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Author: Jenadamson Story: Solace Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 15 Words: 24,578
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed Solace so far. It means quite a bit to me. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this out. The next chapter should be much quicker. Solace Chapter 4: Molly It's not yet five and already the space next to her is empty. It doesn't come as a shock to her mind, but her soul feels the loss desperately. Molly rolls over and presses her body against Arthur's side of the bed, letting the warmth still lingering in his absence wash over her. She can dimly make out the sound of the shower, and at the foot of the bed she sees a gift, wrapped in red foil and tied with a pretty white ribbon, waiting to be opened. She stares at it, love for her husband and grief for her son warring within her, causing her to weep. Just once, she'd like to wake after the sun has already risen, and she'd like the need to cry to vanish. She feels immediately guilty and deep within her, she knows these wishes may never be granted, but waking up every morning with tears thick inside her throat and wetness stinging her eyes is exhausting. Molly ignores the package at the end of the bed. Despite the desire to stay here all day, she stretches and reaches for her dressing gown. She swallows back the remaining tears and moves forward. Her body aches. She feels so much older than she has in recent years and yet, sometimes she still feels a lost little girl. Molly makes her way into the kitchen. With a flick of her wrist, she causes the enchanted lights to blaze. The sun is still resting beyond the horizon, waiting to rise. Molly looks outside into the still, star-filled night. She watches the snow dance in the breeze before coming to rest on the ground; it twinkles in the moonlight. Molly cannot see them, but she knows there are at least half a dozen Aurors guarding the house and dozens of near-impenetrable wards surrounding the Burrow; all hastily constructed, but still very strong. They were vital for allowing the Weasleys back into their home for the Christmas holiday. Secretly, Molly thinks she would have come regardless. When Albus had begun making arrangements to go back to Grimmauld Place after Ron's death, it took all of Molly's willpower not to lose her temper at her former headmaster. It took the combined efforts of her, Arthur and Remus to convince Dumbledore that the Burrow was the only place the children (and indeed the rest of the Weasleys) could heal. Children…Molly shakes her head slightly. They are not children any more. They are all standing on the threshold of adulthood, balancing precariously, and soon they will have crossed the line. There will be no going back. Hermione has already crossed it. Molly can see it in her eyes – the beautiful brown eyes that made her son go red in the face…sometimes from anger…but mostly because he didn't know how to act in front of the intelligent witch. Molly gives another flick of her wrist. She watches a flame ignite under her cracked, blue teapot. As she busies herself bringing down cups and pulling out milk and sugar, Molly allows herself a small sigh of relief. Albus, after acquiescing to their wishes to stay at the Burrow, was going to send Hermione back to her parents. Molly had to insist against it. She had met the Grangers a few times, and they seemed like lovely people, but Molly knew in her heart that Hermione needed to be with Harry. Neither would make it without the other. Ginny needed the older girl as well, and Hermione had seemed quietly grateful to be allowed to stay in the magical world for the three weeks of holiday. She would see her parents today, anyway. Soon, in just a few hours, the Burrow will be filled with people trying to celebrate Christmas. The Grangers will portkey in for a short time. Cautiousness is still required though, even on holidays, and Hermione's parents would be wearing Portkeys. Should an attack occur, they could activate the devices immediately, and would be forced to leave Hermione with the Weasleys. Molly furrows her brow slightly, anxiety snaking around her heart. She hopes the Portkeys will not be necessary today. Looking back out the window, she can see the very beginnings of the dawn. She aims her wand at herself and whispers a quick warming charm before taking a plate piled with scones, along with the teapot, outside. Placing both on the bench in the hibernating garden, she glances apprehensively around. Invisible though the protectors of her house are, they still become hungry and thirsty. Molly hopes her morning offering is sustenance enough to keep them content. She hurries back inside – even with the warming charm, the wind is frigid through her dressing gown. Once inside, she starts up the stairs, careful to skip the third step up, which she had charmed to