featherxquill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
featherxquill) wrote2005-04-12 12:18 am
featherxquill) wrote2005-04-12 12:18 am
A new fic, kind of dark...
Title: Green
Author: Feather Quill
Character: Molly Prewett Weasley
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes it is only through tragedy that we know who we truly are.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
violet_quill's The Voices and Vaginas of HP Women Challenge.
It was when the moon turned green that I knew my father was dead. I could see the alien flickers filtered through the kitchen window, and I knew. I knew they had come. I knew they had come to claim the wizards that had fought so long ago to bring down Grindelwald. I knew they wanted revenge. I knew that their new master was even worse than their old one. The Knights of Walpurgis. The Death Eaters.
For a moment I just sat there, the steaming teacup simultaneously burning my fingers and going cold in my hands as my blood turned to ice. Then I heard the wood of our front door shatter open and my brother cry out – Nicolai, it was. Green light flickered in the doorframe. I heard footsteps on the stairs. My mother screamed. The scream was cut short. I thought that I would see that horrible light behind my eyes for the rest of my life.
Then the moment that had stretched for eternity snapped, and the teacup fell from my fingers. Time was a rubber substance – the time it took for the mug to fall was elastic and huge, and then it shattered upon the tiled floor and flung little pieces of china everywhere with the speed of missiles.
I could feel the heart burning in my chest, thumping, so loud that I thought they might hear it, even over the smashing tea cup. I fought against the urge to just fling away the chair I had been sitting in, knowing that to make a clatter was to condemn myself to death. I lifted it back, away from the table, and stood.
And panicked. Where were they? They were inside the house, were they outside the house as well? Should I flee? I didn’t even have my wand. I turned in a circle once, twice, aware that any moment they would step through the door, any moment I would see that flicker of green light again, and it would be me dead, me the one to feel that tight pain in my chest, as I imagined it.
Merlin, damn it! This was my house! I was a girl with four brothers! I knew how to hide!
It was a game. Yes, that’s what it was. Just a game. We were children again. Just a game. My brothers had finished counting to ten; I would have to hide quickly before they caught me. Before they caught me and killed me with green. Where had I hidden as a girl? The laundry basket, the house elf’s stinking hole, the kitchen pantry.
Kitchen pantry.
I fled, flung the doors open and pulled them closed behind me. The top shelf, up with all the empty sacks.
I was not as small as I had once been. Beneath my feet, the wooden shelves bowed alarmingly, but they held. Fear gripped my chest so tightly I had no idea how I managed to climb; knowing that to fall was to meet my end. That they would hear, and they would come and kill me. The top shelf was astonishingly tiny, tinier than I remembered, but I forced myself into the gap, shifted my weight, and braced myself wide so I would not put too much strain on one surface.
Then I heard the footsteps, and the rest of them being killed.
There were no more screams, only heavy silences between the footsteps. I squeezed my eyes shut in the darkness, praying to anyone and everyone to save me from this, to make them go away.
What about Arthur? Oh, dear Merlin, what if I never saw Arthur again? What if I never got the chance to hold him again, to kiss him again? What if I never got the chance to make love to him? Was I going to die tonight? Was I going to die a virgin? Oh, Merlin, it seemed ridiculous, but I wanted to at least be able to hold Arthur before I died.
I could hear them circling like sharks, and prayed they would forget about me, that they would think I was not home. But, oh God, what if they thought I was with Arthur? What if they wanted rid of us all so badly that they would go and attack his family and kill him too? What would be the point in living if he didn’t?
There were tears on my cheeks, hot and silent and tearing me apart. What if…?
I heard the loose floorboard just inside the kitchen door creak, and I tried not to breathe. I tried to force the tears on my cheeks to become still.
It was a smooth, familiar voice that I heard. “Still, isn’t there another one? Weren’t there seven?”
The other voice was equally as familiar, and equally as smooth. “Yes. The girl. Molly. You should know that, we went to school with her.”
“Did we?”
“Mmm. Red hair. Quite pretty.”
“For muggle loving scum.”
The other voice didn’t reply.
The footsteps stopped, and there was silence.
“Could she have run away? Out the back door?” The second voice again.
“And closed it behind her, in blind panic, after smashing a teacup on the floor? I don’t think so. I think the little mouse is hiding.” The footsteps slowed, like a tiger hunting its prey. “Where are you, little mouse? I’m going to find you, little mouse, and then I’m going to gobble you up like a snake!” The voice laughed, and I heard the kitchen cupboards being opened, the chairs being pulled out, and very nearly wet myself.
Oh Merlin, they were going to kill me! How could they not find me in here? They were going to point their wands at me and kill me! I was never going to see Arthur again! I was going to die a virgin. I would never even get to bury my brothers. Would never see their faces again, even lifeless ones.
