A/N: Written for the 'Poetry challenge' at HPFC forum. The poem is called 'Beatrix is Three' by Adrian Mitchell. Molly/Arthur.
At the top of the stairs
I ask for her hand. O.K.
She gives it to me.
How her fist fits my palm,
A bunch of consolation.
We take our time
Down the steep carpetway
As I wish silently
That the stairs were endless.
--
The first war had ended. Voldemort had lost and a sort of fragile hope had finally been restored to the once fearful wizards and witches of Britain. Yet, the fighting was far from over. Many were dead or in hiding. Families and lovers had been torn apart amidst the intensity of it all. There were just too many numbers with too few names.
It was late in the evening, when Molly and Arthur heard the jubilant catcalls of their neighbours, celebrating His defeat. But they knew that the news was bittersweet. Lily and James Potter had died. They were yet another couple to fall, but what had made it worse was that they had been safe. Locked up safely in hiding by their secret keeper and best friend Sirius Black and he had betrayed them.
It set them thinking. ...Did their prestigious 'Order of the Phoenix' have any order at all? None of what had happened seemed fair. Alice and Frank had been tortured into madness and now, Lily and James had died. Both had left their children behind already scarred. They would grow up to know that a great evil had killed their parents. Molly knew that no child should ever have to suffer with that knowledge. They knew that they had been the lucky ones. They had survived, amidst all the death and destruction. But why, and at what cost?
That evening, when the rest of the wizarding world was celebrating Voldemort's defeat, Molly Weasley wept. Arthur tried his best to console her, to convince her that it was over and that now, they could be safe. He took her hand, and tried to whisper soothing words of comfort into her ear as they walked toward their room. The staircase that night seemed to go on for ever.
Time was a great healer. All they had to do was wait. Surely, there was nothing worse that could happen? In this war, people had changed. Friends had turned into enemies and innocent children, in a flash of harsh and unforgiving green light, quickly turned into orphans. It was darkest before the dawn, but now the dawn had come and the glimmer of hope on the horizon seemed to be just an illusion.
Yet, it would improve. It would get better because it had to.
--
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