"Seven Weasley siblings, standing in a row,
Seven Weasley siblings, standing in a row,
And if one Weasley sibling, should up to Voldie go..." The frail voice guttered to a stop.
"...six Weasley siblings, standing in a row..." was choked out, before further singing was rendered impossible by raking, primal sobs.
Six little dolls littered the blankets of the hospital bed, surrounding the one remaining Weasley child. All of them together, like they had been in the battle. Six little dolls, with red woollen hair, and crudely sewn facial expression, and one little person of flesh and bone, with an expression of permanent sorrow. Apologies. At least there had been time for apologies.
"Draco, Draco, quite the wacko,
How does your garden grow?
With Devil's Snare,
What do you care,
For the Weasleys all in a row?"
Who would have thought Draco Malfoy was so strong? Blond haired little wimp, always making sure he was safely hidden behind his trollish bodyguards before sending out a single taunt. Yet, one after another, he'd mown them down like flowers. Like weeds. Like little Weasley weeds. Weedsleys, if you would. Weedsleys... An amused grin flickered up briefly, before the memory came back. It wasn't funny. Dead... All dead. Like soldiers, from the smallest to the biggest in a line. A domino effect had run down it. The littlest one should have been squashed, right on the end - pop! It was funny how things didn't work like games.
"Mouldy-Voldie, wish he would die,
Killed my siblings and made me cry."
Unlike the sing song rhymes, this one showed anger. It was muttered. The mutterer clawed at his sheets. Red hair was meant to be a sign of a temper. He'd always lived up to that. He'd always lived. He lived. They'd died. All of them. Hermione t- hadn't she? He was sure she had. He'd held her while she died. No, he'd held Ginny... Had he held them both? They'd both died... He was sure of that much. Everyone was dead. It was just him left now.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Malfoy's plan,
I should have stayed, but instead I ran."
How could he? Above all else, they didn't desert each other. They turned on Percy when he was a twat, Ron when he was annoying. But never each other. Yet here he was. Here i half /i of him was.
"Rock abye Ginny,
I meant to take care,
I was meant to protect you,
Meant to be there.
When the spell hit you right in the chest,
Down you fell Ginny, with all the rest."
She was just a baby. Just a baby, and he'd let her die, while he was still here. He was meant to protect them. He was meant to protect them all, then Charlie was meant to protect everyone down from him. Then Percy was... And so on. But they were all dead. The littlest, tiniest one - the one they were all meant to protect - was dead. And he was still alive. Alive and alone. The system of protection hadn't worked.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Malfoy's plan,
I should have stayed, but instead I ran."
How could he? Above all else, they didn't desert each other. They turned on Percy when he was a twat, Ron when he was annoying. But never each other. Yet here he was. Here i half /i of him was.
"Sing a song of six sibs,
All doomed to die,
Four and two redheads,
All made to fry..."
He was the strong one. He didn't feel strong any more. He had survived, survived when all the others had died. He didn't feel powerful or invincible though. He felt weak. Weak that he had let it happen to them.
The terrible cacophony of mutated nursery rhymes rent the air of the closed ward of St. Mungo's Hospital. The most severely damaged and broken body could be mended by the Healers, but injuries far less severe in terms of how difficult they were to inflict on a person, if inflicted on the mind, were far beyond the help of any medical magic. It was a more terrible sight than if what each of them sung about was really true, and they were left alone. The seven Weasleys lay side by side in seven hospital beds, turned in on themselves with madness and despair, each grieving the loss of the other six.
A/N - Ok... That was twisted. I started writing, I had the idea of the nursery rhyme in my head, and one of them left alone and gone mad at the loss of the others. But which to make it? And then the scary part of my brain that writes bad things took over. I'm very sorry about that.
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