Writer's Block 33.7 - VOTING
banner by renrenren3
Challenge: There were 13 people at the table.
Points: 1st/2nd/3rd/Participation Only: 50/40/30/10 points & 20/15/10/5 knuts, respectively. 2pts for voting.
Deadline: Submissions taken until Saturday, December 12th @ 11:59PM UTC, Voting until Wednesday, December 16th 11:59PM UTC.
Details: Your inspiration for this Writers Block is: There were 13 people at the table.
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Entry 1:
Title: An Honest Mistake
Something was bugging her. Earlier in the day, Molly had taken great pains to make sure she had enough table settings for the large crowd this evening, and yet, now as she looked down the length of the table, she noticed that while she had set thirteen places, only twelve were being occupied. Molly just couldn’t understand. She started pushing the food around her plate, watching everyone, and trying to figure out where things went wrong.
She’d accounted for Charlie who was coming home for Christmas for the first time in a long time. There was Bill and Fleur of course, who were in deep conversation in French about something or other. Percy had come home, having mended ties with the family. Ron and Ginny were there, being the only two still living at home. Of course, they had invited Harry and Hermione to come as well and they had both shown up. George was unusually quiet, although he had been quite a bit quieter since Fred-FRED! That was it. Molly, in her busy preparedness, had counted a spot for Fred. No wonder George looked so pained.
Arthur had noticed his wife’s distraction and in a low voice, asked if everything was okay.
Molly, embarrassed by her mistake, replied abashedly, “No dear, I’m fine, just I counted an extra seat for Fred.”
Arthur gave his wife an understanding look and was about to say something to her when Bill spoke up.
“Everyone,” Bill said, “We have an announcement to make. Fleur and I are going to be parents.”
The whole table erupted into congratulations and cheers. George had even perked up a bit at the news. Arthur smiling, turned to his wife.
“I guess there was thirteen at the table after all.”
Entry 2:
Title: No Survivors
There were thirteen people at the table and that epiphany I’d been struggling to have for the past two years came knocking at my mental doors. I suppressed it. Again. This was neither the time nor the place, as my mother would say. She always had an impeccable sense of timing, my mother.
Of course, these days, it was never the time or the place to realize things. Far too painful and infinitely damaging. He’d know, for one. And Auntie Bella, she’d know because she was so attuned to Him, they might as well share a brain. That would explain the barely controlled craziness that arced like lightning between them.
Professor Burbage -- no, that was too hard. The woman let loose a piteous whimper that tore into me like Crucio. I forced blankness into my eyes, letting my own sense of self-preservation surge around me. If I showed any emotion whatsoever, it might well be me up there next. Or Father. Or, God, Mother. No matter whose house this was, no matter whose kin we were. It simply didn’t matter.
You were either for Him, or you were against Him. And in this proximity, there was only one choice. No choice. No choice.
I realized my lips had silently shaped the words when His voice whipped against me. “Young Mr. Malfoy, did you have something to say?”
I could feel Mother’s controlled dread next to me, and it goaded me out of blind panic. I resurrected my best sneer, held Professor Burbage’s gaze (I’m sorry, I’m so sorry), and lied through my teeth. “Just that she deserves this. Filthy Muggle-lover.”
Auntie Bella’s cackle scraped through me as I saw the telltale green flash and watched the light go out of Professor Burbage’s eyes.
Entry 3:
Title: Lucky Molly
Molly Weasley loved Christmas. There was nothing more she liked than spending time with her family, especially if it involved cooking.
With a flick of her wand, the brandy hovered to the centre of the table and began lavishly pouring itself upon the mountainous Christmas pudding in the centre, before floating gently back to the shelf.
"Incendio!" Enchanting blue flames prompted applause all around the table. She then heaped pudding into twelve bowls to sit before her treasured guests: Arthur, George, Percy, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny and little Teddy. She sat down with her own bowl of pudding, eating happily, when she almost swallowed the shiny sickle.
