Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon. 30th August, 1981
The family was gathered inside, sheltering from the August rain that pounded the windows. His father had not yet returned to work as he was taking a few weeks off after the birth of his daughter.
Bill's sister.
Such an incredible phrase. His brothers had always been a part of his life, he couldn't imagine not having brother. But a sister? He glared suspiciously at the kitchen door, where he knew his sister was asleep in a basket.
Bill didn't understand sisters. Brother's were much easier.
Charlie was crounched by the window, gazing mournfully at the rain. He had a broomstick clutched in one hand, and was using it to prop himself up on the sill. The broom had been a gift from their uncle Bilius, given to the boys a few years ago, and was their most treasured and fought over possesion. Bill knew that Charlie wanted to go and fly in the orchard, despite the failing light and inclement weather, and it was only the fear of his mother's admonishment that kept him inside this night. Charlie was never truly happy inside.
His father was alseep by the fire, dark shadows under his eyes and Ronnie propped up on his lap. Ronnie was grizzling, the well-chewed ear of a teddy (Percy's bedtime comfort in a former life) trapped by his mouth, but he seemed content as he toyed with his father's robes. Ronnie was no longer the baby of the family, but he didn't seem to have noticed yet.
A series of shrieks and bangs upstairs, and his mother's warning voice, told Bill that the twins were resisting their bath, as per usual. He glanced at Percy, who was sprawled across an armchair, sleepy and damp in his clean but worn pyjamas. The book he had been trying to read was at risk of falling as the little boy's fingers loosened their grip on its spine.
Bill leant back on the sofa, listening to the drumming of the rain, the crackle of the fire, and the soft breathing of his family. The radio in the corner had been muffled, with the soft murmur of the WWN barely encroaching on the family idyll.
There came a sharp wail from the kitchen, and as he got to his feet Bill exchanged a look with Charlie. Charlie leant back against the window, his gaze returning to his treasured broom, which he was polishing with the edge of him jumper.
Another fluttering cry. Bill crossed the threshold into to the kitchen, pausing for a moment, and then moved closer to the moses basket sitting at the end of the kitchen table nearest the fire.
Her Weasley red hair was mussed, but her eyes were still baby blue. Her face screwed up again, and Bill reached for her without thinking. He cradled his sister, copying the careful motions he had watched his parents do a hundred times.
Little witches sleep softly..
He could feel a tiny thump-thump beneath the hand that cupped her back, and her gaze fixed on the glowing coals in the fireplace.
Dream of bats and cats and toads..
He didn't hear his mother come quietly down the stairs, her sleeves still damp. Molly watched her eldest boy hold his little sister, singing her to sleep.
One day you will be flying highly..
'Mum, will Ginny be safe?'
Bill had turned to his mother, his sister asleep in his arms. His mother crossed the kitchen in a few quick strides and gathered her children in her arms.
'Of course, Bill. Nothing can hurt her. Not even You-Know-Who. He doesn't care about little babies.'
'I wouldn't let him near her anyway. I'd protect her. She's my sister.' His voice resolute.
His sister.
His sister.
The mother lion had produced a valiant cub.
Authors Note:
When I was born I slept in a basket in the kitchen, and my brother was very suspicious of this interloper into his world of trains and the Thunderbirds. I'm pretty sure he loved me, though. Once he put me in a cupboard, and told my Grandmother that he was hiding me from the IRA.
