Ribbons Undone
May. 21st, 2005 01:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
featherxquillTitle: Ribbons Undone
Author: Feather Quill
Rating: PG-13
Summary: We know of the fears of mothers like Molly Weasley in the current war, but what of the thoughts of mothers during the first war? A short piece from the POV of Minerva's mother.
A/N: Dates taken from the Lexicon. Title and lyrics in fic come from Tori Amos.
She’s a girl rising from a shell running to spring It is her time it is her time Watch her run with Ribbons undone
She is like a raven, as I watch her flit over the hill, hair flowing back, having freed itself from the ribbons and braids I tied it in merely half an hour ago. She likes freedom, my girl. I have dressed her in yellow, but she will come back with her dress the same colour as whatever flower she finds. A free spirit: proud, bold, and insistent. She is only five years old, and already I am proud of her convictions.
She is going to need them. Even now there are atrocities being committed, on the quiet. Even now there are whispers of war. Grindelwald and his Knights of Walpurgis gain power and influence every day. Muggle-borns go missing nearly every month. The war will break out while she is young. I am grateful that she will be at Hogwarts during the worst of it. I don’t know what will happen, if what the rumours I hear are true. My little girl; my Minerva. It terrifies me, but there is nothing I can do to change the tides of fate.
I hear her laughing, coming back to me. She has a mixed bunch, today, but her dress has turned blue. She never liked yellow. Pink in her cheeks and lavender in her hair. Innocence sparkling in those green eyes of hers. I take the offered flowers and pull her to me, feeling that tiny cheek against mine and breathing in the scent of her hair – herbs, flowers, and freshness.
Oh, Goddess, protect her from harm.
She’s a rose in a Lily’s cloak she can hide her charms It is her right There will be time to chase the sun with Ribbons undone
She looks up at me with those depthless eyes, not understanding that there is no more food. Seven years old, and I have to try and explain that Daddy is a muggle, and Daddy lost his job, and its not his fault, it’s the same for everyone these days, since Wall Street fell. I ignore the hunger in my own gut, and push the last potato onto her plate.
She reaches across the table with her small hand and wraps it about mine. I lift my head, and she is staring at me.
“I love you.”
“Oh, Darling…”
And I look down, and there are two potatoes on the plate.
She runs like a fire does just picking up daises Comes in for a landing a pure flash of lightening Past alice blue blossoms you follow her laughter And then she’ll surprise you arms filled with lavender
I smile, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching their conspirator’s smiles, hearing their laughter. There are butterflies on her nightdress tonight. He kneels beside the bed, and two heads of black hair press together as he reads in whispered tones. Sometimes I’m jealous of how much they mean to each other, she and her father. She will go to Hogwarts next year. He’ll miss her even more than I will. It’s difficult for him, knowing she and I belong to a world he can never truly be a part of.
But he has always known it will happen, and now they laugh. He tells her stories about his grandfather William, who died before she was born. He was a poet, an appallingly bad one, but a poet none the less. He reads from the book in dramatic tones, and she dissolves into giggles, eyes fixed on his face.
Grindelwald has allied with Germany’s muggle leader, Hitler. War is no longer a possibility; it is a matter of time. And what will Grindelwald do when he tires of killing muggle-borns? Will he turn to people like us, mixed families with half-blood children?
Yes my little pony is growing up fast She corrects me and says “you mean a thoroughbred” A look in her eyes says the Battle’s beginning From school she comes home and cries I don’t want to grow up Mom at least not tonight
The war has come upon the wizarding world like an eclipse, gradually growing and moving until it has blacked out everything. We can no longer feel the warmth of the sun. Minerva’s best friend was taken by a Knight on the way to Hogsmeade, a week ago. I held her as she cried and raked my fingers through the hair of my brave Gryffindor, and thanked Merlin that it hadn’t been her.
That’s what we’ve descended to, being glad of the death of a child other than our own. And every day I wonder whether this will be the one that my husband does not come home, the one that I get an owl from Albus Dumbledore requesting my presence at Hogwarts School immediately.
And every day I pray that if one of us is to die, that they come for me instead.
She has always been brave, my Minerva. There has always been strength in her gait, wisdom in her eyes. She looks at me now, and her face has thinned. I can see a woman taking the place of the girl, angles replacing roundness, roundness replacing flatness, fierce intelligence replacing innocent wonder.
She is beautiful, a goddess of wisdom and reason, just like her namesake. She kisses my nose, my face, and tells me it will all be all right, as if she knows what I am thinking. I am supposed to be comforting her, but it is she telling me that the war will be over soon, that resistance is stronger than ever, and that she is safe at Hogwarts.
I pray she is right. I pray that the eclipse will pass, and that my daughter will get to see the sun again, even if I do not. No one deserves the daylight more.
