Family Ties
By Chibi Tears of Pain
May 16th 1980 – 6:47 PM
"…Sir?"
James looked down at the receptionist, and gave her a small, bitter smile.
"No, it wasn't mine," and James started to walk away with his head tilted an angle too high (as was common with purebloods), but his shoulders were slumped, and his swagger was more unpleasantly forced than his usual natural, supercilious sway.
Then he abruptly swung on his heel and marched back to the table, his movements were rigid and his face firm.
"Has anyone taken care of the funeral arrangements?"
--
July 24th 1985
The sun light wearily fought to break through the shredded curtains that were nailed into the wall above the window, each piece varying in height. The multiple strips of fabric, bleached white by the sun, lazily danced as the wind blew through the slight gap between the window pane and sill. This caused shadows to tease and play upon the ghastly yellow wall opposite the window.
A tall, narrow, and crooked bunk bed to the left of the window was shoved into the corner of the small room, its spinach coloured paint was faded (to puke pea green) and chipped in random spots along the frame. A large…contraption that acted as a desk sat in the opposite corner and took up most of the wall (a wooden plank attached to the side of the desk extended far enough to actually touch the other wall, while taking up the head space of the bottom bunk).
The 'contraption' was half of the desk that use to sit in the ministers office (don't ask…) and had a variety of flat pieces of wood, drawers stolen from the various Weasley antiques, wicker baskets made by Molly's own grand mum and a original edition of Newton's Principia nailed to the wall to make up the "shelf unit."
The 'desk' once had a fine, smooth finish that was now worn away, causing the desk to attack anyone who used it via splinter. It was splattered with ink and glue, not that you could actually see it due to there always being scraps of parchment and bits of string lying upon it. On this day though, that was not all the surface of the desk supported – one Rowland Bennet Weasley soundly slept bent over the desk, his bottom lightly resting on the low three legged stool that was tipping precariously with the weight of his legs. While he slept, he remained oblivious to the amazing balancing feat he had accomplished and the massive kink that would greet his back muscles once he woke.
Which would be soon.
Something on the top bunk stirred under a heavy, and relatively new, blue quilt. Two limbs popped out of the blue blob; an arm and a leg. Then emerged a bright orange clump of hair; ratty and mussed from an active sleep.
Said hair took a deep raspy breath, matching that of a dementors, then exhaled. Loudly.
The snore bound across the room, bouncing off the walls and vibrating the cage of Patrick the Puffskein, making the startled creature emit a high frequency 'squeak' that mimicked sharp nails drawn across a chalk board.
This was shortly followed by a shout and a thump, as Rowland found himself lying with his legs tangled up in his stool and arms spread wide across the wooden floor. Sometime during his five minute staring contest with the ceiling, he realized that he was, unfortunately, awake…and Ron wasn't. As another snore resonated through their room, he decided to remedy that. Immediately.
--
Molly Weasley eased the pan off the cooker, smiling at the eggs that still sizzled from the heat.
"BREAK–" and the kitchen chairs screeched across the floor, the grumbling of her boys was a hushed undertone to the cheery morning.
She surveyed those who had sleepily assembled in the kitchen: Arthur sat at the head of the table and silently read his paper; Bill was seated to his right, the fifteen year old tiredly scooping some sausage onto his plate, his eyes were half-lidded and it looked as if his future plans held his bed in great esteem. Thirteen year old Charlie was sitting to Arthurs left, and was frowning into his empty plate – he was never one to get up in a good mood, and he would probably remain grumpy well until noon. Molly absently wondered how he managed at school as her gaze traveled left to Percy, who was only nine and yet was reading through Bill and Charlie's first year History of Magic text. Fred and George were giggling and whispering to each other across from him. Already trouble at seven – she didn't want to even ponder the turmoil they would cause when they got to Hogwarts; she just wanted to make sure they stayed in one piece before they stepped foot on the train.
Ginny absently wandered into the kitchen, still dressed in her nightgown, and sleepily made her way to the spot beside Percy while Molly scooped the eggs from the pan and put them onto a plate in the center of the table.
And they all waited.
A shout and thump over head made Bill smirk and Charlie move his frown from his plate to the roof. The rest ignored the sound and started to eat, but Molly was intently listening for…
"ROWLAAAAAAND!"
Arthur chuckled when he met her exasperated gaze as she returned the pan to the stove, then ducked away from her disapproving look to smile into his paper. Charlie was now glowering at the ceiling.
Molly settled her self at the end of the table opposite of Arthur and frowned at the two boys who walked into the kitchen. Moving to her right, Rowland gave her a quick peck on the check and a 'morning Mum' before sitting down at the table to digging into his eggs. A very wet Ronald murmured his greetings as he huffily climbed into the chair to her left and moodily (accompanied by the awkwardness that came from being six) dished himself some eggs.
