Religious Education, task 12: Write about a night that seems endless
For Elizabeth. I would say I'm sorry, but we know I'm not.
Word Count:2743
Warning: character death
A/N: I'm reasonably sure I altered the timeline a bit.
i. Bill
Bill is the first to arrive, and he is a mess of nervous energy. When Bill takes a break from pacing back and forth, it's only to sit beside Fleur for five-second intervals before the itch in his legs becomes too great.
"Darling," she says softly, but she doesn't try to stop him.
He is grateful that she is there, that she is so kind and good. His world is falling apart, and Fleur hadn't hesitated. He still remembers the way his mother had worried that Fleur wasn't a good match for him, but she is perfect, really.
His eyes flicker to the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway. According to its battered face and bent, bronze hands, it is seven o'clock at night. It doesn't feel right; according to the clock, they had arrived at the Burrow only ten minutes ago. It seems like hours should have passed, not mere minutes.
His mother appears, her lined face slick with tears. "Bill," she says fondly, sniffling as she embraces her eldest son.
Heart breaking, Bill wraps his arms around his mother. "How is he?" he asks.
But, deep down, he already knows the answer. This isn't the sort of sick that warrants a bouquet of flowers; it is the type that is urgent, that demands that you drop everything before you miss your chance to say goodbye.
Truth be told, he isn't ready for that final farewell, but he doesn't have a choice but to hold his head high and try to be strong. Merlin knows his mother needs that strength now.
"The Healers are in there now," she says, stumbling slightly as she lets him go. "They… They're…" She doesn't finish her sentence. A pained sob rips through her chest, fresh tears spilling from her eyes.
Fleur hurries over, resting a gentle hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Come, Molly," she soothes. "Let's fix you a nice cup of tea."
Bill watches as Fleur leads his mother down the hall.
"You should have brought the children," Molly says. "I could watch them."
"You do so much, Molly. Rest. Please."
And so Bill resumes his pacing. He tries to ignore the way his chest aches and his hands tremble, but he is painfully aware that he is a mess right now. His father is in the next room dying, and he doesn't know if that door will open, if he will be able to see his father one last time.
ii. Charlie
Charlie is halfway to the Vipertooth enclosure for one final nightly checkup when Zoelie gives him the news. It's like a punch in the gut, an impact so great that it robs the oxygen from his lungs. His knees threaten to buckle, and Zoelie steadies him, keeping him upright.
"Go," she says, and her tone leaves no room for argument. "Your family needs you."
He's too emotional to even think about Apparating. Zoelie guides him to the nearest Floo Network portal. He is numb, barely aware of the powder he throws into the fireplace or the words he says.
Once he's at the Burrow, a weight lifts. He is home. He should have been here last weekend, but work had kept him away. Maybe he had found a way to rationalize it; maybe he had convinced himself that his father couldn't be that sick, that Charlie would have plenty of time.
His mother and Fleur are in the kitchen. Bill paces the hallway outside their parents' room, stopping when he sees Charlie. "Hey."
Charlie opens his mouth to speak, but words fail him. All he can do is cry, loud and ugly and so full of pain.
Bill is at his side in an instant, holding him and telling him that they'll figure it out. It's just like when they were kids. Bill has always been the perfect big brother, so sure and strong. It's easy for Charlie to break down now because he knows that Bill will help put him back together.
"I should have visited sooner," Charlie whispers, his voice cracking. "I…"
"Don't," Bill says, affectionately ruffling Charlie's hair. "Don't do that. Don't you dare. You know that's a dangerous way to think."
Maybe he's right. They couldn't have known. Guilt will eat Charlie alive if he lets it.
It feels like they stand like that for an eternity. Time is so hard to measure whenever the world is falling apart.
"We're going to be okay," Bill whispers, and maybe he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to reassure Charlie.
"We have to be," Charlie agrees, but he isn't sure if he believes it.
iii. Percy
Percy and George arrive at roughly the same time. George greets him with a crooked grin, and Percy wonders how he can smile even when everything is crashing around them.
"Angelina isn't with you?" Percy asks.
George shakes his head. "Her mum couldn't watch Roxy," he answers.
They stand there on the lawn, a stretch of tense silence between them. Percy wonders if his guilt is as obvious as it feels.
"And Audrey?"
Percy frowns. "She couldn't get away from work," he answers.
