ONE: Remorse
He hates the Daily Prophet. He hates reading page after page about death, destruction, and disappointment. He hates the feeling that lurks around every corner: you could be next. Fabian could be next. Molly could be next. Gideon Prewett hates everything at this moment.
“Thirty-six dead in worst attack since February.” Worst attack since February? It is only March now. They might as well say “worst attack since yesterday.” Day after day, it’s the same thing. Is anybody else tired of it?
He sits alone at the scrubbed wooden table in Molly and Arthur’s quaint and crowded house. The Burrow. It is one of his only refuges in this crazy world, but not even his older sister can help him today.
She is pregnant. Three months pregnant. She told him today. Bill and Charlie are still so young, and now there will be another mouth to feed, another child to clothe and school and protect. Normally, he would be overjoyed. Normally, he loves the idea of more nieces and nephews. But “normally” does not exist anymore. Is it wrong for him to think that this child should not be brought into this world? This world full of violence and horror and hate?
He reads the article again, and he cannot help but clench his fists in rage. “An unidentified number of Death Eaters attacked a meeting of the Society for the Defense and Protection of Muggle Rights, leaving no survivors. Sources say the meeting was being held at a strategic, top secret location, prompting authorities to believe that He Who Must Not Be Named has infiltrated yet another sector of Wizard Society.”
Molly is coming back into the kitchen now. She is as robust and cheerful as always, despite the horrific headline of the day’s paper. “Gid, put that paper away. You’ve been reading it for half an hour now! Be a sport and boil some water for the potatoes, would you?” She is trying to be optimistic as she starts to chop her carrots, but she can sense her little brother’s anguish. It permeates the entire room.
He lethargically pushes himself up from the table and turns to the stove, pointing his wand at the pot and muttering the spell, the same spell he’s done a thousand times before. But this time... it’s different. Nothing happens. He tries again, louder this time. Still nothing. Molly has stopped chopping to sneak a peek at her brother. “Gid? Is your wand broken?”
“Don’t know, Molly,” he says halfheartedly. “I just don’t know.”
“Well, try it one more time. Come on, then!” She nods in encouragement.
This time, he practically yells at the pot, but the water remains still. No heat. No movement. Gideon collapses back into his chair and runs his hands through his bright red hair, his wand lying discarded at his side. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Molly,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“We all have our off days, Gideon,” she says calmly, aiming her own wand at the stove. The water immediately erupts in bubbles and steam rises in a long trail. “We’ve all had spells fail on us.” She nods matter-of-factly. “Why, just the other day, I was in the garden and””
“Molly, I’m not trying to conjure a Patronus here.” He interrupts her. “I couldn’t boil water. That’s kid stuff! There’s something wrong with me.” He is ashamed at how morose he is, how angry he is. Molly and Arthur have enough to worry about without him bringing them down.
“Tosh!” she says, beginning to peel potatoes. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just tired. Do you feel ill?”
He does not know how to answer this question. Ill? Yes, he feels ill every day of his life. How can you not feel sick to your very core with what is going on in the world? With this unchecked menace skulking in the shadows, corrupting everything and everyone around you?
Before he can answer Molly, their big brother walks into the kitchen. Fabian looks tired. He has a new Ministry job, and the long hours are getting to him. But Fabian has always been the most cheerful of the bunch”more cheerful than Molly, if that is even possible. He has the kind of stout and steadfast cheerfulness that can be annoyingly perseverant at times. Gideon feels like today might be one of those days.
“Hey, little bro,” Fabian says, clapping Gideon on the back. Gideon buckles under the force of his big brother’s slap, and he feels his shoulders tense as Fabian gives them a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, little sis,” Fabian says to Molly, letting go of Gideon to give his sister a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the tummy. “How’s my new favorite nephew doing?” Fabian is addressing the question directly to Molly’s stomach. Normally, Gideon would have found this cute. Normally, he would have smiled. Today, it is just... too much for him. Just too much.
“Oh, now, we don’t know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl, Fabian,” Molly says, rubbing her stomach as she smiles.
“Well, my bet’s on a new nephew, Mol. Wanna take me up on that, Gid?” he asks, turning toward his brother. His eyebrows are raised and he has a big grin on his face, despite the tiredness in his eyes.
But Gideon just shakes his head. “Keep your money,” he mutters. He keeps his head angled downward. He knows that if he looks up, he’ll see his siblings exchanging a look, and he hates these looks. He hates feeling like he’s disappointed them. Normally, he’s not a recipient of these looks. Normally, he would have laughed and joined in the fun. Normally....
***
“Dinner was great, Molly,” Fabian says, engulfing his sister in a bear hug. “Can we help clean up?”
“Of course not! You’ve got to get home now; you’ve got a big day tomorrow!”
“Are you sure?” Fabian asks, levitating a plate to the sink, which is already teeming with soap suds.
“Completely sure, but thank you, Fabian.” Arthur Weasley steps in and gives his brother-in-law a hearty handshake. Fabian squeezes back and reaches his other hand up to clap Arthur on the back. He seems fond of this gesture these days.
“All right. We’ll head home, then. Come here, little guys,” Fabian says to Bill and Charlie, releasing Arthur from his grip to bend down and give his two small nephews goodbye hugs and kisses.
Molly uses this distraction to pull Gideon aside. She presses a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief into his hands. “Gid, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you know I hate seeing you like this. Fabian does, too. We’re worried about you.” Her face is already so careworn, though she is not yet thirty. Her eyes are so kind and Gideon cannot help but be moved by his sister’s concern.