creak when the twins turned eight and took to leaving the house at all hours of the night. She smiles a little wistfully at the thought; momentarily wishing she could go back in time. She would have appreciated the simplistic pleasure of reprimanding her children again, if it meant she could have them all back. Molly shakes her head at the notion. Dwelling on thoughts such as that is neither wise nor healthy. No good can come of wishing for things that will never be. The door to the twins' room is closed. Molly rests her ear against the wood. Beyond it she can make out the faint snores of George. Fred, who never snored as a child, complained loudly and daily of George's nighttime breathing, but Molly knew parting the two would have been impossible. Satisfied, she climbs the next flight of stairs to Ginny's room. Unlike the boys' room, Molly can make out no sounds on the other side of the door. It's an almost desperate need she has now, to make sure her children are all safe in bed, which causes her every morning to listen in doorways and peek in rooms. She turns the cold brass knob and sticks her head just inside, expecting to see her daughter resting in one bed and Hermione in the other. It's not quite as much of a shock as it should be when she sees Hermione has abandoned her cot in favour of Ginny's bed. Nor is it too surprising to see that Ginny is absent from the room. Something should have registered in her mind yesterday morning, seeing Ginny and Harry already sitting at the kitchen table waiting for breakfast, both blushing and trying not to look at one another over their tea. Molly allows herself a sad smile. Her heart flutters slightly in her belly. Ginny and Harry; it made so much sense and felt so right that it was almost absurd. But, oh, how she wishes it could wait. That they could enjoy more of their childhood before starting a relationship that was sure to take them faster to adulthood. How she wishes that Ron's death were not a catalyst for something so touching as a first love. So, no it isn't too surprising to see Ginny gone. What is surprising, however, is the smile that graces Hermione's sleeping face. Molly steps further into the room. It has been nearly two weeks since the teenagers have all come home from Hogwarts, and in that time Molly has never once seen a smile that reached Hermione's eyes. She is almost sure that were Hermione's eyes open now, a sparkle would be detected in their brown depths. Hermione gives a sleepy sort of sigh and rolls over, still smiling slightly. Molly feels joy creep into her own sad smile. She hopes that whatever Hermione is dreaming about is enough to sustain her smile when she is awake as well. Molly quietly leaves the room and pulls the door shut. She turns to head up another flight of stairs and comes to a halt at the door on the landing. If Molly squints, it's almost as if she can make out the outline of a now-absent sign proclaiming this room to be Ronald's Room. She took the faded, red sign down before Harry came to stay in the room, after much internal debate. In the end she decided the sign was full of far too many memories that would cause the room's new occupant unnecessary guilt. It rests now at the bottom of one of her drawers. She likes to imagine that one day she'll be able to put the sign back up, and she'll smile at her memories of her youngest little boy: "Congratulations," the midwife said, looking down at Molly, who held a little boy wrapped tightly in a soft, blue blanket. Molly smiled quietly, her eyes bright with barely-contained tears. Holding her newborn child never lost its magic. It was just as breathtaking the sixth time with Ron as it had been the first time, with Bill. "Well," said Arthur with a small chuckle, "it looks like ‘Ginevra' is out of the question again, doesn't it?" "Oh, dear, I'm afraid so." Molly stared down at her little baby boy, a mop of red hair shocking against his pale skin, and she lovingly counted his ten perfect fingers and ten darling toes. "So, it'll be ‘Ronald' then, will it?" Arthur asked, bringing his face close to the little thing and making a goofy face. Three weeks prior she and Arthur had chosen the name Ronald, just in case. While they were quite hopeful they would have a daughter this time, both felt it highly probable that they would have another boy. Not surprisingly, Arthur was already quite taken with the little darling, who was staring up with unfocused, sleep-heavy, blue eyes – looking very content having just been fed. The name Ronald came the quickest for both Arthur and Molly, and it required no deliberating. Somehow, both knew they had chosen right – even before they saw the freckled angel. ‘Rules with Council.' That was what the book had said. It had fit, somehow. Whether this child had been a girl or a boy, both Molly and Arthur had felt it was going to be very special; somehow important. Of course, all of their children