Chapter Text
The first time Ginny Weasley sings, her brother stops her.
George's face is white as chalk, as if all the blood has just been- spirited away. His voice is low, grim misery lacing it with seriousness for once. She laughs, pokes in the ribs until the ruddy hue returns to his face-
-she isn't worried, isn't shattering a bit at the sight of his bloodless, joyless face-
She picks up the songbook Mum found for her and walks away.
He refuses to hear her voice drifting up from behind the orchard,sweet as the lark that twines beside it.
And if sometimes he can't quite block it out, if he hears a harp joining the girl and the lark-
Well. They're all mad now.
One more for the set, he supposes. The madness he made.
and what he doesn't say is that the madness made him.
*
The first time Charlie sees a dragon, he screams.
The Romanian keepers look at him, already marking him an English schoolboy who doesn't know what he's in for. It's in their gaze, in the whispers- except not whispers, not really, because they are dragon keepers and they do not lower themselves to anyone.
They are wrong. Because-
-the great beasts emerged and he laughed, wild and fey.
Who can harm me, wingless worm?
But then
it breathed.
And suddenly everything was gone.
He learns. It takes time.
But when he runs at a dragon with a yell ready in his throat and pride powering his steps, he pretends he doesn't see the hound that follows.
They say madness is hereditary. Charlie Weasley knows that better than most.
*
The first time Bill sees his scars, in Fleur's little silver backed mirror she's not supposed to show him, he doesn't.
Or rather- he doesn't see the scars given to him by Greyback.
He sees-
-one hand. A disability.
But only if you make it one.
William Weasley is strong.
He never stopped to consider what might happen if he isn't strong enough.
But then Mad-Eye is dead, and so is the king.
And nothing seems to matter anymore.
Except-
Revenge.
William Weasley knows what he wants, and he takes it.
It doesn't stop the voices in his head.
*
The first time Percy knows he is dark, he sits on his bed and cries.
That mortal woman does not come. She does not sit at the edge of his bed and look up at him with sparks in her eyes.
Shh. Shh. You are not marred-
Only poor.
When Percy sits in the worn green chair, desk in front of him bearing a shiny new plaque.
Fudge's twittering voice fades, and he allows himself a moment to breathe out.
He sits in his castle, and merely-
Thinks.
Because suddenly in his perfectly crafted mind there's a little niggling doubt, and seed of fear what has he done?
The next day, his father gets into the lift with him. They don't say a single word.
Percival Weasley loves his family.
So he sits on his bed, and cries.
pretending not to see the dark haired hunter beside him as she comforts him.
She's not there, anyway. Not real.
In a logical mind, there is no room for madness.
Percival Weasley knows this.
He doesn't.
*
The first time Ron plays chess, he's lost.
Lost, he thinks in what? He makes the mistake of asking this question.
His mother ruffles his hair distractedly with a that's nice, dear- what she says to every one of them except Ginny, her favourite-
-he is his father's favourite, the mirror, and as he narrows his eyes he hears laughter laced with flame.
When Harry sits across from him, frowning at the chessboard, he asks him something.
"Do you ever feel like the world is ending?"
Harry looks up, confused. No one ever has the time for Ron's questions, or perhaps they find truths too terrible to be told.
Ron sighs, and kills his king.
The secret to power is truth, twisted.
The secret to chess is lies.
Ronald Weasley is very good at lying. But once-
-he told the truth, and they were afraid.
*
The first time George has to live in a world without Fred, he's angry. Angry at the world, at Harry, at Tom.
At himself.
He wants to die.
And once, perhaps, he did.