It's surprising enough that a farmer's son doesn't like the rain, but droughts and failing crops aren't his concern anymore. But some things remain the same after all. Staring out the window from the kitchen table while waiting for the rain to stop is an old habit - one he's sure his parents and his grandparents have done long before he was even born and one he can't help himself from doing. But all the back and forth with Hazel, or Potter, was was a nice respite from the dreariness, which is more than good enough of a reason to go meet this wonderful, vibrant, excitable young woman. So he shrugs on a coat and goes out the door, leaving it unlocked as usual.
More old habits take over. He doesn't look down at his own feet - he wouldn't ever do that - but stares straight ahead and sees her standing there, fiddling with her glasses. That's when he hurries, almost tripping over his own feet to meet her. But when he takes note of the curly hair, a scar across her eyebrow that looks a suspicious red and the clothes that don't actually fit - he chuckles softly to himself. No wonder that she's Harry Potter. No wonder at all. But even as the rain drips over his face and runs down his neck, Stephen raises his hand and flips her a peace sign, his own personal way of greeting people. He likes it, anyway.
"So," he starts as he steps underneath the overhang. "I can see why you're Potter. It suits you."