were important – Bill was terribly intelligent, although he had a penchant for getting into trouble with his little brother Charlie, who was the most athletic child Molly had ever seen. Then there was little Percy – only four and already the most serious of the lot, with his books and his over-large vocabulary. The twins were at that age where she was chasing them around the house like little golden Snitches – sometimes they were just as elusive – and with two of them and their predilection for mess-making, they were a chore. But all of her children were delightful. All seemed destined for something great. This one, though, while resting in her belly, waiting to show itself to the world, had felt destined for something spectacular. Looking down at his cooing form now, the feeling was only intensified; a burning in her heart, that made it glow and caused a smile to light up her face, even as the tears leaked out of her eyes. She gazed down at her newly born son wishing against all else that the war consuming the wizarding world would soon end, so her darling could experience childhood as it was meant to be: full of laughter and sunshine. Molly sent a little prayer up to Heaven, praying that the newest addition to her family received all the happiness he deserved, and she smiled at her husband – still staring in awe at his new baby boy. Yes, this child was meant to do something great. It was destiny. Still staring at the door, Molly thinks that indeed her darling son had done something great. He had saved the wizarding world's hope for survival. Given his life so that the rest could continue to fight for what is good. Molly allows herself a small smile, thinking on just how right she and Arthur had been. She twists the knob and slips inside Harry's room. The walls are still lined with Quidditch paraphernalia, the same vibrant orange wallpaper of Chudley Cannons posters that has always greeted visitors to the room. Although, the colour seems muted and the players have lost their zip; the brooms no longer jump quickly from poster to poster. When her children were younger, Molly complained weekly of their obsession with the game. Arthur used to sit by with quiet amusement as she fretted over unsafe brooms and break-neck speeds. Even now, she can remember the sheer terror of watching her children play an impromptu game of Quidditch, ignoring her protests that it was dangerous. What an innocent time that had been, when her biggest worry was her child falling a few feet from a broomstick… Molly was standing at the sink, cleaning up the remnants of the lunch her large family had just eaten, supervising the dishes as they washed themselves in soapy water. All of her vibrant-haired children were gathered outside – a mismatched game of Weasley Quidditch was set to be played. Bill, newly twelve, was home for the summer after his first year at Hogwarts. He had come home with tales of wonder and enchantment that left the rest of Molly's children bright-eyed with anticipation of their days at the school. And every day now, the boys insisted on practicing Quidditch, so that when they went off to Hogwarts, they would be ready for the house team. Usually, when only Bill and Charlie practiced Quidditch, Molly allowed them the freedom to use the field behind the Burrow, but when all of them were present they had to stay in the gnome-filled, over-grown yard, so that she was able to keep on eye on the younger boys. Molly glanced out of the window to see Bill patiently explaining to Ron (a boisterous five year old) how to keep his balance on the broom. For Christmas, Molly and Arthur had bought the family a group of six second-hand brooms. They were all the boys could talk about, even Percy. Now, Percy perched precariously on his Cleensweep – his hands white-knuckled on the handle, his indoor-pale face scrunched up in concentration – a few feet off the ground as Fred and George flew circles around him. Molly stuck her head out the window, prepared to yell, when Charlie intercepted and distracted the twins with an enchanted apple. The two flew off, laughing noisily, and Percy was left looking calmer. He lowered the broom down to little Ginny – who was rocking back and forth on her heels, her hair (that Molly had smoothed and put up only an hour ago) already in total disarray. Molly watched as Percy bent his head down to Ginny. "Can you take me up, please, Percy?" Percy looked alarmed at the very thought. He shook his head firmly. "No, Gin." His voice carried easily across the yard. "Mum said you could watch, but you're not to be in the air. Go sit over there, where Polly Anne is. She looks lonely." Molly could see Ginny's hands clench tightly. "Polly Anne is a doll," she said in a superior tone. "She's not lonely." But Ginny turned and stomped over to the picnic table, anyway – kicking a stone in her path – and sat down in a huff of red hair, glaring stonily at her