A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s November prompt (“Remember, Remember”). Set at Whitethorn Hall in April 1892. Involves discussions of death, grief, and funerals.
The day of the funeral dawned within the midst of a blustery storm. Rain blew sideways, splattering against the windows. Wind howled, as if embodying their pain. Edmund Kennedy, aged 11, had watched the storm roll in. The firelight flickered, illuminating the study. It had barely been touched in the three days since Ferdia Kennedy’s sudden death. The only thing that had been moved was the family’s ledger, which was meant to go to the family’s hastily hired estate manager. The ledger lay draped on Edmund’s chest, and that was how Alice Kennedy found her eldest child a few hours later.
“Neddy, Ned.” Alice gently shook the boy’s shoulder. Edmund jerked away, blinking rapidly.
“Mother,” he murmured.
“Why weren’t you in bed?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh, Neddy.”
He fought the hug that came on next. He was the man of the house now. It was time that he acted like it. His mother had six other children to look after… and was expecting an eighth. She needn’t worry about him.
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“Edmund.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, forcefully.
“Okay.” Alice eyed her eldest warily. “Can I trouble you to check on Walter?”
“Yes. Shall I help him prepare for mourning?”
“That would be wonderful, darling.”
Edmund nodded, stretching as he stood up from the wingback study chair. His mother kissed his head and left the room. He set the ledger down on the desk, exactly where he had found it… in the last place his father had put it. He still couldn’t shake the image of his father’s last breath. His father’s words echoed his head with the promise he’d made to look after Ma and Minerva and the rest.
Meanwhile, in the window seat of the library, Minerva Kennedy, also aged eleven, sat watching the storm rage. Firelight flickered nearby, illuminating the small notebook and quill that lay, untouched, in her lap. Her muse had fizzled out around the time the storm had rolled in. She couldn’t make herself get up, though. The storm was captivating, in such the way that the gothic novels she pretended to hate were captivating. It did seem like the weather was reflecting the storm inside the house, though.
“Minerva?”
She startled at the voice of her mother, turning to face the woman. Her mother looked tired, the firelight seeming to reflect dark circles underneath her eyes.
“Mama, are you alright?” she asked.
Alice sighed, crossing the room and gently lowered herself down onto the window seat. “I’m doing alright, love. As well as can be expected. How are you doing?”
“I think I’m alright. Neddy’s the one that’s not alright.”
“Your brother is doing as well as he can be. It’s not your responsibility to worry about him, darling.”
“He’s my twin.”
“I know. He was very close with your father and it hurts.”
“Papa was the best. Do you remember how he used to play pranks during holiday and birthday dinners?”
Alice let out a laugh. “He did love to make us laugh.”
Minerva sighed softly. “I miss him. I keep thinking he’s gonna be in whatever room I enter or that he’s just hiding in his study but Ned’s the only one there.”
“I know. I keep expecting him to be there too.”
“Mama, are you sad that the baby’s not gonna know Papa?”
“Yes, I am Minerva. I keep thinking that maybe I’ll name this little one after him if this baby’s a boy. Ferdia might be in Ned’s name, but it’s only a middle name.”
“I hope the baby’s a girl. Because Walter and Ned can be very annoying.”
Alice laughed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. “Your father thought that I was going to have another girl. I think he liked just having Ned, Walter, and all you girls.
“The funeral’s in a few hours, though. I need you to go get ready. Neddy said he’d help Walter. Can I trouble you to help out Eliza and Nan?”
“Sure, Mama. Just for today.”
“Of course, darling.”
In the hours leading up to and during the funeral, the storm had cleared up enough for a procession to be held as the Kennedy family led the mourners down to the family cemetery. Ferdia Kennedy was to be buried next to his grandfather, Nolan Kennedy.
Edmund led the procession, followed closely by his mother, sister, and brother. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, but letting her son lead the procession had been the right decision. Ned needed this more than any of her other children. He’d been so close to Ferdia, had been the only one there when Ferdia had drawn his last breath. It wouldn’t surprise Alice if her son could now see thestrals. Minerva had been close to being there too, but she had raced to the house to call for help. Alice herself had fainted when she’d heard the news. But here they were, burying the man who had been pretty much an equal partner in life. Burying her beloved husband and a beloved father of eight, although he’d only known seven of his children.
d'esser infatuato lo sapeva ben prima di settembre.
