Written for Chosen Ones Challenge at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Character: Neville Longbottom
Word: Photo frame
Word Count: 902
Glass. Shattered. Blood. They seem like words that have no real meaning. They just lay on the page, untouched, unfelt by the reader. No one really tells you have simple words mean so much. Stories only seem to focus on the main plot, the little sub-plots going unnoticed until they are pointed out.
It held the only true photo I had of them. The photo frame was made of pine wood and decorated with glitter, much to my father's chagrin. My mother gave it to him for a present. It was the only photo rescued from the remains of my parents' house. It holds more than just the memory in the picture, it holds every memory I ever shared with my parents
It was a simple picture. Sweet. They were holding hands on the beach with the waves gently crashing around their ankles. They were all smiles and laughter, the war seeming like a distant memory. My father is whispering sweet nothings in her ear, holding her close in the evening sun. Tints of orange and red settle around their bodies, giving them a shining glow.
My mother's brown hair was curly and short, resting above her ears. Her sky-blue eyes shone with a laughter full brightness. She was kicking water at my father. He splashed her back. He grabbed her to pull her into a sweet hug, unaware of the photographer.
My dad looks nothing like me; I get it all from my mum. He has dirty blonde hair and green eyes. He was very clumsy and deemed the 'Fifth Marauder'. I look up to my dad; he is my hero despite my never truly meeting him.
Everyone knew my parents were going to get married; they didn't really hide their affections apparently. All of their remaining friends said they had been going out since 3rd year. Alice Mollie Rose Fortescue and Frank Augustus Longbottom were written in the stars. No one really could deny it.
I now know that the photographer was Lily Potter. Or Lily Evans at the time. She thought it would be a good joke, a laugh, a great wedding present. I wish she was able to see how her joke made me feel connected to my parents. It was my lifeline, something I could go to to see who I really am and who my parents were. I thank her so much.
He proposed to her after they found out that they had become full Aurors. My grandmother says he put the ring in the pocket of her new Aurors robe, knowing that she would find it there. It also meant that there was less of a chance he would lose it.
Their wedding was beautiful. All flowers and petals. My mother looked stunning. She truly did. Her dress was light and floaty, cool and light. It was lacy and simple, the sleeves three-quarter length. There were very little diamonds and crystals, the only ones being around the waist. Her skin glowed in the summer heat and her eyes sparkled with happiness.
My father looked like the happiest man alive. He glowed with happiness and joy looking like all is Christmases and birthdays had come in one. His tie was half done and he was visibly shaking. I was happy for him as odd as it sounds. I really was. All the wedding photos my grandmother had in her attic told me this, seeing as I went through every memory and photograph had anyone had of them. Looking at the photos made me feel like I was getting to know them being told their stories and memories.
The glass lay on the floor, spread out in an unorganised way. The whole incident happened in slow motion, me not wanting to believe what had happened. The spiral of the shatter and the cracks leading off the wound sprung unwanted tears to my eyes. I knew I shouldn't cry but I seemed to have thought that I was hurting parents my smashing the photo frame.
I traced my thumb over the spiralled damage. It started to bleed. Red, hot blood came to the surface of my thumb, creating a drip on to the photo frame.
The salty taste of tears felt bitter in my mouth. I was over reacting, I knew it, but this was the only photo of them I had. Moreover, my mother had handmade the fame.
The whole thing was an accident. I hadn't seen the kitchen stool and had tripped over it. I went flying into the kitchen table. I was still very clumsy and everything was a trip hazard.
I held my wand to the photo fame, trying to steady my hand. Controlling the tears was hard, even at my age. I cast the spell; a gentle purple light appeared from the end of my wand, wrapping its self around the photo and frame. The healing of the photo and frame restored some of my emotions. I couldn't get rid of the guilt that lingered in my mouth though, no matter how hard I tried.
The warm cherry wood felt warm n my hand, offering a comfort. I looked at the picture, gazing at my parents. They looked happy and undisturbed. I wouldn't have noticed my dad winking at me and my mother's comforting smile if I hadn't been looking for them. I may have imagined them, I'm pretty sure I didn't though.