a picture's worth a thousand words
Today, Bill was 26 years old. He'd been trying not to think about how it made him that much closer to thirty. It really didn't bother him all that much, except in the sense that he was growing older without his family nearby. Birthdays seemed to really bring to mind how much he missed his parents, his sister, and the rest of his brothers. Fred and George were there now, though, and for that he was ecstatic. It was the best early birthday present he could have received.
He strolled into the rec room, bass slung across his shoulders, intending on getting in a little practising, but when he brought the guitar around to his front he noticed a paper stuck between the strings and the neck he could've sworn hadn't been there before. He shrugged out of the strap, setting the bass gently down on the couch, and slipped the paper out to have a look at it.
He immediately saw that it wasn't just a piece of paper, it was a photograph, and not just any photograph - a wedding portrait. Specifically, a wedding portrait of himself and Fleur. It wasn't surprising to see a wedding picture, as he'd known for some time that he and Fleur would have been married had he not come to the island...or rather, the Bill that was still home had married her. No, what came as a shock was the sight of his own mangled face, smiling out from the picture that would normally have been moving.
He knew about the attack, about what that fucking animal Fenrir Greyback had done to him, but reading about it in some book from Harry's point of view and seeing the damage for himself were two completely different things. He scarcely recognised himself. Four angry, red slashes cut diagonally across his photographed face, from his right temple clear down to his left jaw, raised and ugly. Just below them, another scar marred his right cheek, and yet another was etched into his chin.
"Bloody fucking hell," he mumbled, all he could think to say. He'd never been all that hung up about his appearance, knew that the damage was something he would have learnt to accept, but having the sight of his scarred appearance thrust upon him like that, on his sodding birthday of all days, was quite a shock.
[If you know him feel free to assume that you know it's his birthday. ;)]
He strolled into the rec room, bass slung across his shoulders, intending on getting in a little practising, but when he brought the guitar around to his front he noticed a paper stuck between the strings and the neck he could've sworn hadn't been there before. He shrugged out of the strap, setting the bass gently down on the couch, and slipped the paper out to have a look at it.
He immediately saw that it wasn't just a piece of paper, it was a photograph, and not just any photograph - a wedding portrait. Specifically, a wedding portrait of himself and Fleur. It wasn't surprising to see a wedding picture, as he'd known for some time that he and Fleur would have been married had he not come to the island...or rather, the Bill that was still home had married her. No, what came as a shock was the sight of his own mangled face, smiling out from the picture that would normally have been moving.
He knew about the attack, about what that fucking animal Fenrir Greyback had done to him, but reading about it in some book from Harry's point of view and seeing the damage for himself were two completely different things. He scarcely recognised himself. Four angry, red slashes cut diagonally across his photographed face, from his right temple clear down to his left jaw, raised and ugly. Just below them, another scar marred his right cheek, and yet another was etched into his chin.
"Bloody fucking hell," he mumbled, all he could think to say. He'd never been all that hung up about his appearance, knew that the damage was something he would have learnt to accept, but having the sight of his scarred appearance thrust upon him like that, on his sodding birthday of all days, was quite a shock.
[If you know him feel free to assume that you know it's his birthday. ;)]