brothers flying around the yard. Satisfied that Percy would be able to keep control, Molly turned away from the window to float her dishes safely to her cupboard. Only a moment later, however, she rushed back to the window, summoned by Ginny's screech of, "Ron!" She arrived just in time to see her youngest boy hit the ground roughly in a tangle of limbs. "What is going on?" she cried out the window before flicking her wrist. Moments later, she had Apparated to Ron's side. "I'm sorry, Mum," said Bill, looking very pale beneath his freckles. "I thought he had it." Molly bent down to Ron – who looked on the verge of tears, his freckled face scrunched up in pain – and could immediately see that his left arm was broken; it was lying in an awkward position beneath him. "Come on, darling," she said soothingly, scooping him into her arms and bringing him into the house. "Bill," she called over her shoulder, "no more playing until your father arrives home from work." "Aw, Mum," complained George. "Just because Ron's hurt?" continued Fred. "No more!" said Molly firmly. "And Ginny, sweetheart, don't cry. He'll be fine." Molly stepped into the house and moved to lower Ron onto a sofa. Once away from the eyes of his brothers, Ron began to howl earnestly. Molly could only make out a few words, the most prominent being, "hurt," "arm," and "bugger." Not two minuets later, while Molly was looking up the charm for setting an arm (Surprisingly, even with the twins rambunctious nature, she had never needed to memorize the charm), Ginny timidly entered the room. She went straight to Ron – who was still crying big, salty tears – wrapped her spindly arms around his neck and pressed her face against his. Molly, after having located the spell, looked up to see Ron sweeping a hand across his cheek. "Are you alright?" Ginny whispered anxiously. "Yeah," he sniffed, "but my arm hurts." "You fell really far," she told him. "I was scared for you." Ron sniffed one last time. "Well, I'm okay. It wasn't that far actually." "Yes, it was," said Ginny. "You must be very brave." Ron smiled at his sister, puffing out his chest a little. "You think so?" Ginny nodded solemnly, then climbed onto the sofa, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Alright," said Molly, walking over to them. Outside, she saw five freckled faces peering into house, all looking quite worried. She gave them all a reassuring sort of smile and aimed her wand at Ron's arm. Beside him, Ginny took his right hand in her own and gave a squeeze. When he was all patched up (except for a few bumps and bruises that would need a potion to heal properly), Molly gave him a few chocolate biscuits and some pumpkin juice. She shook her head amusedly as only an hour later Ron was begging to be allowed to ride a broom once more. Molly shakes her head to clear her mind and glances around Harry's room once more. She sees her daughter and Harry lying on the bed. They are both facing away from the door, toward the window. Molly can tell by the position of Harry's arm that it is resting over Ginny's body and that Ginny is curled up completely into Harry. Their breathing is matched. She can see the rise and fall of Harry's back as he takes in contented, sleep-heavy breaths. She makes a mental note to have a talk with Ginny about this today, a talk she should have had a while ago, yet, she also knows she will not forbid this. There have been a dozen mornings in the short two weeks the children have been home that she has come to find Harry's face wet with tears, although he is sleeping. To see him relaxed is something she can't bear to end. As she watches the two of them, Harry's back tightens up, and his breathing grows irregular. Molly very quietly tries to back out the room. She gets as far as the door when she sees Harry reach one arm high above his head, his neck rolling slightly as he stretches it. Slowly and gently, Harry extracts his arm from underneath Ginny. As Molly looks on, Harry braces his head upon his bent arm and stares down at the sleeping girl beside him. Molly imagines she knows the look upon his face. She has seen it on all of her children at one time or another – the look of wonder that they have found someone who erases their fears and bolsters their hope. It's a look that adolescents often have, when first finding love. She allows herself a smile when she thinks back on Ron and Hermione, and the first time she saw her son give that look to his soon-to-be girlfriend. Grimmauld place was over-shadowed by grief. The children all looked quite ready to cry at the drop of a pin, and the adults were much too involved in fighting a war – and protecting the rest of the Order – to attempt to help them grieve. Tonight, though, was Molly's turn to stay at headquarters, and she had insisted after dinner that the four students, who would be returning to Hogwarts in a few, short days, stay downstairs and play a game of