A Time to Fall
As promised, the pre Deathly Hallows story. A bit later than I meant to post it, but as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.
Title: A Time to Fall
Characters: the Weasley family
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word count: 1532
Summary: Molly lost two boys in the first war. She doesn't think she can bear to lose another.
The day the child begins to kick, deep and warm inside her, her husband puts his hand on her belly and looks into her eyes; this is how she knows that they will do anything to keep their children safe.
It is a warm spring, and the air is sweet and heavy with the scent of flowers. The season moves too quickly, they think, the flowers falling one by one from the tree. She lies next to her husband in the grass, their bodies bruising the fallen petals, and love has never been so beautiful (today, at least, they are golden in the sun). Her husband plucks a flower, petals fresh and perfect - the stem is crushed sticky sweet between two palms, his and hers. They count the petals like a charm, one for every perfect year.
When a mother counts, she prays. Molly Weasley spends her life counting:
one in the garden (stay inside the gate, Bill)
two in the apple tree (careful, Charlie, don’t climb too high)
three at the kitchen table (here’s your sandwich, Percy)
four and five under the kitchen table (Fred, George, you are not animals!)
six in the cot (there, Ron, I know you’re hungry)
seven warm and snug under her apron (I can feel you moving, little one).
Once upon a time she lost two boys in the war (her brothers were taller than her, laughing, strong; three red heads in the sunlight, six bare feet in the sand). She doesn’t think she can bear to lose another.
She counts her children with the passing of the seconds; they are the rhythm of her heart, every day and every hour, every moment of her life.
(one)
Bill likes old books and yellow apples and sleeping late (the twins used to sneak into his room in the morning and tickle him awake, until he groaned and complained and finally woke up and sat on them). He smells like sunshine; he brings his mother flowers, and kisses the hands of all the great aunts.
He’s twenty-seven and in love (he’s been in love since he was seventeen, one girl or another - he likes the way their hair moves, the softness of their fingers), and he likes challenge and adventure and the taste of danger in his mouth. When the war is won he’ll go back to Egypt, maybe, or try something new in South America. He’s not sure if he can stay here, where the cool grey streets have buried unspeakable horror. He has heard that there’s a lost city somewhere in Peru; even if it doesn’t exist, he’d like to look for it. He’s not sure if Fleur would come with him, but he doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t really think they’ll all make it through, anyway.
Sometimes Molly wishes (though she tries, for his sake, not to) that he had been hurt (just a little) worse, that his recovery had taken (just a little) longer, that he was safe in St. Mungo’s, away from the battles. But he is twenty-seven and in love, and though she protected him from the first war, she cannot keep him from the second.
(two)
Charlie is strong and fast and sharp-angled, with big, gentle hands. As a child he smuggled animals home in his jacket pockets; kittens, sometimes, or crups. He likes to wrestle monsters and take care of wounded things. When he was little he wanted to be a hero; now he tames dragons, and even the sky is not too big for him.
He comes home when Bill is injured, quiet and hoarse and strangely still. It is the first time he thinks that they might not all make it through the war undamaged. When he prays now it’s not that no one will die, but that if someone has to die it will be him. (He doesn’t think it would be so bad, perhaps, if it came when he was fighting, his wand in his hand and Bill at his side.)
If he has a mission in this war, it is to make sure that his family makes it through. He has always been the golden boy, but now he is red-gold-glowing with purpose, and it makes Molly’s heart hurt. He still wants to be a hero; it’s the only one of his dreams that she doesn’t want to come true.
(three)
Percy is bright and brittle, quick to snap and slow to love. When the twins tease him that he should have been a Slytherin or when his mother beams that he might have been a Ravenclaw, he tightens his lips and does not tell them that the Sorting Hat only ever said one word.
Molly never thought he would be the one to leave her. Every night she sets an extra plate and then cleans it up; if anyone notices she tells them she counted wrong, but she never counts wrong and she never stops hoping.
He comes home on a hot August day; for the first time in years he allows himself to break in his mother’s arms, and she holds him tight. She half wishes that he had been a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin after all, but she knows he is a Gryffindor - like her husband, like her brothers - and she’s afraid he will die for it. She wonders if it’s wrong to wish her sons were cowards, as she smoothes his hair and waits for Percy to find his courage again.
Percy isn’t sure if he believes in anything, anymore, but he lets her put him back together anyway.
(four and five)
Fred and George have wide mouths and bright eyes, and their names fall together almost like one name (Fredangeorge, all quick together). And maybe Fred is a bit louder, George a bit more careful, but they laugh and grin their quick, easy grins when they’re mistaken for each other, and sometimes when they’re alone they don’t speak at all.
