Writewritewrite
I'm so inspired! I've written another fic for the 30minfic community, however, since this went way over the 30 minutes, it's posted here. This is my response to Challenge #140: The Foe-Glass Challenge. It is my first serious attempt to write in the first person.
This fic comes with a warning label for gore and angst.
I am the luckiest man in the world. She’s so beautiful, lying there next to me, my Molly. Her hair is a more exquisite frame for her face than could be fashioned from the purest of gold. Of late, she has been complaining of the grey that encroaches on the auburn. I don’t see it. To me, she looks just like she did the way we met.
They’ve been wonderful years we’ve had together. Our seven children each in their own way reflect her best qualities. Charlie has her resourcefulness, Bill, her bravery, the twins have her love of life, Ron, her loyalty, Ginny her sweetness, even Percy has her attention to detail.
Percy. Even thinking his name makes me die a little inside. He was such a beautiful baby. A little fussier than the others, certainly, and always easy to upset, but he’d toddle around on those fat little legs of his, arms held out, always wanting to be held. When he grew up, he changed, but Molly always understood him. He never noticed how she’d light up the moment he walked in the room. He could make her smile even when she was furious with the rest of us. Her second Head Boy. Her tidy child. Percy was always her favourite.
Now he’s gone. I know Molly writes to him every day, sealing every envelope with a kiss, and enclosing a few knuts inside. “Just in case he needs anything,” she’ll whisper. She thinks he reads the letters, even if she has given up waiting at home for a reply. I’m so grateful that she hasn’t yet caught me retrieving them from Errol when Percy sends them back unopened.
That’s why I think this will be our best anniversary ever. I couldn’t believe it when I found it. Who in their right mind would create a mirror that showed Percy’s face? At first I thought it was some sort of device to spy on him, take his secrets, and use them for some sinister purpose, but I’ve had it for weeks now, and I haven’t been able to do anything with it but look at him. I think it’s safe, just a curio, a spell gone wrong, maybe, left to gather dust in the back of the magical instruments shop in London. If only Dumbledore was still alive to give it one last looking over, but… Anyway, sometimes he looks positively blurry. Whoever made this glass didn’t do a terribly good job. I know Molly will love it, anyway.
The alarm is just about to go off. Her cheek tastes a little salty as I kiss her awake. At least today she won’t wake up crying, the way she fell asleep. “Happy anniversary love,” I whisper. Her skin is so soft, I can’t help stroking her cheek, and the tenderness in her eyes as she looks at me is worth every scold, every moment of impatience. God, I love her.
The present is the next thing she sees. I wish we had a moment longer to hold each other, but after hiding it for so long, I can’t keep it from her any more. “Oh Arthur,” she whispers, crawling out of bed to grasp it by its frame. It’s heavy, but her arms don’t falter. She stares at it so desperately, “I haven’t seen him for so long. Thank you!”
The expression on her face is all the thanks I need. I leave her alone with the glass whilst I bathe; besides, any minute now, she’s going to remember to ask where I got the money, and she disapproves of borrowing from the twins.
She’s still staring at it when I return. “He’s a bit fuzzy,” she murmurs, her fingers reaching out to brush the reflected cheek. “But thank you, this is the best present you ever gave me.” Somehow I know she’s not ever going to ask about the money. This means too much to her.
We spend the morning deciding where on the wall it fits best. I’ve never seen Molly so happy since Ginny was born. She feels good, tucked into my arm as she stares at the mirror. I don’t think we’ll be going out tonight as we’d planned.
Shadows move in the background of the image. Funny how we can’t see what Percy is doing, or where he is. He just stands there in the foreground, sometimes blurrier than others, sometime facing one way, sometimes another. No matter, it’s our boy, and this might be the only way we’ll have him in our house now.
***
Molly doesn’t cry so much any more, but she stares at Percy’s image all day, sometimes all night. She’s placed an old couch in front of the glass, so that she doesn’t have to leave it. I miss regular proper meals. Occasionally I shove a piece of burnt toast under my wife’s nose. I don’t think she’s feeding herself either. Of late, the image is becoming more solid. Maybe the magic is made stronger by Molly’s need. It can only be a good thing.
Bill isn’t impressed at all. He and Fleur bring around dinners for us occasionally. I don’t think they’re Fleur’s cooking, but I make certain to thank them both anyway. Bill says that there’s something very familiar about the glass, and that we should take it to the Ministry to be analysed. Molly won’t let it out of her sight, but she does cling to Bill and sob, and beg him never to leave her. It breaks both our hearts to see her reduced to this state.
***
I can’t believe it when Percy lets himself into the house. Even though it’s been a while since we’ve seen him, and it’s been hard to picture his face in our minds, his image in the glass has been very clear of late.
I wish I could say that he seems pleased to see us, and is back to his old self. I admit, I’m beginning to find it difficult to remember what his old self was like. He seems secretive, aloof, and when Molly tries to embrace him, he shrugs her off. He hardly glances at our glass when his mother tries to tell him all about it, and he cuts her off rudely.
