Lucy Weasley chose to live in Ireland. Her father, well into his sixties, was still Minister for Magic. Apparently Britain loved him - loved him in a way she had never managed to do. She didn't want to live under his jurisdiction, didn't want his control over her life. So she graduated Hogwarts and moved to Dublin. And the city grew on her, and the city became her, and she became the city.
She never wanted to leave. There was a revolution happening there, a minor one, a war for the House-Elf that her Aunt Hermione probably started accidentally - some young idealist influenced by her activism, come home to fight. She didn't care - not really - but there was something about being banded together with the people of Dublin, something about a revolution, that made her feel... wishful almost. Like an idealist. She stood there, thirty-four years old among twenty-somethings, and held her signs and shouted at the Irish Ministry, and felt like she belonged.
So when her father called to say that Granddad Arthur was getting sicker, that she should visit, it was with reluctance that she left her much-younger Irish boyfriend to visit her family. When she spoke, it was with an Irish accent, and she told herself, my family is Dublin. When it comes to family, blood is irrelevant. She left to go home as soon as she could.
A/N: For the Drabble Collection Challenge. Prompt: banded. Also loosely inspired by "Witness" by Eavan Boland. I'm not JKR (or Eavan Boland) and don't own the characters (or the poem). Word Count: 234.