Fred says that when the war ends sales will go up, because what better way to celebrate than to pull pranks on each other. (He would give up pranking altogether, if only they could end it now, with all the soldiers still standing.)
George says that they should celebrate by handing gifts out on the street, and wouldn’t that soon cause a fine mess in Diagon Alley. (He wonders if there will still be a Diagon Alley to celebrate in, and thinks that he wouldn’t care if there wasn’t, if the others didn’t make it through.)
Molly doesn’t allow herself to think of it, but she fears that perhaps the only thing worse than losing Fred and George would be losing only one of them.
(six)
Ron grew up all arms and legs, his body growing too fast for the rest of him to catch up. He spent his childhood running after his older brothers, his teenage years chasing his friends, and somewhere along the way he grew into himself.
Sleeping on the ground, Harry and Hermione at his side, Ron dreams of home. In his dreams they destroy the Horcruxes and return, but too late - always too late. He dreams of still, white faces staring up at him, and he wonders if he would be able to make himself go on if he returns home to find his family dead. He looks at Harry, who is grim, and Hermione, who is determined, and thinks that they would fight to the end together - it’s what they do - but he’s not at all sure about afterwards. He’s not sure he would want there to be an afterwards.
Molly wonders where he is - if he’s cold, if he’s hungry; she plans out a month of his favorite meals to make for him when he gets back. When she tells Arthur (at the kitchen table, after dinner has been cleared away) he goes very still, and this is how she knows he doesn’t think their son is coming back.
She keeps on collecting recipes.
(seven)
Ginny likes old books and wild cherries and sleeping late, and when she grows up she wants to be a cursebreaker. She’s still small enough for her brothers to throw her over their shoulders like they did when she was little, but since then she’s learned enough hexes to make them afraid to try.
She eats cherries till they stain her lips red, and she ties the stems into knots with her tongue. She’s sixteen years old, and her heart has been broken three times:
once when her imaginary friend betrayed her
once when she thought Bill would die
once when Harry and Ron left her behind.
She doesn’t think she can stand to have it broken again, so she practices curses and sneaking out her bedroom window, and if ever there is a final battle she’s going to be there, no matter what her mother says.
Molly knows this, and hopes that if she holds on hard enough she can keep her daughter safe (just a little) longer and everything will be all right.
Magnolia petals shine so much like flesh
without the stains or softness
aging brings,
it hurts to watch them fall.
Notes: The poem is an excerpt from "Names of Loss and Beauty", by Lorna Crozier. The full text can be found here.
Title: A Time to Fall
Characters: the Weasley family
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word count: 1532
Summary: Molly lost two boys in the first war. She doesn't think she can bear to lose another.
The day the child begins to kick, deep and warm inside her, her husband puts his hand on her belly and looks into her eyes; this is how she knows that they will do anything to keep their children safe.
It is a warm spring, and the air is sweet and heavy with the scent of flowers. The season moves too quickly, they think, the flowers falling one by one from the tree. She lies next to her husband in the grass, their bodies bruising the fallen petals, and love has never been so beautiful (today, at least, they are golden in the sun). Her husband plucks a flower, petals fresh and perfect - the stem is crushed sticky sweet between two palms, his and hers. They count the petals like a charm, one for every perfect year.
When a mother counts, she prays. Molly Weasley spends her life counting:
one in the garden (stay inside the gate, Bill)
two in the apple tree (careful, Charlie, don’t climb too high)
three at the kitchen table (here’s your sandwich, Percy)
four and five under the kitchen table (Fred, George, you are not animals!)
six in the cot (there, Ron, I know you’re hungry)
seven warm and snug under her apron (I can feel you moving, little one).
Once upon a time she lost two boys in the war (her brothers were taller than her, laughing, strong; three red heads in the sunlight, six bare feet in the sand). She doesn’t think she can bear to lose another.
She counts her children with the passing of the seconds; they are the rhythm of her heart, every day and every hour, every moment of her life.
(one)
Bill likes old books and yellow apples and sleeping late (the twins used to sneak into his room in the morning and tickle him awake, until he groaned and complained and finally woke up and sat on them). He smells like sunshine; he brings his mother flowers, and kisses the hands of all the great aunts.
He’s twenty-seven and in love (he’s been in love since he was seventeen, one girl or another - he likes the way their hair moves, the softness of their fingers), and he likes challenge and adventure and the taste of danger in his mouth. When the war is won he’ll go back to Egypt, maybe, or try something new in South America. He’s not sure if he can stay here, where the cool grey streets have buried unspeakable horror. He has heard that there’s a lost city somewhere in Peru; even if it doesn’t exist, he’d like to look for it. He’s not sure if Fleur would come with him, but he doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t really think they’ll all make it through, anyway.