chess or Exploding Snap – anything that would keep them in her presence for a little while longer – and would prevent Harry from holing up alone in the room he shared with Ron. Ron had coaxed Harry into playing a game of chess, while Ginny and Hermione both watched. A quarter of the way through the game, though, Harry began consulting with Ginny about what moves to make, and Ron, complaining about the unfairness of Harry using a Weasley to win the game, began conversing secretly with Hermione every time he made a move. Molly watched him listen attentively as Hermione made small gestures with her hands and spoke with a serious look upon her face. Molly smiled slightly, knowing that even with Ginny's help, Harry was going to lose against Ron (Ginny was never very good at chess), and Molly knew that Ron knew this as well. She watched surreptitiously beneath her lashes, her hands automatically knitting, as a focused, curious light came into Ron's eyes every time he looked at Hermione. A blind person would have very little trouble distinguishing the feelings that radiated off Ron; he was confused and scared, but accepting and filled with anticipation as well. He was sixteen and falling in love with his best friend. Watching gave Molly a feeling of contentment. She laughed slightly as Ron made a move on the board, apparently ignoring Hermione's advice, and the young witch sat back with a huff, telling him not to ask her if he wasn't going to take her advice. Molly watched Ron roll his eyes and tell her that her instructions weren't the right instructions. "You're the smartest witch I know," Ron said. "But you're not that good at chess, Hermione." Both Ginny and Harry looked on with bright eyes, appearing hard-pressed to keep their laughter in. Hermione, for her part, didn't appear to know whether to blush or yell. She huffed once more, but smiled just the same, her cheeks taking on a lovely glow. After Harry and Ginny had made another move (one that had both Ron and Hermione grinning like Cheshire cats), the two moved their heads close together again and started conversing in low voices. Molly looked on as every once in awhile their hands would brush together, and they would jump apart as if burnt by fire. It wouldn't be long, Molly knew, before they would no longer need or want to jump away from one another. Ginny begins to stir from her sleep. As quietly as she can, Molly backs out of the room, reaching to shut the door as she hears Harry's low voice greet her daughter. By the time Ginny mumbles something back, the door is shut completely. Molly turns and makes her way back down the stairs. She pauses outside the twins' room again, although this time she is facing an open door to her right. Inside is a small desk that was forever littered with papers and awards when the house was full of children. The room is quite empty now. The boys who had once resided it in are all much too old to live at home; they have jobs and are ready to soon start families of their own. Even Percy, who only just came home for the first time in a year a few weeks ago, is engaged. Molly quickly breathes in a deep breath of relief. She doesn't think she could bear not being with her most serious son when he took the next step into adulthood. Her eyes narrow slightly and she feels a fresh sting of wetness. Percy had never fully managed to reconcile with Ron – he never managed a reconciliation with any of the family until recently, and only then because of tragedy. Molly presses her lips together and squeezes her eyes shut, screwing up her face against the memory of Percy's shaking hands and trembling lips. There didn't seem to be anything to say. They sat there, her family, staring at one another, too shocked to hug or cry. Molly felt adrift at sea, an emptiness in her belly unlike anything she'd ever experienced, a ringing in her mind that clouded all judgment. She should be making tea, or comforting her children. She should be making decisions about the funeral and their future. All she could do, however, was sit on the sofa, a few inches from the warmth of Arthur and curl up into herself. Looking at the faces of her children only seemed to remind her of the one who she had lost. Reaching for comfort in them only seemed to remind her of the one who she would never again comfort. A knock on the back door announced his arrival, and Arthur, after placing a reassuring hand on Molly's shoulder, went off to let Percy in, leaving Molly with the twins and Bill. Charlie was staying at Hogwarts with Ginny for a few days, as she insisted she didn't want to leave school, and Molly felt she, Harry and Hermione needed to have family with them. Through the door that lead into the kitchen, Molly watched Percy as he followed Arthur into the front room, his head hung low, his hands clutching desperately at one another, his shoulders slouched low as if under a great burden. Despite not being