You’re a girl Rising from a shell Running through Spring with Summer’s hand in reach
It is your time, yes my angel. It is your time, so just run
with Ribbons undone
Author: Feather Quill
Rating: PG-13
Summary: We know of the fears of mothers like Molly Weasley in the current war, but what of the thoughts of mothers during the first war? A short piece from the POV of Minerva's mother.
A/N: Dates taken from the Lexicon. Title and lyrics in fic come from Tori Amos.
She’s a girl rising from a shell running to spring It is her time it is her time Watch her run with Ribbons undone
She is like a raven, as I watch her flit over the hill, hair flowing back, having freed itself from the ribbons and braids I tied it in merely half an hour ago. She likes freedom, my girl. I have dressed her in yellow, but she will come back with her dress the same colour as whatever flower she finds. A free spirit: proud, bold, and insistent. She is only five years old, and already I am proud of her convictions.
She is going to need them. Even now there are atrocities being committed, on the quiet. Even now there are whispers of war. Grindelwald and his Knights of Walpurgis gain power and influence every day. Muggle-borns go missing nearly every month. The war will break out while she is young. I am grateful that she will be at Hogwarts during the worst of it. I don’t know what will happen, if what the rumours I hear are true. My little girl; my Minerva. It terrifies me, but there is nothing I can do to change the tides of fate.
I hear her laughing, coming back to me. She has a mixed bunch, today, but her dress has turned blue. She never liked yellow. Pink in her cheeks and lavender in her hair. Innocence sparkling in those green eyes of hers. I take the offered flowers and pull her to me, feeling that tiny cheek against mine and breathing in the scent of her hair – herbs, flowers, and freshness.
Oh, Goddess, protect her from harm.
She’s a rose in a Lily’s cloak she can hide her charms It is her right There will be time to chase the sun with Ribbons undone
She looks up at me with those depthless eyes, not understanding that there is no more food. Seven years old, and I have to try and explain that Daddy is a muggle, and Daddy lost his job, and its not his fault, it’s the same for everyone these days, since Wall Street fell. I ignore the hunger in my own gut, and push the last potato onto her plate.
She reaches across the table with her small hand and wraps it about mine. I lift my head, and she is staring at me.
“I love you.”
“Oh, Darling…”
And I look down, and there are two potatoes on the plate.
She runs like a fire does just picking up daises Comes in for a landing a pure flash of lightening Past alice blue blossoms you follow her laughter And then she’ll surprise you arms filled with lavender
I smile, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching their conspirator’s smiles, hearing their laughter. There are butterflies on her nightdress tonight. He kneels beside the bed, and two heads of black hair press together as he reads in whispered tones. Sometimes I’m jealous of how much they mean to each other, she and her father. She will go to Hogwarts next year. He’ll miss her even more than I will. It’s difficult for him, knowing she and I belong to a world he can never truly be a part of.
But he has always known it will happen, and now they laugh. He tells her stories about his grandfather William, who died before she was born. He was a poet, an appallingly bad one, but a poet none the less. He reads from the book in dramatic tones, and she dissolves into giggles, eyes fixed on his face.
Grindelwald has allied with Germany’s muggle leader, Hitler. War is no longer a possibility; it is a matter of time. And what will Grindelwald do when he tires of killing muggle-borns? Will he turn to people like us, mixed families with half-blood children?
Yes my little pony is growing up fast She corrects me and says “you mean a thoroughbred” A look in her eyes says the Battle’s beginning From school she comes home and cries I don’t want to grow up Mom at least not tonight
The war has come upon the wizarding world like an eclipse, gradually growing and moving until it has blacked out everything. We can no longer feel the warmth of the sun. Minerva’s best friend was taken by a Knight on the way to Hogsmeade, a week ago. I held her as she cried and raked my fingers through the hair of my brave Gryffindor, and thanked Merlin that it hadn’t been her.
That’s what we’ve descended to, being glad of the death of a child other than our own. And every day I wonder whether this will be the one that my husband does not come home, the one that I get an owl from Albus Dumbledore requesting my presence at Hogwarts School immediately.
And every day I pray that if one of us is to die, that they come for me instead.
She has always been brave, my Minerva. There has always been strength in her gait, wisdom in her eyes. She looks at me now, and her face has thinned. I can see a woman taking the place of the girl, angles replacing roundness, roundness replacing flatness, fierce intelligence replacing innocent wonder.
She is beautiful, a goddess of wisdom and reason, just like her namesake. She kisses my nose, my face, and tells me it will all be all right, as if she knows what I am thinking. I am supposed to be comforting her, but it is she telling me that the war will be over soon, that resistance is stronger than ever, and that she is safe at Hogwarts.
I pray she is right. I pray that the eclipse will pass, and that my daughter will get to see the sun again, even if I do not. No one deserves the daylight more.
You’re a girl Rising from a shell Running through Spring with Summer’s hand in reach
It is your time, yes my angel. It is your time, so just run
with Ribbons undone