I pushed myself back into the darkness as carefully as I could, and pulled one of the sacks over my head haphazardly. Then their footsteps were right outside my hiding place.
Light flooded the pantry from the kitchen as they threw the doors back.
I was paralysed. Could not move, could not breathe; could not even think. Could not bear to think. I simply squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my face against the sack over my head and preyed.
“I don’t think she’s here. She must have run off.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. Perhaps the little mouse did abandon her hole.”
“Should we go and look for her?”
The voice I had quickly become to think of as the cruel voice sighed, as though he couldn’t be bothered to walk around and search. “Perhaps.”
I heard one of them take a step away, then the board creaked as if in hesitation.
“Wait a minute…”
Something pulled my hair. At the end of my life, someone pulled my hair.
In the next moment I found out exactly who the two voices belonged to. I tumbled to the floor at the feet of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.
The blonde owner of the cruel voice spoke. “Well, hello, Little Mouse.”
Of course, it wasn’t the end of my life. He didn’t kill me. What he did was worse.
In my younger years, I was often gifted with a certain wry humour. I could not help reflecting that even if he had killed me directly afterward, at least I would no longer have died a virgin.
And perhaps it was just my grief addled mind, a desperate hope to cling to something, but as Severus Snape watched with his face impassive, I’m sure I saw something behind his eyes that was possibly more broken than I was.
He left me like a ruined doll on that kitchen floor, as though he didn’t even think me enough of a threat to require killing. I wasn’t, really. I was a phoenix that had burned to ash.
But I rose again, and stumbled about the house. My father in our backyard, stretched out on the lawn like some kind of grotesque parody of a dead bug. Nicolai by the front door, my mother slumped over the stair rail, mouth still agape in horror. Louis, Gideon and Fabian in their beds, only one of them with eyes open. I hoped it had been less painful that way.
And what did I do? I farewelled my family and stumbled out to the front of the house where there were no bodies, but where the Dark Mark hung in the sky like a smiling clown. There I was, the last of the Prewett clan, sitting on the front steps of our ruined house, unable to move. The very last one.
I wrapped my hands about myself as the tears streaked my face again, and tried not to think about the pain between my legs. It would go away. This dirty feeling would go away. Wouldn’t it?
My Arthur would come to me. Arthur would rescue me. He would take me in his arms and the pain would go away. My King Arthur. He would come on his horse and ride with me to Camelot.
And someday, somehow, we’d make a new family together.
Author: Feather Quill
Character: Molly Prewett Weasley
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes it is only through tragedy that we know who we truly are.
Notes: Written for
violet_quill's The Voices and Vaginas of HP Women Challenge. It was when the moon turned green that I knew my father was dead. I could see the alien flickers filtered through the kitchen window, and I knew. I knew they had come. I knew they had come to claim the wizards that had fought so long ago to bring down Grindelwald. I knew they wanted revenge. I knew that their new master was even worse than their old one. The Knights of Walpurgis. The Death Eaters.
For a moment I just sat there, the steaming teacup simultaneously burning my fingers and going cold in my hands as my blood turned to ice. Then I heard the wood of our front door shatter open and my brother cry out – Nicolai, it was. Green light flickered in the doorframe. I heard footsteps on the stairs. My mother screamed. The scream was cut short. I thought that I would see that horrible light behind my eyes for the rest of my life.
Then the moment that had stretched for eternity snapped, and the teacup fell from my fingers. Time was a rubber substance – the time it took for the mug to fall was elastic and huge, and then it shattered upon the tiled floor and flung little pieces of china everywhere with the speed of missiles.
I could feel the heart burning in my chest, thumping, so loud that I thought they might hear it, even over the smashing tea cup. I fought against the urge to just fling away the chair I had been sitting in, knowing that to make a clatter was to condemn myself to death. I lifted it back, away from the table, and stood.
And panicked. Where were they? They were inside the house, were they outside the house as well? Should I flee? I didn’t even have my wand. I turned in a circle once, twice, aware that any moment they would step through the door, any moment I would see that flicker of green light again, and it would be me dead, me the one to feel that tight pain in my chest, as I imagined it.
Merlin, damn it! This was my house! I was a girl with four brothers! I knew how to hide!
It was a game. Yes, that’s what it was. Just a game. We were children again. Just a game. My brothers had finished counting to ten; I would have to hide quickly before they caught me. Before they caught me and killed me with green. Where had I hidden as a girl? The laundry basket, the house elf’s stinking hole, the kitchen pantry.
Kitchen pantry.
I fled, flung the doors open and pulled them closed behind me. The top shelf, up with all the empty sacks.