He opens the handkerchief. It’s a package of oatmeal cookies. His favorite. He feels the tears welling in his eyes, and his throat constricts. He hates crying. He tries to look away, tries to walk away, but Molly will not let him. She pulls him close, holding him tight. She is a good foot shorter than him, but as she whispers to him, it’s like she is right in his ear: “We’re all feeling it, little brother. It’s a terrible situation, and You Know Who is a monster. But you have to remember that there is still good in this world; you have to believe in the good! There is still love. Don’t give up, because if you do, it means he’s won. Don’t give up, Gideon.”
He nods, though her words are hollow to him. Does she really think he’ll listen? Does she really think he’ll believe? He pulls away and sticks the bundle in his coat pocket as he and Fabian step outside to Apparate. They walk a respectful distance away from the house, then Gideon closes his eyes and thinks of “the Three Ds” that he was taught at Hogwarts. Though he has Apparated thousands of times, he cannot help but recite the steps in his mind before he goes. Every time: Destination, determination, deliberation. Today, destination and deliberation are easy: He wants to go home. He thinks long and hard about going home. But as he concentrates on his flat in London and closes his eyes, he does not feel the familiar squeezing feeling. He does not feel a rush of wind. He does not feel anything.
Gideon opens his eyes and feels his heart thump hard against his chest. This hasn’t happened since he was newly seventeen, trying to Apparate into a wooden hoop in the Great Hall. This shouldn’t happen. Not now. He is afraid to open his eyes, afraid to see that he has failed at yet another spell. He stands for a long moment, not moving. He finally forces his eyes open, only to confirm his fear: he is still standing in the garden at The Burrow. Molly, Arthur, and the boys are staring at him from the doorway. Fabian is nowhere in sight; clearly he has made it back to London. Gideon looks around. He sees the confused look on Molly’s face. He sees Arthur’s furrowed brows.
“What happened?” Molly calls from the doorway. “Did you forget something in the house?” He nods. “You forgot something?” Molly calls, turning back to go look for whatever he’s left.
“No, Molly, it’s not in the house,” he says, walking toward her.
“Well, what did you forget?” she asks, befuddled.
“Determination,” he says simply. He stands in front of Molly and grasps her arm. “Thank you for dinner,” he says, then without another word, turns around and heads for the road.
“Wait, what do you mean? Where are you going?” She is jogging after him in her house slippers and apron, her disheveled red hair flying behind her like an errant kite.
He whips around and raises his hands to the sky. He doesn’t mean to shout, but still, he does. “I can’t do it, Molly!” he exclaims. “No boiling water, no Apparition, no anything! I give up.”
For the briefest instant, Molly seems to understand exactly what Gideon is talking about. A look, just the hint of a look, flashes across her face. But she snaps out of it. She won’t let herself fall into his trap. “No!” she yells. “NO! You can’t think that, Gideon. You can’t give up! You have to keep the faith. Keep believing!”
He doesn’t acknowledge her outburst, just turns around again and continues in his path toward the street. And now Arthur is sprinting after him, catching up to him, holding strange bits of paper in his hands. “At least take a taxicab!” he says, brandishing the paper in front of Gideon’s nose.
“A what?” Gideon asks, not in the mood for Arthur’s foolish Muggle games.
“A taxicab! An automatic... an automobile”you’ve seen them on the streets! It’s a Muggle device for carrying people across long distances. You can pay with these notes; I got them the other day at the bank.” He looks so pleased with himself.
Molly is huffing and puffing as she reaches her husband and her brother. She rolls her eyes at Arthur’s notes and grabs Gideon’s arm. “Gid, just stay here. Don’t worry about getting back to the city tonight; you’ll be better tomorrow. You’re just... Today’s just a bad day.”
She looks so concerned, and a part of Gideon wants to stay, just to appease her. Arthur is still waving the Muggle money is his face, as if he expects one of these “taxicabs” to pop up in the garden of the Burrow at any minute. Gideon lets a small, pained laugh escape his lips, but then slowly turns and starts walking again. “No,” he says. “I’ve got to get back tonight. But thank you.” And he continues down the path, one foot in front of the other.
***
Gideon does not know how he makes it home, but he does. As he climbs the stairs to the flat he shares with Gideon, he feels every ounce of strength in him being sapped out. It takes every bit of energy he has just to get up the stairs. He somehow manages to take out his wand, and he mutters Alohomora at the door, expecting to hear the familiar click, and to see the door swing open. But nothing happens. He laughs ruefully. How did he not expect this? How did he not know? If he can’t Apparate, he certainly cannot open a door!
As he is about to raise his hand to knock, Fabian opens the door. He looks even more tired than he did at the Burrow. Gideon is not used to the dark circles that are so apparent under his brother’s eyes. “Where have you been?” Fabian demands, like an angry parent.
Gideon doesn’t want to be patronized. Not today. Not now. He pushes past Fabian and heads for his bedroom.
But he doesn’t make it. In an instant, Fabian is in front of him, pressing his hand against Gideon’s chest. “What is wrong with you?” he demands. “Gid, this isn’t like you! What has gotten into you?”
For a split second, Gideon considers just not answering. He can see his bed from here; he would love to just get in it and perhaps never get out.
But something... something inside him knows it’s time to answer. Time to shake these blues, time to snap out of what has made him like this.
He looks Fabian directly in his green eyes, the same eyes that Gideon himself has. The same eyes that have been through so much, that have seen so much. “It’s Elizabeth,” he says softly. “Elizabeth.”
Fabian understands. He releases Gideon and moves aside. There’s nothing more he can do.
Remorse, Regret, Redemption by LuthAn
Chapter Notes: This is chapter one of a three-chapter piece on the idea of Belief in the Wizarding World, something I find very interesting. Enjoy!