More silence. Percy's eyes drift to the Burrow, his childhood home, and his stomach twists itself into knots.
"Coming?" George asks.
Percy offers him a shaky smile that feels fake. Hopefully it's enough to fool his brother. "I'll be there in a minute," he answers.
George looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he presses his lips together in a thin line and starts for the Burrow alone. Percy stares after him for several seconds before fishing in his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. It's a terrible habit, but he doesn't care. He needs the comforting flood of nicotine in his veins.
He feels like an intruder. It has been years since the war, since his family forgave him. Even so, he still hasn't forgiven himself. What gives him the right to be here now? Hadn't he spent years trying to avoid his father at the Ministry and feeling that wave of shame every time he saw him?
He checks his watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. Time creeps by so slowly, making the night seem endless.
Percy wonders how much longer he can put this off. Maybe he doesn't have to do this. Maybe he can turn and walk away, and his family will just dismiss him as a lost cause. After all, while he does visit with his family, he always has that distant look, doesn't he? Even if he's there, is he really?
Except he knows he can't turn back. Not now. Not when he has tried so hard to wipe his slate clean and earn his family's love.
He crushes the cigarette out beneath his trainer and tucks the filter in his pocket with a mental note to dispose of it later.
He checks his watch again. It's only been a few minutes. Why does it feel like forever?
He makes his way into the Burrow.
iv. George
It feels hard to wear a smile, but George does it anyway. If he can pretend, maybe he will make it easier for his family. Maybe they can get through this.
All he wants is to go home, curl up in bed with Angelina, and sleep until this nightmare is over. But it isn't a nightmare. Not really. Nightmares don't carry over into reality the way this does. Nightmares stay hidden away in the mind, never venture into the waking world.
"And then Verity just walked right up to him, and she said, 'If you don't cut that out this instant, I will hex you into next year!' Can you believe that?" He shakes his head, laughing.
His siblings laugh too, but the laughter is hollow, almost forced. George understands. This is a grim occasion.
Harry and Ginny arrive with Ron and Hermione. George can't remember the last time he's seen his sister look so helpless. Ron looks like he might break, but Hermione is there, her arm wrapped around him.
He stares at the clock. Somehow, an hour has passed without any news. He frowns. That can't be right. He could swear that it ought to be midnight now, that he's been here for ages.
Maybe it really is a nightmare. Time distorted in dreams, so maybe he is asleep, and Roxanne will wake him by jumping onto his stomach and telling him about the silly dream she had. That would make more sense than this.
"Would anyone like some tea?" Hermione asks quietly. "I can put the kettle on."
George smiles. "Right. Because being British means there's nothing a cuppa can't cure," he says.
"Not all of us are British," Fleur says with a soft smile.
And like that, the tension seems to melt. There are smiles all around, and quiet conversations begin. Hermione squeezes Ron's shoulder gently and says she's going to start the tea just in case.
George looks at the clock again. Only ten minutes have passed. He sighs and leans back, resting his head against the wall. It's going to be a long night.
v. Ron
Hermione is gone for exactly a minute before Ron realizes he can't do this alone. Well, he isn't exactly alone, is he? He knows he has family, and they love him, but it feels so suffocating.
"Excuse me," he mutters before jumping to his feet. He feels unsteady, but he doesn't care. He makes his way to the kitchen.
"Ron?" Hermione frowns when he joins her. "What's wrong? Is it your dad? Has something happened?"
He can see the fear in her eyes, and guilt sours his stomach. "No. No," he assures her. "It's…"
But how does he explain it? Shouldn't he be used to death by now? By eighteen, he had lost so many people. Worse still, he had watched people die.
This is different. Maybe it's because this is such a natural death. Slow, painful, and leaving a mark that cannot be erased.
"I…"
Again, the words fail him, but that's okay. Hermione seems to understand. She pulls him into her arms, holding him close until the kettle whistles.
"Do you want a cup?" she asks.
He nods and helps her fix the cups because even though it's been ages since he and his siblings have sat down for tea together, he still remembers how everyone takes theirs.
"Thank you," he says softly.
"For what?"
Ron smiles to himself as he adds milk to Percy's, stopping only when the dark tea is just a shade or two away from being white. He wonders if Hermione is being genuinely oblivious, or if she wants him to articulate what he feels. "For loving me," he says. "For being there for me."