Molly reached for her wand, but paused as Arthur beat her to it – a spell later, Ronald was dry and everyone continued to eat.
In all, it was just another morning for the Weasley family...but all days seemingly start as such.
--
"Bill, have you de-gnomed the garden like I asked?"
The teenager continued to stare blankly at her, only blinking when the cards he held quite suddenly exploded.
"Well?" His mother was getting impatient and was not at all amused when his face scrunched up in immense reluctance.
"Really mum, I have to–"
She unmercifully cut him off. "You should have finished your homework before you spent the summer lying around – now go!"
"But…" he trailed off, protesting even though he was halfway to the door, dragging his feet the whole way. Finally his mind stumbled upon a suitable argument. "But it'll be dark soon, and it's a full moon, you know…" his ending silence was suggestive to the danger that could possibly befall him in the absence of the sun.
"Well then, you'll just have to work fast now won't you?" With that she turned, walking towards the door of the sitting room.
"But Mum!" Bill burst out in protest.
"Oh fine, take one of your brothers with you – but have the garden de-gnomed by supper!" yelled Molly Weasley and outraged, she marched out of the room.
--
December 23rd 1978
When they entered the menagerie Bill headed straight to the counter, leaving a six year old Charlie to wander the narrow and tipping cage made isles.
Bill may have been only eight but he was on a mission – one he would complete, no matter the cost.
Mum and Dad were worn thin trying of take care of Fred and George, and when Christmas hit, things were…tight. Tighter than they had ever been, really. Bill may not be able to understand a lot of things, but he knew Fudge didn't like Dad or Mum, especially Mum. Bill also knew that someone was making thing difficult for the family and he knew who he thought it was, but then again, what did he really know?
Who ever it was, Bill didn't really care. He had more important matters to deal with, because in all the chaos of trying to manage a pair of eight month old twins and three other boys, a single present did not join its six brothers under the tree.
Bill was here to set that right; Percy would not be forgotten, not at Christmas anyways.
So he stood on his tip toes trying to see over the counter at Mabel's Magical Menagerie while negotiating the price of a magical rat with Marcus Mabel himself.
Marcus was a thirty something entrepreneur with a round, puffed up and inflated red nose that always ran (due to his animal allergies) and thin brown, jerkily cut hair that had already receded down most of his scalp. He had once thought that all future business lay with animals (of all things…) and so, promptly after taking his OWLs and dropping out, he opened up a shop in a too small but over priced lot in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, his business did not take off like he expected, and the man often found himself over charging just to make ends meet – something not easily done when looking into the overly large eyes of Bill Weasley.
"Look kid, I can't give it to you for anything less than three galleons."
The brown eyes, so resolute with their gaze, started to water.
"I'm sorry, but I just can't –"
The shrill screech of a child voice – a soprano that had not yet descended in puberty – echoed through the crowded isles of Mabel's Magical Menagerie – and for once the menagerie was silent. The owls had stopped banging and shaking their cages that hung from the high wooden rafters, the rats stop skipping, jumping and hula hooping, and even the little orange mangle of fur, perhaps a young kneazle, stopped its bellyaching bleat.
Marcus shot out from behind the counter to the fallen pile of cages at the other end of the store. Hurriedly, he started to throw them out of his way to get to the boy at the bottom of the pile –
His meaty fists, that had once handled a beater's bat with ease, grasped the large constricting body of the boa that was wrapped around the boy's body – or more specifically, his neck.
"Get it off! Get it off! Mum's gonna kill me if he dies!" The boy from earlier was pounding at his beefy shoulder, his desperate tone turning his voice screechy.
But Marcus wasn't paying attention to him, he was too busy trying to pry at the tense body of the snake, its muscles tightening and hardening the more he pulled – the boy's lips were starting to turn blue and Marcus was sure he heard a crack as the snake coiled around the kid's chest.
And while Marcus was thinking of lawsuits and bad media and murder, Bill was panicking.
"Get it off, you stupid oaf! Get that THING off my brother!" And still, Bill was ignored. Charlie's freckles had become invisible due to all the blood spotting in his cheeks, his constipated expression seemed to grow tauter, and the rest of him was all the more pale – like Grandma Cedrella, when she was lying in her box bed.
Then Bill Weasley truly felt fear, and so, he did the only thing he could; he yelled.
"I said; GET THAT THING OFF MY BROTHER!"
And the snake was gone, hitting the sun bleached wording on the window before falling to the ground with a un-suspenseful 'thunk.'
