The Home Fires

Part 1: Arthur

The whole house is quiet. Her door is slightly ajar, a thin beam of light flowing into the room. She has not been able to sleep in the dark since first year.

You shake her awake with rough hands. It has become so easy, as if her body anticipates this and hovers between sleep and waking. Her eyes flutter open. You are still amazed at how beautiful they are, how they glow golden in the night.

You press a finger over her lips, an unnecessary gesture. She stopped making noise after the first night, when you explained to her that this was the way a father should love his daughter. If she has ever learned otherwise, she does not speak of it.

Her skin is so soft. Like velvet and cream. You have learned and memorized the exact location of every freckle, every scar. There, on her knee, is where she fell off her broom at six. Buckbeak left a nasty scratch on her forearm at fourteen.

She doesn't look at you. You have learned to accept that. Her beautiful eyes are closed as you move over her, drowning in hotwetsmooth. You touch her hair and she shivers, as if she knows she ought to cringe but her body has forgotten how.

You leave her with a kiss on the forehead and her blankets tight around her shoulders once again. You smooth your hair and make your way back to your bedroom, where you wrap an arm snugly around Molly's waist and fall fast asleep, not noticing that her eyes are open or that she is crying silently into the pillow under her head.

Part 2: Ron

You can't sleep. A nightmare about Harry or Hermione or both shakes you and leaves you breathing hard, your heart hammering against your ribs, and your throat is dry. You need water and a nice cuddle.

You guzzle the water straight from the bathroom tap, splashing some onto your freckled face. There are dark circles under your eyes. You sigh and remove your sweat-soaked shirt.

Hermione is only a few doors down. Just past Ginny's room. Surely she wouldn't mind you waking her. Neither of you have ever discussed the fact that you don't love her, although you suspect she knows. Your heart belongs to someone you can never have, someone whose face is too much like your own.

You peek into Hermione's doorway and send red sparks to float above her bed. They will begin to whistle in mere moments, part of the spell. Until then, you will wait.

You hear the faint creaking of floorboards as you step into your room, and pause, curious. It seems to be coming from Ginny's room. You hope she isn't having nightmares again.

But then you see a familiar mop of red hair, and spectacles, and feel like you might vomit. Your father's pants are unbuttoned, his shirt wrinkled, and you realize it is something much, much worse than nightmares.

You want to go to her, to comfort her. You want to use the most Unforgivable Curse on your father, strangle him with your bare hands until his eyes roll back in his head. But you simply swallow vomit and sink onto your bed.

Hermione comes, sleep clouding her eyes. Your own eyes are hard as stone. You kiss her fiercely, pulling her onto the bed with you, the roaring in your head drowning out her moans.

You fuck her senseless, pouring your anger into her. When it is over, she gets dressed rather quickly, and keeps her eyes on the ground. She pushes back her hair, revealing vicious-looking bite marks over the flesh of her neck and tears rolling down her cheeks.

After she is gone, you look to your side and see a small puddle of blood on the sheets. Hermione's tearstained face becomes Ginny's, and you turn onto your side and cry.

~*~fin~*~