I've had this on my laptop since April, just sitting, waiting to be acknowledged. But then Stuff happened and I couldn't even look at it, even though, as I've just discovered, it was finished the last time I fiddled with it. So, without further ado, I give you Death Took The Brothers.
The battle raged around them, curses flying from every direction. Above, below, outside, it was possible some may have even been fighting in the sky, but they didn't have the luxury of time to check.
They had been grouped together – three of the brothers, another who was so very close to being one of them along with the girl whom they all loved.
The air exploded and then all seemed well.
But it was an illusion, a lie.
Nothing was or ever would be well. Not really. Never again.
Everything they knew was destroyed in that moment.
The first of their lot left laughing.
And so Death took the first brother as his own.
Just another routine day.
The war was over; they were all free to live as they pleased. And for the second eldest son, that meant, returning to the dragons, working outside, in the sunshine, just as he'd always loved to do.
Everyone else had settled down, gotten married, some of them had already had all the children they were going to have.
He was happiest on his own after so many years in a full house.
But that was only temporary. He had plans; he was going to have a family, in his own time.
But the dragons didn't care for the plans of humans.
And so Death took the second brother as his own.
He'd always been a proud, self-important man. Until he saw death, firsthand; his brother laughing as he died not unlike a distant relative of theirs.
That was all it took to convince him; it didn't matter how hard he worked, who he managed to impress – if he couldn't save his brother, his own flesh and blood, what was the point?
Of course he didn't let on to others that he thought this way, he continued to go about his business, worked for years under the best Minister the magical community had seen in decades, and even had himself a family.
Two beautiful daughters each named for their grandmothers.
And he kept at his work, no longer satisfied to sit behind a desk and push papers he went out in the field, ridding the world of the remaining Death Eaters.
They had them.
The last of Voldemort's followers – after Fred's and then Charlie's deaths he realised that fearing a name, even the name of a terribly evil wizard, whether he was dead or not, was just silly – were trapped in an alley, and he knew they couldn't escape.
But then he saw the brilliant flash of green.
Maybe they wouldn't get out of there alive, but neither would he.
And so Death took the third brother as his own.
He'd seen and survived so much in his time, things that most people wouldn't believe and the bulk of it before he was even of age.
He had seen many terrible and shocking things. And he had experienced pain that before he would have thought impossible.
But he'd seen wonderful things too.
He'd found love with an amazing woman. She was a know-it-all, but she was his know-it-all.
The births of his two beautiful children, their graduations from magic school and their wedding days (even if his Rosie had insisted on falling in love with and then marrying a Malfoy!) as well as those same events in many of his nieces and nephews lives were all joyous events.
His first grandchild, thankfully, looked nothing like her father; she had the bright red Weasley hair. But by then, he'd started to think that Scorpius wasn't all bad.
And he had played a huge part in saving the world, even if the world didn't know about it.
But he wasn't bitter about it. He knew what he did and that was enough.
He'd seen and survived so much in his time. It was a shock to see the Bludger coming straight at him as the Chudley Cannons were finally getting to first place in the league.
The world was sure to know him now, and not just as the sidekick of The Boy Who Lived.
And so Death took the fourth brother as his own.
He never got over it. That shocking horrible the-world-can't-possibly-still-be-turning-after-this feeling.
But he moved on.
It felt as if a huge piece of him had been ripped away. Maybe more than half, he wasn't sure. But he did know that he had to learn how to do a lot of things over again. He stopped speaking, looking in the mirror. He wasn't sure how to be around more than a handful of people at a time and he didn't eat much of anything, despite his mother trying to pile his plate with enough to feed him and his dear departed twin.
But she saved him and slowly, with her help, he was able to put himself back together.
If it hadn't been for her, he may not have made it through the first anniversary. And what would that have done to his mother? How would his father go on? And his siblings, how could they have thought of him without filling with hatred?
But she made it possible for him to go on. Then there were children and jokes and things that needed to be done.
It was silly really. But how else was the remaining founder of Weasley Wizarding Wheezers, the other half of the infamous Gred and Forge, supposed to go?
He had handed the reigns over to his son a few years earlier, but still liked to be involved in new products before they made it onto the shelves. Busy inventing in the backyard shed, trying to come up with new additions for the special edition, thirtieth anniversary Skiving Snack boxes, he'd been working over a cauldron when the whole thing exploded in his face.
It would have been a cause for celebration – the Giggle Gas worked! But, being alone at the time, all he could do was laugh.
He laughed, idly thinking that it would have been a good idea to come up with the antidote first. He laughed and laughed, wondering if, after this, the gas would ever be included in the boxes. He laughed and laughed and laughed.
Until he didn't.
And so Death took the fifth brother as his own.
He was the first one of them to enter the world, and he was the last to leave it.
Throughout the years he had stood by too many gravesides, buried too many friends and loved ones, and seen Death far too many times.
It wasn't right.
Most of them were cut down in their prime. How was it that they were gone, so soon?
But gone they were.
And then he found that he was the only one left. His parents were gone, his brothers, all he had left were their children – his own and those of his brothers.
Of course their little sister was around whenever he needed her, and there were friends, always ready to lend a hand.
But he had always been a big brother, to lots of little brothers, for as long as he could remember. Now he was an old man and that couldn't be said anymore. All those little brothers that he'd taken for granted, they were all gone.
Nieces and nephews filled the chairs around the dinner table and then there were grandchildren, even a great-grandchild.
But he wished for his brothers. They were the ones he truly wanted to see.
And then his wish came true.
He closed his eyes, a tired old man, and opened them to find himself young, whole, unscarred, despite the battles in which he had fought, and there, all around him were his brothers, each of them restored to their former glory, just as he remembered them as when they were all young, happy and healthy.
And then he greeted Death, as an old friend, and went with him gladly and, equals they departed this life.
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