That was when, on the floor on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping – the much needed flow of oxygen racking through his already quivering body, did Bill truly see Charlie as his little brother, and he realized just how powerless eight can seem.
Roughly grabbing Charlie by the arm and walking fast paced toward the door (effectively bringing the still dazed boy to his feet), Bill slammed sixteen sickles onto the jutting counter and grabbed randomly at the nearest tail like appendage before jolting to the door…
…Leaving a stunned Marcus, still resting on his knees on the cobblestoned floor, to contemplate that, with all things considering, it was far from wise for the boy to have grabbed a Runespoor after such a snake encounter.
--
"You're sure Mum said I have to help you?"
Bill turned to glare at Charlie. He was standing in the door of the Burrow; his body was tense, though he tried to fake an offhanded lack of enthusiasm towards the chore.
Bill wasn't buying it.
"Don't tell me your chick–" a deliberate pause gave him time to birth a malicious smirk, and allowed Charlie to process what was implied. "Oooooh, that's right. You don't like critter-y creatures, do you? And who could blame you; after all, the common garter snake is a class five dark creature. It rests somewhere in between the categories deadly, but petty annoyance and dangerous household pest. But, of course the chances of actually encountering said snake or even a boa are significantly raised than if you stay safely inside the house, cowering in the corner of the cellar, like the little slimly Slytherin you are..."
"…but if you really wish to get mum…" and Bill watched triumphantly as Charlie's cheeks flushed the famous Weasley red, the rest of his face paling in the flickering lights that illuminated the door frame from inside the house. He looked so much like he did on that day, with his face scrunch up in anger, an outburst just waiting to –
"I'll come! Then you'll be sorry! I ain't afraid of anything! No gnome, no dragon, no WEREWOLF! NOT EVEN A SNAKE! NOTHING!"
Bill didn't even acknowledged what Charlie had yelled into the evening, silencing the twittering of the late evening crickets; instead he turned on his heel and steadily walked toward the garden. He paused only once.
"Well, are you coming?"
--
Bill laughed silently to himself as he watched an angry Charlie spin in a circle, his movements jaded and harsh and for a brief moment, Bill had wondered if he had broken the gnome's ankles, but then Charlie released the stupid little thing, and it didn't matter.
They had worked side by side for half an hour now and the sun had left them not five minutes ago, yet Bill was still humoured by his crafty manipulation and Charlie still angered by Bill's earlier implications – something that was evident in all his edgy movements.
Bill rolled his eyes, really, Charlie needed to lighten up; water over the path and all that, to quote a muggle saying (his father would be so proud.)
There was a slight shuffle a few feet away, and Bill narrowed his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of what it was from what little light escaped the house windows while ignoring the tantalizing scent of roast and shepherds pie that wafted through the garden – he really should have started on this earlier.
The grass stirred again and Bill smirked as he saw, briefly in an escaped flicker of light, scales. Now what are the chances...? Bill wondered as he watched Charlie fling another gnome (easily forgetting he is supposed to be doing the same).
Bill finally decided that Charlie was just unlucky, and that such an ill-fated meeting was bound to take place one time or another, so what if he helped it along?
"Hey, Charlie?" His brother stopped mid gnome reach to look over at him, his expression one of extreme loathing.
"What?" Bill held back a chuckle at the venom in Charlie's voice – it was almost as if he was related to the little creepy he was afraid of.
Bill just smiled at him. "Here," and his hand darted out, grabbing the snake's tail, launching it at his confused brother.
And the grass was soft and acted as a cushion when he fell back; shaking as his hyena-like laughter escaped into the night and the salty tang of tears met his tongue.
"What in the name of Morgana is that racket?" It is only with his mother's interruption does he realize that Charlie was screaming – and that he had now stopped.
Mirth filled brown eyes; chocolate that melted the heat of the sun, met watery hazel; mud that swam under clear shallow water, and the next thing Bill saw was mud's dear cousin dirt, as he landed face first into the garden soil, his cheek stinging, teeth aching and jaw still vibrating from the punch his brother had actually managed to land.
The quick rhythm of clothed legs passing each other told of Charlie's escape and Molly's yelling only confirmed it.
"Charlie?! CHARliiiieeee?! Charlie!!"
With in moments Charlie's back had faded into the rest of the night, and it was all Bill could do to sit there and listen to the circuit of words that echoed through his conscious; the last words that Charlie had said to him
"Not so funny now, is it?"
No, Bill thought as he brought his hand up to his cheek, it wasn't so funny now, not at all.
TBC...
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews from Fibinaci, translucency for summertime, semper paratis, Kari Minamoto, BellatrixMarlaLovett.
And thank you to all who have taken an interest in this story.