How pathetically happy my wife is to see him. I want to be happy too, but I don’t really know this stranger who barely conceals his sneer at the poverty we live in. We don’t need the frequent hints he drops to know that he considers himself to have gone up in the world; he’s so much better than the rest of us now, or so he seems to think.
I’m surprised when he follows me to the shed. He’s always hated my collection of muggle artifacts, but it seems that they are what he wants to talk to me about. It’s time to let them go, he says. They’re holding him - us - back at the Ministry. Everybody laughs at me behind my back, and it’s time to move on. I’m to be less vocal about muggle rights too, it seems. Less vocal about everything. I make us both look like fools. Having left home has only got him so far. Now he needs me to be respectable.
Hurt crushes my soul. That I should live to see the day one of my own children is ashamed of me! If Percy is surprised at the volume of my shouting, if he can hear the ache in my voice, he doesn’t show it. He just talks down to me like I was some kind of idiot, sure that he is right. When I turn away from him, I wonder if I can ever bear to look at his face again. Hard words have been spoken. Words that can never be taken back. We will never be again what we once were to each other.
Oh God, the pain! It’s sudden, hot, and overwhelming. The force Percy uses to drive the dagger inside me is surprising for one so slightly built. I can feel blood spurting from the wound - warm, wet, bathing my back in its stickiness. I can feel the knife pulling against me as he pulls it out again. I can’t stop the bleeding with my hand. The second thrust scrapes agonisingly along my ribs. Pain is my entire world. As I fall, my head smacks with a dull thud against my new muggle radio. Everything goes black.
“Oh God, Dad!” I don’t know how much time has passed, and now Bill’s voice is so distant. He sounds as though his world is ending. Mine too. I won’t be going to St Mungo’s this time.
I’m so cold.
***
Percy’s just a distant, blurry figure in the mirror now. Other faces are more prominent - Voldemort, Lucius, and the other Death Eaters. I watch it sometimes, ready to warn Molly if any of them should come close. The glass is up in the attic, where dust can settle over the memory. They couldn’t break it, so it lies here abandoned.
The twins make sure Molly never needs anything. They’re such good boys, really. The others are in and out so often, she hardly has time to be lonely. One day I might tell her I am here. For now, I think it’s easier for her that she doesn’t know.
Even now, she’d probably forgive our son. I know she and Bill kept secret the identity of my killer. I expect Percy has his wish, and is rising through the ranks of the ministry. I can’t find it in my heart to wish him well.
I cannot leave my Molly, not while times are so dangerous. If there’s an attack, I can at least warn her, and maybe I can lead her to safety. Voldemort has no weapon effective against ghosts that I know of and even if he does, I’d gladly stand between him and my beloved.
Ah, my Mollywobbles, how brave she is. Nobody sees her tears but I. How cruelly short our life was together. How deeply do I love her still.
This fic comes with a warning label for gore and angst.
I am the luckiest man in the world. She’s so beautiful, lying there next to me, my Molly. Her hair is a more exquisite frame for her face than could be fashioned from the purest of gold. Of late, she has been complaining of the grey that encroaches on the auburn. I don’t see it. To me, she looks just like she did the way we met.
They’ve been wonderful years we’ve had together. Our seven children each in their own way reflect her best qualities. Charlie has her resourcefulness, Bill, her bravery, the twins have her love of life, Ron, her loyalty, Ginny her sweetness, even Percy has her attention to detail.
Percy. Even thinking his name makes me die a little inside. He was such a beautiful baby. A little fussier than the others, certainly, and always easy to upset, but he’d toddle around on those fat little legs of his, arms held out, always wanting to be held. When he grew up, he changed, but Molly always understood him. He never noticed how she’d light up the moment he walked in the room. He could make her smile even when she was furious with the rest of us. Her second Head Boy. Her tidy child. Percy was always her favourite.
Now he’s gone. I know Molly writes to him every day, sealing every envelope with a kiss, and enclosing a few knuts inside. “Just in case he needs anything,” she’ll whisper. She thinks he reads the letters, even if she has given up waiting at home for a reply. I’m so grateful that she hasn’t yet caught me retrieving them from Errol when Percy sends them back unopened.
That’s why I think this will be our best anniversary ever. I couldn’t believe it when I found it. Who in their right mind would create a mirror that showed Percy’s face? At first I thought it was some sort of device to spy on him, take his secrets, and use them for some sinister purpose, but I’ve had it for weeks now, and I haven’t been able to do anything with it but look at him. I think it’s safe, just a curio, a spell gone wrong, maybe, left to gather dust in the back of the magical instruments shop in London. If only Dumbledore was still alive to give it one last looking over, but… Anyway, sometimes he looks positively blurry. Whoever made this glass didn’t do a terribly good job. I know Molly will love it, anyway.
The alarm is just about to go off. Her cheek tastes a little salty as I kiss her awake. At least today she won’t wake up crying, the way she fell asleep. “Happy anniversary love,” I whisper. Her skin is so soft, I can’t help stroking her cheek, and the tenderness in her eyes as she looks at me is worth every scold, every moment of impatience. God, I love her.
The present is the next thing she sees. I wish we had a moment longer to hold each other, but after hiding it for so long, I can’t keep it from her any more. “Oh Arthur,” she whispers, crawling out of bed to grasp it by its frame. It’s heavy, but her arms don’t falter. She stares at it so desperately, “I haven’t seen him for so long. Thank you!”
