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bookiefan1-blog · 5 years

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Imagine

Imagine Harry Potter depositing a wrapped box ,with a big red bow attached, on top of the Weasley‘a well worn dining table.

First Molly asks him who it’s for. With a twinkle in his green eyes, Harry replies “Arthur.”

Arthur, with wispy, fading, red hair smiles, knowing that Harry’s gone all out this year. He does every year.

So with a large Christmas tree decorated with popcorn, baubles and bits of fake snow, and the snobbish angel circling the tip, Arthur reaches for the box and begins unwrapping the paper slowly.

Harry’s foot is tapping with excitement, and Arthur’s wobbly hands speed up just a little as his Christmas joy spreads.

Finally he gets all the paper off, and he gently lifts the lid off and places it to one side. Arthur peers into the box interestedly and suddenly his hand dives in and fishes out the first package.

“Le-go?” He asks in a confused voice, staring at the bright bold letters of the packaging.

“Yep!” Harry replies, watching his father in laws face fill with amazement. “Muggles use it to build all kinds of toys. See, these little bricks all stick together using the little grooves, and form some kind of structure.”

Arthur’s mouth forms an O of delight as he tears open the plastic. “What does this one make?” He asks. “Oh, a rubber duck.” Harry replies offhandedly, even though he’s impatient for Arthur’s reaction.

“A rubber duck, huh?” Arthur continues to shake out the cheery yellow pieces onto the table, and pulls the instruction manual towards him. “You lot can do whatever- I’ll be a while.” He wave his hand disinterestedly and picks up the first piece, eyes glued to the diagram.

Molly smiles at Harry, who is grinning broadly, and offers him a plate of cookies which he accepts, telling himself it’s his cheat day after all. He sits in the poofy armchair in the corner of the kitchen and watched as Arthur builds his rubber duck.

Every so often, when Arthur’s trembling fingers completed a major part of the duck, he would let out a soft “Oh!” Of suprise and delight before moving on.

Before long, the duck was complete. With a determined glint in his eyes, Arthur stands up and swivels round to face Harry. “Is there more?”

Harry simply replies “Yes.” Dipping his head toward the box left on the table. Arthur piles all the Lego builds into the table and says “Thank you Harry. You’ve made an old man feel like a child again.”

“Who said it was for kids?” Harry asks, and strides over to the tables and picks up a box for a yacht. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Arthur replies kindly. The two build in silence, and a Molly watches them from the corner of the kitchen, weathered hands claspe around her mug of tea.

Soon, Arthur becomes addicted to Lego. He’s always got a few random pieces in his pocket or glasses case, and is always building little things.

Molly has confiscate them at family dinners because he doesn’t talk to anyone when he fiddles with his Lego pieces.

She begrudgingly gives up a small room in their house, emptying out the children’s childhood toys at Arthur’s words of instance, “Molly dear, it is important.”

Arthur fills the room with his creations, and Molly realises all of a sudden.

His arthritis has been delayed, maybe even cured because of the constant fingering and twirling of Lego pieces.

And it’s distracted them from Fred’s death. Because after all these years, it still hurts so bad.

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