I was not as small as I had once been. Beneath my feet, the wooden shelves bowed alarmingly, but they held. Fear gripped my chest so tightly I had no idea how I managed to climb; knowing that to fall was to meet my end. That they would hear, and they would come and kill me. The top shelf was astonishingly tiny, tinier than I remembered, but I forced myself into the gap, shifted my weight, and braced myself wide so I would not put too much strain on one surface.
Then I heard the footsteps, and the rest of them being killed.
There were no more screams, only heavy silences between the footsteps. I squeezed my eyes shut in the darkness, praying to anyone and everyone to save me from this, to make them go away.
What about Arthur? Oh, dear Merlin, what if I never saw Arthur again? What if I never got the chance to hold him again, to kiss him again? What if I never got the chance to make love to him? Was I going to die tonight? Was I going to die a virgin? Oh, Merlin, it seemed ridiculous, but I wanted to at least be able to hold Arthur before I died.
I could hear them circling like sharks, and prayed they would forget about me, that they would think I was not home. But, oh God, what if they thought I was with Arthur? What if they wanted rid of us all so badly that they would go and attack his family and kill him too? What would be the point in living if he didn’t?
There were tears on my cheeks, hot and silent and tearing me apart. What if…?
I heard the loose floorboard just inside the kitchen door creak, and I tried not to breathe. I tried to force the tears on my cheeks to become still.
It was a smooth, familiar voice that I heard. “Still, isn’t there another one? Weren’t there seven?”
The other voice was equally as familiar, and equally as smooth. “Yes. The girl. Molly. You should know that, we went to school with her.”
“Did we?”
“Mmm. Red hair. Quite pretty.”
“For muggle loving scum.”
The other voice didn’t reply.
The footsteps stopped, and there was silence.
“Could she have run away? Out the back door?” The second voice again.
“And closed it behind her, in blind panic, after smashing a teacup on the floor? I don’t think so. I think the little mouse is hiding.” The footsteps slowed, like a tiger hunting its prey. “Where are you, little mouse? I’m going to find you, little mouse, and then I’m going to gobble you up like a snake!” The voice laughed, and I heard the kitchen cupboards being opened, the chairs being pulled out, and very nearly wet myself.
Oh Merlin, they were going to kill me! How could they not find me in here? They were going to point their wands at me and kill me! I was never going to see Arthur again! I was going to die a virgin. I would never even get to bury my brothers. Would never see their faces again, even lifeless ones.
I pushed myself back into the darkness as carefully as I could, and pulled one of the sacks over my head haphazardly. Then their footsteps were right outside my hiding place.
Light flooded the pantry from the kitchen as they threw the doors back.
I was paralysed. Could not move, could not breathe; could not even think. Could not bear to think. I simply squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my face against the sack over my head and preyed.
“I don’t think she’s here. She must have run off.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. Perhaps the little mouse did abandon her hole.”
“Should we go and look for her?”
The voice I had quickly become to think of as the cruel voice sighed, as though he couldn’t be bothered to walk around and search. “Perhaps.”
I heard one of them take a step away, then the board creaked as if in hesitation.
“Wait a minute…”
Something pulled my hair. At the end of my life, someone pulled my hair.
In the next moment I found out exactly who the two voices belonged to. I tumbled to the floor at the feet of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.
The blonde owner of the cruel voice spoke. “Well, hello, Little Mouse.”
Of course, it wasn’t the end of my life. He didn’t kill me. What he did was worse.
In my younger years, I was often gifted with a certain wry humour. I could not help reflecting that even if he had killed me directly afterward, at least I would no longer have died a virgin.
And perhaps it was just my grief addled mind, a desperate hope to cling to something, but as Severus Snape watched with his face impassive, I’m sure I saw something behind his eyes that was possibly more broken than I was.
He left me like a ruined doll on that kitchen floor, as though he didn’t even think me enough of a threat to require killing. I wasn’t, really. I was a phoenix that had burned to ash.
But I rose again, and stumbled about the house. My father in our backyard, stretched out on the lawn like some kind of grotesque parody of a dead bug. Nicolai by the front door, my mother slumped over the stair rail, mouth still agape in horror. Louis, Gideon and Fabian in their beds, only one of them with eyes open. I hoped it had been less painful that way.
And what did I do? I farewelled my family and stumbled out to the front of the house where there were no bodies, but where the Dark Mark hung in the sky like a smiling clown. There I was, the last of the Prewett clan, sitting on the front steps of our ruined house, unable to move. The very last one.
I wrapped my hands about myself as the tears streaked my face again, and tried not to think about the pain between my legs. It would go away. This dirty feeling would go away. Wouldn’t it?
My Arthur would come to me. Arthur would rescue me. He would take me in his arms and the pain would go away. My King Arthur. He would come on his horse and ride with me to Camelot.
And someday, somehow, we’d make a new family together.