A little trio bunny bit...
Mar. 18th, 2004 01:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
centerspire...and I had to feed him. This came out of brainstorming for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
triofqf challenge. It's very, I don't know. Lyrical. Angsty. Stream of conscienceness. I don't normally write like this (so the challenge will be better), but it just seemed to fit with this topic. I don't want to give too much away, I want you to make up your mind about it. Let me know what you think, even if you think it's crap.
Trio. Rated PG (maybe 13).
It’s ridiculous, really. Our child. We tell everyone he’s our child. And everyone knows. Everyone in the Wizarding World looks at us and knows. Knows that though we love each other, this child was born of a different love. A boundless love. A love so few people know that we believe we may have been the only ones to ever feel it.
We learned Hermione was pregnant two weeks after the fall of Voldemort. We would have celebrated if the Dark Lord hadn’t taken our beloved with him. Hermione was sick, with grief we thought, but the Mediwizard gave us different news. Happy news.
We clung to each other every night. Every night praying that happy would finally outweigh sad. But every night the sadness consumed us. The sadness of the one who wasn’t with us. She cried. She cried and I whispered to her any comfort I could. She grieved. And I grieved, too. For the soothing whispers and gentle touches from strong hands. Hands that came to me first when the silent night was shattered by fear and solitude. I was never alone, he said. Promised I would never be alone again. And he kept his promise, always slipping into my bed after our mates were sleeping. Most nights the nightmares were his, but never was there solitude, never no comfort. There were always soft kisses and sweet words.
And though we loved we knew we were not whole. Only she could fill the void. Oh, and she did.
And we were happy. Happy amid the war that raged around us. The war that surrounded us.
We were careful, the three of us. Always so careful. Always looking over our shoulders, deft fingers always close to wands. It’s not really surprising that when we were together, when we were alone, we forgot to be careful, let down our guard. Revel in each other.
We were happy. And then…
And then.
As the birth of our child approached, I held out hope that he was mine. Not that it would matter, it would just be easier. No questions from nosey witches. No daily reminder of that which was no longer ours.
But no son looked more like his father, save than his father looked like his father. Inky hair and emerald eyes. Neither of us had the heart to name him after his father, so we named him after his grandfathers. James Arthur Weasley.
Mum kissed Hermione’s hair and told her she was blessed among witches. So lucky, she told me, I was to have such a fine son. Dad shook my hand, smiled at me-thrilled that his youngest son had produced the first Weasley grandchild.
Our child. Everyone knows. Everyone knows and no one speaks. No one speaks because everyone knows that love was overthrown the day the Wizarding World knew victory. Love was overthrown and only love can heal, can endure, can mend, can move. Only love, and our child.
triofqf challenge. It's very, I don't know. Lyrical. Angsty. Stream of conscienceness. I don't normally write like this (so the challenge will be better), but it just seemed to fit with this topic. I don't want to give too much away, I want you to make up your mind about it. Let me know what you think, even if you think it's crap.Trio. Rated PG (maybe 13).
It’s ridiculous, really. Our child. We tell everyone he’s our child. And everyone knows. Everyone in the Wizarding World looks at us and knows. Knows that though we love each other, this child was born of a different love. A boundless love. A love so few people know that we believe we may have been the only ones to ever feel it.
We learned Hermione was pregnant two weeks after the fall of Voldemort. We would have celebrated if the Dark Lord hadn’t taken our beloved with him. Hermione was sick, with grief we thought, but the Mediwizard gave us different news. Happy news.
We clung to each other every night. Every night praying that happy would finally outweigh sad. But every night the sadness consumed us. The sadness of the one who wasn’t with us. She cried. She cried and I whispered to her any comfort I could. She grieved. And I grieved, too. For the soothing whispers and gentle touches from strong hands. Hands that came to me first when the silent night was shattered by fear and solitude. I was never alone, he said. Promised I would never be alone again. And he kept his promise, always slipping into my bed after our mates were sleeping. Most nights the nightmares were his, but never was there solitude, never no comfort. There were always soft kisses and sweet words.
And though we loved we knew we were not whole. Only she could fill the void. Oh, and she did.
And we were happy. Happy amid the war that raged around us. The war that surrounded us.
We were careful, the three of us. Always so careful. Always looking over our shoulders, deft fingers always close to wands. It’s not really surprising that when we were together, when we were alone, we forgot to be careful, let down our guard. Revel in each other.
We were happy. And then…
And then.
As the birth of our child approached, I held out hope that he was mine. Not that it would matter, it would just be easier. No questions from nosey witches. No daily reminder of that which was no longer ours.
But no son looked more like his father, save than his father looked like his father. Inky hair and emerald eyes. Neither of us had the heart to name him after his father, so we named him after his grandfathers. James Arthur Weasley.
Mum kissed Hermione’s hair and told her she was blessed among witches. So lucky, she told me, I was to have such a fine son. Dad shook my hand, smiled at me-thrilled that his youngest son had produced the first Weasley grandchild.
Our child. Everyone knows. Everyone knows and no one speaks. No one speaks because everyone knows that love was overthrown the day the Wizarding World knew victory. Love was overthrown and only love can heal, can endure, can mend, can move. Only love, and our child.
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-19 05:01 pm (UTC)Very nicely done :)
no subject
Date: 2004-03-19 08:24 pm (UTC)