The expression on her face is all the thanks I need. I leave her alone with the glass whilst I bathe; besides, any minute now, she’s going to remember to ask where I got the money, and she disapproves of borrowing from the twins.
She’s still staring at it when I return. “He’s a bit fuzzy,” she murmurs, her fingers reaching out to brush the reflected cheek. “But thank you, this is the best present you ever gave me.” Somehow I know she’s not ever going to ask about the money. This means too much to her.
We spend the morning deciding where on the wall it fits best. I’ve never seen Molly so happy since Ginny was born. She feels good, tucked into my arm as she stares at the mirror. I don’t think we’ll be going out tonight as we’d planned.
Shadows move in the background of the image. Funny how we can’t see what Percy is doing, or where he is. He just stands there in the foreground, sometimes blurrier than others, sometime facing one way, sometimes another. No matter, it’s our boy, and this might be the only way we’ll have him in our house now.
***
Molly doesn’t cry so much any more, but she stares at Percy’s image all day, sometimes all night. She’s placed an old couch in front of the glass, so that she doesn’t have to leave it. I miss regular proper meals. Occasionally I shove a piece of burnt toast under my wife’s nose. I don’t think she’s feeding herself either. Of late, the image is becoming more solid. Maybe the magic is made stronger by Molly’s need. It can only be a good thing.
Bill isn’t impressed at all. He and Fleur bring around dinners for us occasionally. I don’t think they’re Fleur’s cooking, but I make certain to thank them both anyway. Bill says that there’s something very familiar about the glass, and that we should take it to the Ministry to be analysed. Molly won’t let it out of her sight, but she does cling to Bill and sob, and beg him never to leave her. It breaks both our hearts to see her reduced to this state.
***
I can’t believe it when Percy lets himself into the house. Even though it’s been a while since we’ve seen him, and it’s been hard to picture his face in our minds, his image in the glass has been very clear of late.
I wish I could say that he seems pleased to see us, and is back to his old self. I admit, I’m beginning to find it difficult to remember what his old self was like. He seems secretive, aloof, and when Molly tries to embrace him, he shrugs her off. He hardly glances at our glass when his mother tries to tell him all about it, and he cuts her off rudely.
How pathetically happy my wife is to see him. I want to be happy too, but I don’t really know this stranger who barely conceals his sneer at the poverty we live in. We don’t need the frequent hints he drops to know that he considers himself to have gone up in the world; he’s so much better than the rest of us now, or so he seems to think.
I’m surprised when he follows me to the shed. He’s always hated my collection of muggle artifacts, but it seems that they are what he wants to talk to me about. It’s time to let them go, he says. They’re holding him - us - back at the Ministry. Everybody laughs at me behind my back, and it’s time to move on. I’m to be less vocal about muggle rights too, it seems. Less vocal about everything. I make us both look like fools. Having left home has only got him so far. Now he needs me to be respectable.
Hurt crushes my soul. That I should live to see the day one of my own children is ashamed of me! If Percy is surprised at the volume of my shouting, if he can hear the ache in my voice, he doesn’t show it. He just talks down to me like I was some kind of idiot, sure that he is right. When I turn away from him, I wonder if I can ever bear to look at his face again. Hard words have been spoken. Words that can never be taken back. We will never be again what we once were to each other.
Oh God, the pain! It’s sudden, hot, and overwhelming. The force Percy uses to drive the dagger inside me is surprising for one so slightly built. I can feel blood spurting from the wound - warm, wet, bathing my back in its stickiness. I can feel the knife pulling against me as he pulls it out again. I can’t stop the bleeding with my hand. The second thrust scrapes agonisingly along my ribs. Pain is my entire world. As I fall, my head smacks with a dull thud against my new muggle radio. Everything goes black.
“Oh God, Dad!” I don’t know how much time has passed, and now Bill’s voice is so distant. He sounds as though his world is ending. Mine too. I won’t be going to St Mungo’s this time.
I’m so cold.
***
Percy’s just a distant, blurry figure in the mirror now. Other faces are more prominent - Voldemort, Lucius, and the other Death Eaters. I watch it sometimes, ready to warn Molly if any of them should come close. The glass is up in the attic, where dust can settle over the memory. They couldn’t break it, so it lies here abandoned.
The twins make sure Molly never needs anything. They’re such good boys, really. The others are in and out so often, she hardly has time to be lonely. One day I might tell her I am here. For now, I think it’s easier for her that she doesn’t know.
Even now, she’d probably forgive our son. I know she and Bill kept secret the identity of my killer. I expect Percy has his wish, and is rising through the ranks of the ministry. I can’t find it in my heart to wish him well.
I cannot leave my Molly, not while times are so dangerous. If there’s an attack, I can at least warn her, and maybe I can lead her to safety. Voldemort has no weapon effective against ghosts that I know of and even if he does, I’d gladly stand between him and my beloved.
Ah, my Mollywobbles, how brave she is. Nobody sees her tears but I. How cruelly short our life was together. How deeply do I love her still.