He can't even begin to describe how scared he is. Ron can't remember the last time he's felt so helpless. Maybe the first time Rose was ever sick? He can't be sure.
But Hermione is there, forever part of his family, part of his life. He thinks he would be lost without her.
He helps her prepare the tray before guiding her back to the hallway. It doesn't seem so crowded now. Everyone has started sharing memories, and a soft laughter fills the air.
Ron sits beside Harry, his eyes flickering toward the clock.
vi. Ginny
She taps her foot again and again. Her eyes do not leave the face of the old clock. The seconds feel more like hours, and the night trickles away so slowly.
Ginny is vaguely aware that Harry is squeezing her hand. She doesn't really feel it. Her mind is too far away.
She hasn't felt like this since the early days after the battle. Colin's funeral had been painful, but it had been a rushed blur. But Fred's… Fred's had seemed to stretch on for an eternity. That's how she feels now. Time doesn't make any sense anymore.
Her father is dying. Her mother looks close to breaking. All around her, her family tries so hard to be strong. She's trying too, but she isn't convinced that she's going a good job of it.
"Remember that time Dad brought the toaster home?" Charlie asks, grinning.
"Mum hated it," Percy says, and it's the most Ginny has heard him speak all evening.
"The house smelled like burnt toast for a month," Ron snorts.
Ginny smiles. She just barely remembers it. She thinks she might have been three at the time.
"Or all the Muggle toys he would bring," she says.
Those had been her favorites. She would sit with her father in the shed, watching him tinker away with his newest find. He would always get so lost in his work, and she would be so mesmerized by each careful movement as he named the parts of the toys.
"Gin?"
It isn't until Harry squeezes her hand that she even realizes she's crying. Ginny clears her throat, cheeks burning as she wipes her eyes. "Sorry," she says, shaking her head. "Sorry. I just… I…"
But she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. No words exist to make the world make sense again.
Her gaze drifts back to the clock. The second hand ticks away the time slowly. Harry's hand doesn't leave hers.
The bedroom door opens, forcing her attention away. Two women step out, sympathy in those eyes.
"You can see him now," the shorter one says. "He's awake."
Ginny can hear the unspoken end to that sentence.
He's awake, but not for long.
He's awake, but he's fading.
He's awake, but there isn't much time left.
The others must understand too. They all wear identical expressions, so grim and hopeless, as they climb to their feet and file inside.
vii. Arthur
The night has been so long. Arthur wants it to last forever, but he also wants it to end. He is tired of the illness and pain, of seeing the hurt in his family's eyes.
His family surrounds him now. He wants to reach out to each and every one of them and tell them how much he loves them, but his mouth refuses to move. He hopes they know.
He sees Bill. Bill, his first child, the one to teach Arthur how to grow up. He's grown now, and Arthur knows that the others will be safe in his hands.
Charlie, his wild and precious Charlie, stands beside Bill. Charlie never lost his thirst for adventure. Arthur wishes they could have done more together; it seems that there aren't enough memories in the world when the end approaches.
Percy is quiet, but he's always been like that. Percy has always been the type to sit back and watch but never truly belong. Arthur hopes Percy knows that he is loved and welcome, that he belongs with them.
George doesn't smile now. Arthur has always loved the way his twins would smile. He can't imagine a world without George's jokes, not again. Losing Fred had been difficult. He prays that George won't lose himself this time, that he will still find a way to smile through the pain.
Ron leans against Hermione, squeezing her hand. He reminds Arthur so much of himself sometimes. Once, Arthur hadn't believed in himself either. Ron has grown though. He has learned so much quicker than Arthur ever did. It's a shame Arthur won't see the man he becomes in the end. He only hopes that he has been a good role model.
Ginny stands tall and proud, but he can see the tears in her eyes. She's always tried to be tough, overcompensating for being the only girl. Arthur wants to reach out and tell her it's okay, that she can be strong and fierce and delicate and graceful all at once, and it's okay.
His eyes rest on Molly. Molly, the first and only woman he ever loved. Molly, the woman he made his life better. He wishes they had more time. There are so many things he had wanted to share with her, but it's too late for that now.
"I…" His voice is dry and raspy, and the word sounds awkward. "I… love… you…"
In the hallway, the clock strikes nine. It has been a long night, but he can feel its end now. There's a heaviness in the marrow of his bones, and the world begins to fade.
At least he can finally rest.