Distance. Summer flowers, far-off places. Adventure. A soothing voice on the stairs, ruffling your hair as he walks past. A subtle reminder of your ages. More parent than brother. More brother than friend.
Confusion. Love laced with humour. Holidays. A strong voice saying that no matter what happens, no matter what you do, you’re still a Weasley and Weasleys can only be tainted. They can never be evil.
Lingering worries subdued by a kind look, a gentle touch. A Kindred Spirit, locked in dank, dim chambers, fighting charms and bewitchment just like you had to. Sharing experiences. Healing. Distant comfort.
Heady. Rich with mischief, sparks of rebellion.
Gives her wings when he teaches her to fly. Swooping, exhilarating. Reckless freedom.
Christmas baking and excitement. Jumping, crazy, tearing open presents. Laughing madly at jokes no one understands.
A far-away look in his eyes. A longing she can’t understand.
Romania’s so far away and she still can’t go to Hogwarts. She hates dragons.
A pewter dragon curls up quietly on her nightstand. They’re all right, really, dragons. Mischief alights in her heart. One day, she thinks defiantly, she’ll spend Christmas with Charlie in Romania. Heady rebellion lulls her to sleep.
I don’t know why you’re so anxious to come to Hogwarts…
Home was a comfort for him. He was the only one who knew she suffered horribly when her brothers left every year, who ever tried to make it easy for her.
The only one of all her brothers who could break her heart so completely that it would never be whole again. The only one who ever used that power.
He is gone for good. Will never come back now.
All his letters placed gently in a wooden box. Read in secret on the 1st of September.
Swooping in and holding you tightly in the hospital wing, pretending not to cry.
“Ask no questions and we’ll tell no lies,” a motto he lives up to as you sneak into his dorm in your fourth year and quietly ask him to help Harry. He doesn’t even laugh at you, he nods and tugs your hair, telling you to trust him. And you do.
Vomit, nosebleeds, swamps and Peeves. Reckless, thoughtless, fierce. Fireworks and fun, explosive laughter.
Quiet and loud. The Ideas Man. Bold and exciting. Gentle. Caring. Scary in his genius. Quick to anger. Overshadowed, never wanting.
“We thought we’d lost you, Ginnykins.” A soft voice, tears in eye. Struggling to be strong. A gentle stroke of your head lets you know that even if nothing is right ever again, he’ll stand by you no matter what, because “brother” is more to him than a word. A hug lets you know he means it.
Creative, explosions. Explosive creations. Reckless, cunning, fierce. Funny, always laughing. Manic sometimes in his genius. Protective, protected. Fireworks, both quiet and loud.
Gold and Scarlet. Loyal, fiery. Temperamental, fearless. Sacrificing. Quick-witted and judgmental.
Playmate. Broken hearted as he goes off to Hogwarts without her. “Don’t worry, Ginny,” he says earnestly. “I’m sure it’s not as good as the twins say it is.” His letters tell her differently, and she awaits with bated breath for every word. He tells her of Harry, of a girl called Hermione. Of things their brothers never dared.
He brings Harry into her life, he never stands in her way. Not entirely. She is never “just my little sister” to Ron and he is always Scarlet and Gold.
“Do it, Ginny.” “You can do it, Ginny.” “You shouldn’t have left me, Ginny.” “We’re in for it now, Ginny.” “Ginny.” “Ginny.” “Gin—“ Enveloping darkness sucks out your soul until you don’t know who you are anymore. Your hand moves involuntarily across the page. Forced into submission, as you will be. Panic as you waken without memory. Blood on your robes.
Pain. Constant, cringing pain. Thoughtless, not uncaring. Embarrassment. Light, almost-unbearable light. An imperfect fairy tale. Longing. Craving. Needing.
Contentment. Open. Closed. “It’s over, Ginny.” His voice is hoarse, rough with emotion as she wordlessly takes him in her arms, offering everything he had refused them both after Dumbledore’s funeral. He takes it and gives her everything he never knew as a child. Complete.
“I love you,” never let me go.
“I’ve always, always loved you,” I promise to live for you.
Love. Pure love, broken love. A life, forever. Longing. Craving. Needing. Pain. Almost-unbearable light. An imperfect, perfect fairy tale.
“Mummy! Mummy! I have my letter!” A twinge in your heart as you watch your boy, his messy red hair and brown eyes just like yours, only sparkling with the determination and strength of the man who made him.
“That’s brilliant, darling!” Inside you’re dying a little. Your eldest, accepted into Hogwarts, the end of an era. Awash with memories as his eyes study you earnestly.
Panic. Excitement. Relief. A hand on the crown of his head slows the flutter in your belly. Disbelief. Pride. Life, uncompromising. Love, unconditional.
A/N Special thanks to Antonia East, for sharing your drabble expertise and your pre-beta marvellousness. Thank you to my Beta, Tari, for loving this “story” and pulling me up on my tenses and the commas that always, without fail, appear outside the quotation marks!
A/N2 Brian was named that way to honour Dumbledore, but not in an obvious way. Wulfric didn’t strike me as a little boys name, Albus Potter is running rampant all over the fandom and Percival was out of the question. In case you were wondering ;o)