Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind words!
The Wall was shrinking.
Minister Thicknesse - his strings being pulled by Voldemort - had allowed its creation for much the same reason he had allowed so many to help search for survivors after the attack. It was the same reason there was an elaborate, mournful funeral for Scrimgeour in the following days. It built goodwill and lent itself to a sense of unity. It was all rubbish of course. Voldemort and his followers cared nothing for the survivors, the dead or their families. But it was a convincing act for those who didn't know the truth, and it hadn't taken long for people to graciously begin falling in behind their new, caring minister. A silent coup welcomed with open arms.
But soon The Wall had become a distraction. A reminder of the past and an impediment to the future. A memo had gone out a few days ago:
To all witches and wizards of this great community:
The Ministry of Magic is proud to inform you that a permament memorial is being created to honor those most affected by the recent and tragic accident in our very halls. It will pay tribute to the heroes who risked their own lives pulling survivors from the wreckage. The survivors, whose strength and resilience is an inspiration to us all. And the victims - those missing and perished whose absence will forever leave a mark on all our souls.
The Ministry has assembled a team of artists tasked with the memorial's creation, and all have said they would like to incorporate aspects from the area of the East Wing, commonly referred as The Wall of The Missing. Soon, Ministry workers will begin removing and cataloging items from The Wall and surrounding area for such purposes. If you would like to provide more information on your loved one for the memorial, please bring your favorite item from The Wall to the Department for the Arts and speak with one of the many junior assistants assigned to aid in the project. If you would like instead to retain your keepsakes for display in your home, please collect them no later than one week from today.
Together, I know we can make sure this tragedy and those who sacrificed everything for the betterment of wizardkind are never forgotten.
Yours, Pius Thicknesse, Minister of Magic
Of course, there would be no memorial. Items from The Wall would be locked away for a decade or more while these mythical "artists" struggled to agree on a common vision. Eventually the memorial would begin to fade from public consciousness - assuming the wizarding world hadn't already gone to hell by then.
And yet, The Wall was indeed shrinking.
Arthur swore at himself as he approached his customary waiting spot. This was the absolute *worst* time to go gallavanting around like a teenager. He was almost (almost) relieved to find Percy was still there, frozen in happiness. And now, like so many times before, he pulled his coat tighter around him, disappeared into the shadows and waited.
Perhaps it was the fight with Davis or the ale or even just the late hour, but Arthur was exhausted, and it wasn't long before he began to doze on his feet.
But then he heard footsteps.
His eyes snapped open and he pressed himself against the wall in an attempt to stay out of sight and not scare off the visitor. Arthur's heart leapt into his throat when a young woman stepped into the hall. Lit only by a soft glow from the tip of her wand, she was shrouded in a cloak, the hood pulled forward to hide her face. Nervously, she glanced back and forth, making sure the hall appeared empty before carefully and quietly approaching The Wall.
It all made sense now, Arthur realized. Even as the Ministry bleated about togetherness, undercurrents of elitism and blood purity had begun to creep in around the edges. With Voldemort in control, it would only be a matter of time before all things muggle were extinguished along with all who carried them. If the young woman had any inkling of what was to come, of course she had stayed out of sight.
But now she walked forward. As she approached The Wall, fear grew in Arthur. What if he was wrong? What if she was there for someone else? What if no one really was coming? His fear vanished as she reached out a hand and laid her fingers on Percy's cheek. He thought he could hear her cry. He wanted to call out to her, but his voice caught in his throat. He wanted to go to her, but his feet would not move. Instead, as she reached out another hand and carefully pulled the photograph from the wall, Arthur leaned forward on a nearby table of flowers and other knick-knacks, trying desperately to see her better.
He leaned too far.
Not built to support the weight of a grown man, one leg of the table buckled and broke. Its contents fell to the ground in a crash. The girl spun around. The hood of her cloak fell back and the light from her wand brightened as Arthur jumped back - though he didn't know why - to stand behind a statue. He winced as vases and teacups, toys and trinkets continued to spill and clatter noisily.
"Who's there?" the woman said. Her voice was strong. Brown hair spilled out of a loose bun as her blue eyes scanned the toppled table. To some, she may have looked quite plain, but in this moment, to Arthur, she was stunning.
"Show yourself!" she said. She moved her wand across the wall. As she neared Arthur's statue, he stood very still. What's wrong with me? This is what I've been waiting for!" But he didn't move. He was afraid. Afraid that she would hate him. Afraid that Percy only had bad memories to share of the place he once called home. As the light played at the foot of the statue and moved its way up, he squeezed his eyes closed and wished for her to pass him by.
"Percy?" she said. Her voice wavered. "Percy, is that you?" The light from her wand shook slightly.
"No," Arthur finally said. "It's not." The light from her wand stopped moving, as if her grip and turned to stone.
"Come out from there, right now," she commanded.
Arthur stepped out into the light. She gasped when she saw him and then concentrated, stared him up and down, perhaps trying to gauge his age. Her brow furrowed.
"Are you...are you Arthur Weasley?"
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I am, and I've been waiting for you a long time." She stared at him silently. "I know what you must think of-"
"Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry," she said, cutting him off as she moved toward him. "This may seem incredibly rude, but I just - I have to..." she reached him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close into a tight embrace. She let out a heavy sigh as he wrapped his own arms aroud her.
"Who are you?" he breathed. "How do you know my son?" He could feel tears on her cheek as she raised her head and put her lips to his ear.
"My name is Audrey," she whispered. "And I love him."
Note: Boy, this little one-shot is quickly becoming a full-fledged fic. Next up: Audrey meets Molly.