anno 1976: si addormentano cullati dallo sferragliare delle rotaie; lei prima di lui. si erano presi una pausa dal felice scambio di aneddoti per dedicarsi l'uno alla gazzetta del profeta e l'altra —— a riposarsi, in effetti... l'aveva detto di esser stramorta e di non voler confusione- solo, Frank non aveva creduto possibile potesse davvero assopirsi.
quindi lo sa, di provare qualcosa, quando le cede la testa ad una brusca curva, e trova il vetro in un tonfetto sordo- nulla che abbia messo lui in allarme. eppure il pensiero che fulmineo gli arpiona mente, petto, e viscere, appena s'accorge di quel che sta accadendo, lo spaventa. perché non è possibile si sia formulato da solo il serpeggiante desiderio, che trova voce col disappunto, a che non sia scivolata contro la sua spalla; è tutta invidia quella nei confronti del freddo, asettico, finestrino. e non sta bene neppure la stia ancora guardando. di trafiletto. giornale aperto, abbandonato sulle gambe. « alice? » sussurra piano, in un moto di panico trattenuto, confuso, che abbinato alla sua abituale fermezza, per fortuna, perde colore. anche questo gli è sfuggito arbitrariamente, vogliamo sperare. perché scientemente, nel pieno controllo di se stesso e del lume della ragione, non proverebbe a svegliare qualcuno che gli ha detto chiaramente di avere a malapena tre ore di sonno. per merlino! come accidenti dovrebbe giustificarsela quella mossa.
a disagio, allora, conviene per il sistemarsi meglio a sedere. intreccia i palmi in una morsa, a far da ferma carte sul giornale ripiegato, e reclina il capo all'indietro, adattandosi più che può al rigido schienale.
sapeva di essere infatuato a settembre del 1976, dicevamo. dal giorno dello scompartimento però, dalla volta in cui si è indotto il sonno, dimenticando di aver da raggiungere la carrozza dei prefetti, in quanto caposcuola, ha capito di sentire qualcosa in più. e di essere un'idiota.
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hello! my name is courtney, and i am some random teenage girl on the internet who is trying to start a blog. i love writing, music, and dilfs. i don't update on a schedule, but sometimes i just get these random bursts of ideas that all come at once, so if i post a story, you can probably expect another to come right after.
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"She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody’s old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. . She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand."
fralice - growing plants together in the balcony, looking after your friends, wanting to have a big, happy family one day, lazy morning, just laying in bed looking at each other and smiling, playing chess together, dancing in the kitchen to an old record, training together for what is going to come and then taking care of the wounds, be them hidden or scars, walking through a forest together during autumn, the leaves crunching under your boots, a picnic in the park, sleeping under a tree in each other's arms, denim overalls over a t-shirt, a cup of tea over talking how your day was, being utterly in love with each other ever since you were fourteen and ever since then, you've looked at each other with the same eyes
jily / flowerpott - sitting by the fireplace, feeling it warm your toes, bright socks, the smell of old parchment, holding hands under the table, kissing and dancing in the rain with not a single care in the world, growing up too fast, picking flowers and grass, odd gifts, piggyback rides at sunrise, the purples and pinks and blues and oranges lighting up your face like you're in a fairytale, and it really does make you look pretty, running down the halls of a castle, studying in silence in the library, enjoying yourselves, but also the adrenaline of running down a hill, like you're running it to save your life, and maybe you really are, old, dusty typewriters with which you write the story of your life
dorlene - visiting old museums, the faint light of a cigarette, denim caps, watching the sunset over the city from the rooftop and the lights of the sunset blend in with the light of the traffic, heavy leather boots, playing a special song on the guitar, only for them, bellbottoms, mullets with shaved sideburns, being friends but wanting to be lovers instead, pub gigs, singing together with them, feeling like one and the same person, kissing softly, gently, like stepping close to a doe, afraid of scaring it away, because god it's beautiful
wolfstar - cigarette butts, jumping over fences, hickeys, playful wrestling, leather jackets, smudged black eyeliner, bloody noses, motorcycle rides in the middle of the night, bandaging each other's hands after fights, the moon creeping between the branches of a lonely tree, cinemas late at night, when no one is there, smoke, pawprints in the snow, sitting on the edge of a tower, your feet dangling off, with a cigarette between your fingers, heavy combat boots, laying in bed next to each other, feeling each other's heart beat, old books with tearing pages, running through the forest late at night, feeling the wind hit your face just to feel something, having to hide who you really are but deep down, you know what you feel is real, whether they agree or not