The Last Weasly

by paintangel

Fear. Fear flooded him, and he couldn't hide it. A story of how the last Weasly meets his end.

I looked in the dingy mirror. I couldn't see my face for the mud, on me and everything else. Even my red hair wasn't showing. I griped the cold basin in desperation, my head screaming. I heard a sound. I wiped around, my knuckles white gripping my wand. My eyes flicked to the shaft of sunlight penetrating the darkness, falling from the window. It was only a leaf. Only a leaf that had fallen by the cellar window. Nothing to worry about. I relaxed my grip, and breathed again.

There was a creak from the next room. I spun towards the door. It was only the wind. The same wind that blew the leaf down. I turned back to the mirror. My eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep opened wide. I swallowed hard and turned around. I wasn't afraid. A Gryfindor is never afraid.

I saw his face, unobscured by a mask (like the rest of them wore). I saw that face, and my mind was flooded with memory. Now I was scared. "Mr. Weasly," said the man. I didn't even blink in reply. That voice was so much colder that I remembered.

"I believe you are the last Weasly?" he continued, his voice calm. He was right. He'd know too. He killed them all. My whole family lost, dead, cold. My hand started shaking, I had no control. "Ah," he said, his voice laced with fake humor, "you do remember me."

I lifted my eyes and looked straight into his. They were red. Some foul spell no doubt, had ridden him of his last connection to the Muggle world. "Potter," I whispered softly, my eyes not leaving his.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his smile widen. "Normally," he said, as if I was a bank teller, "I wouldn't bother with torture, but as its you I think its time you know how I felt." He didn't move his lips. The wand by his side moved the smallest amount, and the white-hot knives I knew all too well came.

I didn't scream. I wouldn't give him the pleasure. He was powerful, it hurt like nothing before. I could think of only one thing, staying quiet. The spell was released, and I stood there, no change on my face. Harry began again, "Of course, I should have remembered that I need more than self-righteous anger to hurt."

I did not notice any time between his last word and the next bout of pain. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I screamed loud and high. My bowls let lose, and I crumbled to the floor twitching. "Much better," boomed Harry.

Then two words, two words that I had been dodging all my life escaped his mouth. All I could do was to take it. The two words, and a brilliant flash of green light.