Farewell to Aunt Ruby
This is in memory of: Mariah, Sam, Dick, Hubert, Ollie, Fred, Bill, Reba and Ruby
And in honor of: Patsy Jane and my Daddy Jack - the last two.
The Last Two
The sun set gently over the Devon hills in colors reminiscent of all of the Weasley descendents; from Fleur Lupin's cotton-candy pink (courtesy of her great-grandmother Nymphadora's metamorph abilities passed via Teddy Lupin) to the vivid orange of Ron's great-grandson Rigel. Two figures sat slowly rocking on the Burrow's rickety porch.
"S'pose we'd best go in, it's getting a bit chilly," Ginny Potter said as she wrapped her shawl around her more tightly.
"Yeah, I'm sure Little Molly has dinner ready," Ron Weasley replied, slowly rising from his rocking chair. He chuckled wryly at himself for referring to a seventy-year-old woman as little. Percy's daughter had been "Little Molly" since her birth to distinguish her from her grandmother and namesake; and she had remained so even after Molly Prewett Weasley's death twenty years ago. Little Molly had moved in fifteen years previously ("After all, there should be a Molly at the hob," Harry had said) and always had a plate on for any children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews.
The siblings did not turn toward the house, though. As if in unspoken agreement they headed toward a large green meadow. They walked past the apple trees that they had played in as children, catching one another's grins as they remembered grabbing apples to be used as quaffles if they were not fresh or baked in pies if they were. They saw the makeshift Quidditch hoops still in the same position that they had been in through several generations of players; although they had been rebuilt more than once. Arm-in-arm to steady one another's steps, Ginny and Ron hobbled over to the small graveyard. They gazed at the stones: Arthur Charles. Molly Elizabeth. William Arthur. Charles Septimus. Percy Ignatius. Frederick Gideon. Together they stared at the latest fresh grave.
Ron turned to stare out over the hills and saw them - saw them all. There was Mum, calling them in to dinner. There was Dad, dusty from tinkering in the shed. There was Bill exclaiming over a statue of a scarab. There was Charlie carrying an injured owl. There was Percy sitting under a tree studying a book. And..."Oh, Merlin!" he breathed. There was George, brown eyes sparkling with mischief, clapping his hand on his twin's shoulder. Fred laughed uproariously and winked.
"You see them?" Ginny breathed.
"Yeah." Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. "I think they're just here to...take him...home."
George turned and they watched his face, young and unlined as it had not been in decades. He smiled and waved goodbye. He and the others disappeared across the meadow as the last two watched them leave.
And in honor of: Patsy Jane and my Daddy Jack - the last two.
The Last Two
The sun set gently over the Devon hills in colors reminiscent of all of the Weasley descendents; from Fleur Lupin's cotton-candy pink (courtesy of her great-grandmother Nymphadora's metamorph abilities passed via Teddy Lupin) to the vivid orange of Ron's great-grandson Rigel. Two figures sat slowly rocking on the Burrow's rickety porch.
"S'pose we'd best go in, it's getting a bit chilly," Ginny Potter said as she wrapped her shawl around her more tightly.
"Yeah, I'm sure Little Molly has dinner ready," Ron Weasley replied, slowly rising from his rocking chair. He chuckled wryly at himself for referring to a seventy-year-old woman as little. Percy's daughter had been "Little Molly" since her birth to distinguish her from her grandmother and namesake; and she had remained so even after Molly Prewett Weasley's death twenty years ago. Little Molly had moved in fifteen years previously ("After all, there should be a Molly at the hob," Harry had said) and always had a plate on for any children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews.
The siblings did not turn toward the house, though. As if in unspoken agreement they headed toward a large green meadow. They walked past the apple trees that they had played in as children, catching one another's grins as they remembered grabbing apples to be used as quaffles if they were not fresh or baked in pies if they were. They saw the makeshift Quidditch hoops still in the same position that they had been in through several generations of players; although they had been rebuilt more than once. Arm-in-arm to steady one another's steps, Ginny and Ron hobbled over to the small graveyard. They gazed at the stones: Arthur Charles. Molly Elizabeth. William Arthur. Charles Septimus. Percy Ignatius. Frederick Gideon. Together they stared at the latest fresh grave.
Ron turned to stare out over the hills and saw them - saw them all. There was Mum, calling them in to dinner. There was Dad, dusty from tinkering in the shed. There was Bill exclaiming over a statue of a scarab. There was Charlie carrying an injured owl. There was Percy sitting under a tree studying a book. And..."Oh, Merlin!" he breathed. There was George, brown eyes sparkling with mischief, clapping his hand on his twin's shoulder. Fred laughed uproariously and winked.
"You see them?" Ginny breathed.
"Yeah." Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. "I think they're just here to...take him...home."
George turned and they watched his face, young and unlined as it had not been in decades. He smiled and waved goodbye. He and the others disappeared across the meadow as the last two watched them leave.