able to see his face, Molly could guarantee tears falling gently among his freckles; his whole body shook with the effort of holding back sobs. When he entered the room, Percy raised tired, brown eyes, red-rimmed and minus their glasses. He paused just inside the door, while Arthur moved to his spot on the sofa next to Molly. Molly watched, wanting to jump up and put her arms around him, but somehow unable to give him the comfort he obviously needed. She saw him swallow unsteadily. "Mum," he said in an anguished voice, pleading. Before Molly could move, however, George stood up and crossed the distance to Percy in three long strides. Molly considered calling to him to leave his brother alone. She considered moving to intercept George. But she only watched, as if fascinated by some horror scene, the hollowness in her belly moving to the rest of her, so that she felt numb to protect any more of her children. She watched Percy's eyes widen and saw George pull back his arm. Instead of the hit she had been expecting, George wound his arms around Percy and pulled him into a tight hug. Percy seemed stunned for a moment, his arms still caught between the two of them. But, slowly, he too embraced his brother. Within moments, the family that had been sitting oddly detached from one another were huddled together, grieving for the loss of their own, spurred on by the return of another, brought together by the one who had been alone. It's no matter now. All of the family would be here today, along with many members of the Order, and they would smile and laugh and eat as if one of the precious few hadn't been ripped from them. She would be forced to put on a brave face, trying very hard not to imagine what the rest of her life would be like without Ron, knowing full well that tears were hovering just beneath the surface of many of the happy faces that would be in her house. Molly turns away from the empty, dark room and forces herself to move toward her kitchen. She has only a few short hours to prepare the Christmas meal. When she enters the room, she sees Arthur sitting at the table, a special edition of The Daily Prophet resting next to a mug of tea. His eyes are down cast, studying the paper. Upon her arrival he lifts his tired gaze to her. "Morning, love," he says quietly, a small smile not quite reaching his lovely blue eyes. "Good morning, dear," she replies back as he stands from his seat and starts toward her. "I thought you were going to try and have a lie-in on your day off?" "Couldn't sleep." Molly nods. Her husband stops in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. "Are you doing all right this morning?" he asks quietly, concern colouring his eyes. Molly swallows and gives another nod. "I'm fine, dear," she tells him, although she knows he doesn't believe her. His hands move around her and pull her close. She can feel the soothing rhythm of his breathing as she burrows into his warmth. "Are any of the children up, yet?" "Harry and Ginny are," Molly answers automatically, even as she cringes inwardly, realizing she is implicating the two teenagers. Arthur tenses slightly, pulling back from her to stare at her face, which she is trying unsuccessfully to arrange into an innocent demeanor. He gives a slight nod, and a ghost of a smile forms upon his face. "Of course they are," he says quietly. Molly smiles back at him. She knows no one but him would have the understanding to accept the situation with his daughter and Harry, who he loves as a son. She feels a swell of emotion toward him that is surprising; it's only love, tinged with no grief, for the first time in almost a month. She stares in slight wonder at him as he asks what he can do to help with the meal today. Understanding forms somewhere in the pit of her stomach, as she points her wand at the old ice-box in the corner of the room, giving him instructions for the roast she plans to prepare. She would miss her youngest son until she was able to join him. She would quite possible grieve for the rest of her life, as would her family. But the grief would not stay as sharp as it is today. They would all survive and learn to live again, and they would help one another do that. Their love for each other would sustain them. Molly walks over to the stove, her heart light, and she begins whipping eggs in a bowl. From upstairs she can hear the sounds of her family coming to life; in a few hours they would be joined by all of their loved ones. She briefly closes her eyes, sending all of her love to her youngest baby boy, knowing deep within her that he is smiling, wherever he is. A/N: This chapter was definitely the hardest for me to write, and the one (the only one) that, in the end, made me cry. As usual, I am much obliged to Susan, Annika and Allie, who have all been very supportive of me and this story. Thank you, Ladies, so, so much.
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