So fragile life and human conscious
Mindful wander, erratic, of untold purpose
Bringing shadowy foreboding
To the depths of our spirit; a dangerous curse
The twins rushed in the poorly lit owlery and searched for Percy's beaut of a bird. A letter tucked in Fred's pocket with messy scrawl addressing to the Burrow. The ink still drying. The owls screeched and hooted garnering undesired attention from the twins. Where was Percy's owl?
"Missers Wealsey's," a cold, bitter voice penetrated the air. The twins turned around with a lazy smile facing the potion's professor.
"Professor!"
"What are you doing up in the owlery at this time?"
"Don't you have firsties to watch and class tomorrow?"
Snape glared at the boys with unbridled disdain.
"You are out of bed past curfew. Detention. One week."
"Aw, professor-"
"We just need to send our mom this letter is all," said Fred pulling the letter out of his pocket.
Snape stalked over to the boys, his robe billowing magnificently. The twins couldn't help but wonder if it was a charm or curse that made his robes billow like that. He plucked the letter from Fred and opened it. His eyes boring at the paper.
"Pretty sure that's illegal," George whispered to Fred. Fred nodded agreeing with his twin. Snape scowled, his obsidian eyes bore into the twins.
"You think this is funny?"
He pushed the paper in their hands. It was all one black smear.
"Guess we should have waited a bit longer for it to dry."
Tradgedy is looming, catch your breath,
Two tonnes of weight upon the chest,
Pascal afflicts my senses, my head,
Silence scares, gravity flares: there can be no rest.
Percy blew lightly on the parchment under the candle light in his room. It was a prefect's job to be the first to rose and the last to sleep. They were the aurors of their dormitory and house. They enforced the law at all cost and expense. Namely, their own.
Tonight it worked in his favor. As students stayed up whispering wonders of the upcoming year believing him to be asleep, he wrote, rewrote, edited, and rewrote again a letter to Charlie.
He could write to his mum and dad, but that would get a howler or his parents visiting the school. He really didn't want that.
He could also write to Bill. But Bill had important work in Gringotts. He couldn't be bothered by this hunch. Even if he had access to more difficult identification spells.
That left Charlie. Dragon obsessed, quidditch playing, Romanian bound Weasley. He would be the only one old enough to remember mum clearly at the right time frame without other influence. He was careful in his wording. Not direct until Charlie either confirmed or denied the possibility that they would have another younger brother.
Hermes screeched at Percy drawing him from his thoughts. He stroked the chest feathers of the unfamiliar owl as he attempted to fold the paper with one hand into the envelope. If anyone was watching, they were doing a rather good job at not laughing at Percy the Prefect. Being the perfectionist he was, the paper had to be folded in perfect thirds. Rather tricky one handed, the paper just slightly off on an angle. Hardly noticeable but just enough so to have Percy attempt to refold that line. This went on for about ten minutes, his face nearly matching his hair in shade with his irritation noted.
He sighed once the letter was folded well enough to stuff in the envelope. He placed a wax seal over the opening and attempted to tie it to Hermes. Hermes was miffed at someone tying something to his body. He began screeching and flapping his wings hitting Percy numerous times. It was only after an additional half hour that he was able to secure the letter and send Hermes on his way.
He hoped Charlie would be able to put his thoughts to rest. Perhaps Weasley was just another muggle name that eerily matched a wizarding one.
The toll hangs nigh, have you danced well?
Prior skepticism awash with certainty,
Pray thee lord, forgive me, I hear the bell.
Through my life I've been good, with mere lack of piety.
Ron dropped his trunk at the foot of his bed. The room was shaped as an octagon, giving each of the five boys their own wall. Yes, five. There had not been an even number of new students. He and Harry and agreed to share a room. So had Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. That left a lone Neville Longbottom left looking for a room. Harry had been rather quick to invite him. Ron was indifferent. Better a person you knew than a stranger.
"Scream like a little girl Weasley?" Dean smirked. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Ron. Just Ron. And I don't like spiders."
"Why's that?"
Ron didn't say anything. His thoughts ensnared by an orphanage so far unforgotten. He was young. Five at the time. He had seen one boy pick on another for having ripped pants. Ron had told the matron, as he had been taught to do. She had punished the unnamed faceless boy by making him hem all the clothes And stitch the holes shut. He loathed the work but no one could deny his uncanny stitch work, unnoticeable to most.
He had scooped up clothes when he had his spark of inspiration for revenge. He grabbed the one toy that belonged to Ron, a small brown teddy bear. He had a simple idea. He gathered a few spiders and slipped them into the fluff of Ron's bear. They would be sewn inside and one or two would get out, startling him. Nothing big.
He had the bear, as well as the mended clothes put away and no one suspected anything. Ron had moved to another orphanage a week later. Too crowded they had said. Months had passed and he had forgotten about the older boy. He looked out of a stormy window in Ireland, yet another place he couldn't call home, when everything turned sour.
He held his bear close to his chest, sadness emanating from him like gentle waves. Another family came, another family left. And nothing had changed. He gave his teddy bear a squeeze. Abruptly, hundreds of baby spiders crawled out of the seams of the bear. They scurried over Ron's body as he shrieked in horror. His bear no longer visible, buried under a multitude of spiders. His skin prickled with every spider movement on his skin and clothes.
He had been black labeled since then. The children avoided him like the plague, telling new tales of how he laughed instead of cried, how he made little girls eat them, how he was their master, and how he summoned them to do his bidding.
"Ron?"
Ron jumped a little, drawn out of the memory.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked. Ron nodded.
"I just don't like spiders."
Alas, a break, judgement saved
Fever unmasked, the evil plot twists
From deepest despair, a way is paved
Take control once more with clenched fists.
Ginny Weasley lay in her bed in a dreary silence. She hated when her brothers were gone. It was too quiet. It was fine the first year. But every year since was dreary and cold and quiet. She slipped out of her bed, assured her mum and dad were asleep before climbing up the stairs. She slid into her private room. The attic. No one went up there. It was full of dusty old baby items from Bill, Charlie, Percy and Fred and George.
She liked to come up here and be alone with her thoughts. That and Mr. Fizzles. He was a bear, never had been played with. A scarlet ribbon around his neck. It wasn't stained or faded, it just was dusty. Well, dusty with a hint of baby powder. He always helped her when things were too quiet. Even if she had to pull a few spiders off him.
This fight is over, prepare but not await the next
Be strong, be happy, have faith, son
Do not fear thought, health, nor text
Then body, mind and soul may realign as one.
"Arthur," Molly said softly. Tears pooled in her eyes. Arthur wiped away her tears and kissed her cheek, "He'd be going this year."
"He would. He would complain about Fred and George playing pranks."
"He would've been so happy."
Both Weasley's cried in complete sadness imagining the boy their sixth son would've been.
A dose of feels with a side of 'What-is-wrong-with-the-author.' Poem is unnamed and does not mention an author. Found it online. Please review.