Sometimes Molly wishes (though she tries, for his sake, not to) that he had been hurt (just a little) worse, that his recovery had taken (just a little) longer, that he was safe in St. Mungo’s, away from the battles. But he is twenty-seven and in love, and though she protected him from the first war, she cannot keep him from the second.
(two)
Charlie is strong and fast and sharp-angled, with big, gentle hands. As a child he smuggled animals home in his jacket pockets; kittens, sometimes, or crups. He likes to wrestle monsters and take care of wounded things. When he was little he wanted to be a hero; now he tames dragons, and even the sky is not too big for him.
He comes home when Bill is injured, quiet and hoarse and strangely still. It is the first time he thinks that they might not all make it through the war undamaged. When he prays now it’s not that no one will die, but that if someone has to die it will be him. (He doesn’t think it would be so bad, perhaps, if it came when he was fighting, his wand in his hand and Bill at his side.)
If he has a mission in this war, it is to make sure that his family makes it through. He has always been the golden boy, but now he is red-gold-glowing with purpose, and it makes Molly’s heart hurt. He still wants to be a hero; it’s the only one of his dreams that she doesn’t want to come true.
(three)
Percy is bright and brittle, quick to snap and slow to love. When the twins tease him that he should have been a Slytherin or when his mother beams that he might have been a Ravenclaw, he tightens his lips and does not tell them that the Sorting Hat only ever said one word.
Molly never thought he would be the one to leave her. Every night she sets an extra plate and then cleans it up; if anyone notices she tells them she counted wrong, but she never counts wrong and she never stops hoping.
He comes home on a hot August day; for the first time in years he allows himself to break in his mother’s arms, and she holds him tight. She half wishes that he had been a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin after all, but she knows he is a Gryffindor - like her husband, like her brothers - and she’s afraid he will die for it. She wonders if it’s wrong to wish her sons were cowards, as she smoothes his hair and waits for Percy to find his courage again.
Percy isn’t sure if he believes in anything, anymore, but he lets her put him back together anyway.
(four and five)
Fred and George have wide mouths and bright eyes, and their names fall together almost like one name (Fredangeorge, all quick together). And maybe Fred is a bit louder, George a bit more careful, but they laugh and grin their quick, easy grins when they’re mistaken for each other, and sometimes when they’re alone they don’t speak at all.
Fred says that when the war ends sales will go up, because what better way to celebrate than to pull pranks on each other. (He would give up pranking altogether, if only they could end it now, with all the soldiers still standing.)
George says that they should celebrate by handing gifts out on the street, and wouldn’t that soon cause a fine mess in Diagon Alley. (He wonders if there will still be a Diagon Alley to celebrate in, and thinks that he wouldn’t care if there wasn’t, if the others didn’t make it through.)
Molly doesn’t allow herself to think of it, but she fears that perhaps the only thing worse than losing Fred and George would be losing only one of them.
(six)
Ron grew up all arms and legs, his body growing too fast for the rest of him to catch up. He spent his childhood running after his older brothers, his teenage years chasing his friends, and somewhere along the way he grew into himself.
Sleeping on the ground, Harry and Hermione at his side, Ron dreams of home. In his dreams they destroy the Horcruxes and return, but too late - always too late. He dreams of still, white faces staring up at him, and he wonders if he would be able to make himself go on if he returns home to find his family dead. He looks at Harry, who is grim, and Hermione, who is determined, and thinks that they would fight to the end together - it’s what they do - but he’s not at all sure about afterwards. He’s not sure he would want there to be an afterwards.
Molly wonders where he is - if he’s cold, if he’s hungry; she plans out a month of his favorite meals to make for him when he gets back. When she tells Arthur (at the kitchen table, after dinner has been cleared away) he goes very still, and this is how she knows he doesn’t think their son is coming back.
She keeps on collecting recipes.
(seven)
Ginny likes old books and wild cherries and sleeping late, and when she grows up she wants to be a cursebreaker. She’s still small enough for her brothers to throw her over their shoulders like they did when she was little, but since then she’s learned enough hexes to make them afraid to try.
She eats cherries till they stain her lips red, and she ties the stems into knots with her tongue. She’s sixteen years old, and her heart has been broken three times:
once when her imaginary friend betrayed her
once when she thought Bill would die
once when Harry and Ron left her behind.
She doesn’t think she can stand to have it broken again, so she practices curses and sneaking out her bedroom window, and if ever there is a final battle she’s going to be there, no matter what her mother says.
Molly knows this, and hopes that if she holds on hard enough she can keep her daughter safe (just a little) longer and everything will be all right.
Magnolia petals shine so much like flesh
without the stains or softness
aging brings,
it hurts to watch them fall.
Notes: The poem is an excerpt from "Names of Loss and Beauty", by Lorna Crozier. The full text can be found here.