Favourite
i. book
Hugo is six, a man with a mission. He slips out of his bed, tiptoes past Rose's bedroom in his slippers, and jumps over the squeaky stair with practised agility. The little Weasley clings to the wall and inches slowly down the hall, eyeing the shadows anxiously. After what seems like eternity, he reaches the door and stole into the room. The room is full of bright light, even at night, and Hugo is comforted by its protective glow. (There are no shadows.) He pads over to his favourite chair, the leather one with the large arms, and stares at awe the books lining the wall. Sometimes at night, when he can't sleep, Hugo likes sitting in his chair and looking at the books. Hugo swings his legs and tries to memorise all the titles, but some of the words are too big.
There is a sound outside and Hugo bites his lip, nervously. Worry creases his chubby features. If Mum and Dad found him down here in this time of night, he really would be in big trouble. And that would mean no flying through the house on his toy broom anymore. Or no visiting Uncle George at the joke shop. Or no pancakes for breakfast, ever. Hugo Weasley shudders at the thought. He looks back at the walls of books, liking the look of the differently textured spines and colours.
Tentatively, Hugo slides off his chair and looks closer at the books, so his nose almost touches the bindings. "Maaark Tw—Twaaain. Mark Twain," Hugo whispers, trying out the different names. He skips the ones that look too difficult. Blue eyes lighting up, he spots a familiar name. Victor! Like Mummy's friend from the pictures! The one who rides a real broom! His eyes widen as another familiar name appears. Hugo. "Victor Hugo," the youngest Weasley says in hushed awe. His own name! There are a few books with that name and Hugo decides to pull out the smaller one. There is a picture of a gargoyle on the cover and Hugo stares at it with saucer-like eyes, a little fearful. He hesitantly opens to the first page. Nothing happens.
Sighing in relief, the little boy climbs back to his chair with the book (Notre-Dame de Paris) in tow. He isn't as good at reading as Rose, but he still wants to try. Flipping through the pages, Hugo frowns stubbornly at the foreign words, even looking at the text cross-eyed in attempt to decipher the French. He brightens considerably at the vivid pictures at the beginning of each chapter and is amazed with the vivid colours and the grotesque features of the gargoyles. (Do gargoyles really exist? He makes the decision to ask Mummy at breakfast.) He shudders at Quasimodo's ugliness and quails as the pictures get delightfully scarier. He is unsure if he understands any of the story, but figures he can again ask Mummy to read it to him at bedtime tomorrow.
Slowly, the small font starts blurring. Yawning largely, Hugo closes his eyes. In his last waking moments, he decides that this is his most favourite book.
After all, it has his name.
-
Author's Note: Notre-Dame de Paris is known as the Hunchback of Notre Dame in English. Anyway, I haven't seen many Hugo-fics out there, so do enjoy. Poor Hugo – who is just so endearing – doesn't even have a character tag on this website! How depressing! Also, the second chapter (uncle) has already been written and will be posted within the next few days. The following pieces will be a bit longer. And do review -- it would genuinely make my day. Au revoir!