounded by maddened ghouls..." Lockhart droned on to an attentive Hermione, and the few students who hadn't figured out that Gilderoy Lockhart wasn't the hero he said he was.

Harry's gaze never left the window's view of the grounds and forest. The deciduous trees were brightly painted in red, gold, and orange for fall, the grass a dry, dull brown. Winter snows would come soon, as would the holidays. Harry shifted his gaze to the ceiling. The Polyjuice Potion would be ready then, as would the fruition of Harry's suspicions. All of Malfoy's plans would vanish like smoke in the face of the truth. Harry fancied he could smell that smoke now.

Harry sat bolt upright. That was no fancy. He COULD smell smoke.

"That's good, Harry, glad to see you're-" Lockhart began in his vain manner, but Harry cut him off.

"What's burning?" Everyone in the room looked around. They, too, could smell the blaze. Hermione saw it first.

"Look!" She shrieked, pointing out the window, "The Forest is on fire!" A wall of flame preceded by magical creatures of all make and size raced through the Forbidden Forest, straight for Hogwarts.

The class was immediately in a panic. Students rushed outside to see the destruction, others went to hide in their dorms, others hid under their desks. Harry was part of the first group, as were Hermione and Ron.

The fire was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen. It was more fearsome than Vernon, than the mysterious attacks, a monster that ate everything in it's path. Screams of torment echoed from the dark wood as the fire consumed even the living. Harry recognized a unicorn's cry. The student body stared like deer caught in headlights, unable to move, unable to look away.

"Go back to your classrooms, the Headmaster and I will take care of everything, it will be all right, go back to class..." McGonagall's voice cut easily through the clamor of fearful students. Harry noticed Dumbledore conferring with Professor Flitwick.

"Calm down, calm down, no need to worry." A laconic, suave voice oozed. The voice reached over the terror and McGonagall, jerking Harry and several others out of their shocked daze. "Just put a dampening charm on it." To prove the veracity of that statement, Gilderoy strode with confidence to Dumbledore.

McGonagall continued to urge the frenzied students back to school, but Harry didn't move. It didn't take a fire marshal to see that the dry grass would take the inferno to Hogwarts. Inside the school or out, it was death by fire either way. An anti-burn charm wouldn't hold up to a white-ash hell like this. The air was like molten honey.

"Watch and see how you stop a little fire." Lockhart called back from where he stood.

"Fool." A raspy voice sneered. "A little charm like that will do no good." Snape.

"Now, now, Professor. I really think this is my area of expertise." Lockhart chided gently. The Potions Master rudely shoved Lockhart away. For once Harry agreed with Snape's rudeness, and inched closer to see what Snape would do.

"What are you going to do, brush the fire's hair?" Snape hissed. Professor Snape closed his eyes, seeming to just stand there still. But he was not idle. His black brows drew together in concentration, the fire's wind whipping at his greasy hair. The air seemed suddenly cooler, thinner.

"Look at the sky." Ron breathed. Harry looked up. Clouds were gathering above the school. The clouds where black and gray, heavy with precipitation. Darkness settled as the clouds spread. The grounds suddenly went silent and still. Snape raised his hands, palms upward in a gesture of supplication and command.

Rain poured from the sky. It was as water poured from a bucket. The hard ground turned to mud within seconds. The roar of rain overcame the fire's whistling shout, the light of the flames caught the rain, turning it to gold.

"It's raining gold!" A student cried joyfully. No, Harry thought, it's burning rain. Snape's rain. Snape is putting out the fire.

Indeed he was. Snape stood there, arms opened wide. He was looking skyward, eyes open. His statement was a blend of ecstasy and joy. Harry memorized the smile, certain he would never see it again.

Just moments after the shower began, it ended. The rain petered off, leaving the day clear and bright as it had been before. Harry looked around at his soaked and drooping class mates, at the blackened but still standing forest. At last, he looked again at Snape.

Snape's statement faded. He opened his mouth to say something, but did not finish. He trembled, sank to his knees and finally fell sideways into the mud. No one moved or spoke for several minutes.

Hermione broke the silence.

"He's a weathercrafter."