"Looks like you've got some good luck coming your way," smiled Arthur to his wife.
"I'm already a very lucky lady," she smiled, handing the sickle to Teddy, who promptly put it into his own mouth to chew on. "I have all of you."
Entry 4:
Title: Umbridge Ruins Everything
The party, thought Charity, was a disaster. There were 13 people at the table, and none of them had quite the right party spirit. Well, Pomona and Rolanda had plenty of the party spirits. They had gotten quite giggly over the Butterbeer pitcher, and Charity strongly suspected that Rolanda was spiking it from her flask of home-brewed charmed moonshine. She had once confided to Charity that the occasional slip on the sly was the only thing that got her through Quidditch games, the “gangly, hormonal little idiots bastardizing the greatest sport in the world” being too painful to watch without some liquid courage.
Filius, who she could usually rely on to bring some clever cheer, was solemn and quiet. Minerva sat ramrod straight, speaking lowly to Poppy, who was listening with quiet consternation. Everyone was rigid and uncomfortable. Severus in particular looked like he might like to get up calmly from the table and throw himself out the window, if only it fit in with his air of careless ennui. I wonder if there is a way to defenestrate oneself with the appropriate existential sangfroid, thought Charity, sipping her strawberry cordial.
She turned to Septima, who was seated next to her and poking mournfully at her slice of Baked Alaska, and sighed. Charity had so hoped this party could be a spot of cheer in their lives and throw off the specter of the Ministry’s micromanaging lizard queen. She had spent all day making her office joyful and seasonal. She had even sent out little invitations.
Aurora had been rather rude about them, saying they were “insensitive”. Charity frowned at that. She thought the cards were quite cute. They had little centaurs in Father Christmas hats. What’s insensitive about that? “I thought it would be nice to show some support for Firenze. You know, include him a bit,” she told Aurora, who had just looked at her over the rims of her glasses, like one might look at a dumb but moderately endearing terrier.
Firenze didn’t seem offended by them, but nothing seemed to rattle him. Even now he was standing off to the side of the table like a serene stature that kept making eyes at the brandied pears. He wasn’t speaking to anyone, just stood in noble, pear-seeking silence. He had brought a gift with him, which was quite nice. It was moss, but then, you couldn’t have everything.
Even with Pomona, Rolanda, and now Sybill (oh, poor Sybill) firmly in their cups, their raucous laughter just seemed jarring in the heavy silence of the room.
This is all that horrid woman’s fault, thought Charity. She’s infected the whole school with her hatefulness. She looked around at all the tired, sullen faces around her table, the playful bunting and holiday decorations taking on an ironic rather than festive air. And she’s ruined my party!
Entry 5:
Title: Around the Table
It was what she wanted most in the world. The people she loved sitting around the giant table that they’d had to expand with magic in order to make room for everyone, but was now so big it barely left any space in the kitchen for walking. Everyone talking and laughing as they dined on the food they had all helped prepare (or most of them had helped prepare anyway), smiling at each other as stories were told and glasses were clinked and fingers and arms were brushed against each other.
Twelve people to hug and hold. Twelve people who were alive and healthy and happy. Twelve people who had a future that was filled with hope and promise and love, not war and horror and fear.
It was what she wanted, she reminded herself. This picture - of her husband, her sons, her daughter, her daughter-in-law, her daughter-in-law’s sister, and two more who might as well have been her own children - was what had kept her going all those long, hard months. The thought of them all together again one day, basking in each other’s company.
It was what she had prayed to Merlin for last Christmas. It was what she had wished for every night for months when she went to bed.
It was here now, and she was grateful. She was. So grateful.
But as Molly Weasley took her own seat at the table, she had to pause a moment to blink away a tear in her eye.
There were thirteen people at the table. But Molly couldn’t help thinking, with a heavy ache in her heart, that there should have been more.
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