Molly Weasley was not a woman that was easily phased. She had survived two wars, birthed and raised seven children, and seen the world go crazy a dozen times over
( Read more... )
Molly wasn't entirely sure what she had been expecting. The image she had gathered up of Cecilia Jacobs, pureblood princess and Selwyn descendant and Slytherin queen, had her picturing a slightly indistinct version of Rosalyn, the tough-as-nails, sharp-tongued and class-obsessed girl with whom she had shared a classroom but split a cause back when they were children themselves.
And while the shaky, broken-looking girl that was shoved into the room to meet her certainly still had the basic structure of the kind of blonde glamazon she wouldn't have been surprised to find her son getting tangled up with, she hadn't quite been prepared for the state in which she found her.
A calculated frown creased Molly's brow as she fought the battling urges of the battle-worn headstrong woman and the undeterred, indiscriminate mother-
The girl, quite honestly, looked like she needed a hug much more desperately than she did an appraisal or talking to-
"Believe me, Miss Jacobs, I much rather would've gone about this differently-"
But then, beyond the weary exhaustion that seemed to have sunk right into her bones, and the drab tangle of her hair, and those undeniable circles rimming her eyes, there was another tell-tale sort of spark to the sickly tint her skin had taken on-
Molly Weasley had always considered herself a simple woman, with simple needs and simple wants and simple skills. But this, she very much knew all about-
She let the silence hang for a moment, weighting the realization in her mind.
From the moment George walked into her life, the one intimidating thing about him, the one thought that lingered in the back of her mind was the idea of one day meeting his family, of maybe being lucky enough to be able to. They had always been a representation of exactly what Cecilia never had. Even when they were younger, and the Weasley name was scoffed among Pureblood loyalists, Cecilia wondered what it would be like to have a mum that fussed over you while you were waiting for the Hogwarts Express instead of waiting there alone or with Toffee, the house elf holding her hand while Cecilia tried her hardest not to cry.
And maybe it was a silly thought, but Cecilia found herself imagining what it would be like to be apart of the Weasley family. Maybe committing to George that way, experience what it would be like to be apart of a real family.
This wasn't how she wanted it to be. This wasn't how it should have happened. She imagined baking something, bringing a bottle of wine or flowers and actually wearing real clothing instead of these dingy, itchy robes. Maybe a fresh shower. She wanted to be prepared.
She wanted George there at her side.
But nothing could ever prepare her for the words that came from Mrs. Weasley just then, her fingers gripping at the steel back of the chair, knuckles turning white as her eyes widened.
"Doesn't know what?" she asked meekly, though she already knew what George's mother was insinuating.
Molly clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth, a reactionary snap with which (along with, admittedly, liberal use of a much more piercing range of vocals and the occasional assistance of a threatening wooden spoon) she had, over the years, wrangled small armies and shushed table-side feuds and stopped entirely households in their tracks.
It was an equal-parts warm and cold, harsh and coddling, direct and vague sort of sound that always just managed to make it clear that whatever impressions you might have about being able to get away with whatever you were trying to get away with were entirely hopeless and wrong.
"Darling, I think you're in a position where you ought to be spared every hardship you can manage to avoid. I have seven children. And I've gathered that this is your profession. So let's not pretend you and I don't know-"
It was an odd feeling, this tangled mix of emotion that boiled below the surface of her calm exterior. There was a familiarity about it, like that initial mix of bliss and terror she had felt all those years ago when Bill had been little more than a flicker of an expectation in the midst of a raging battle against a darkness they had barely been able to comprehend-
Molly cleared her throat, sitting up just a bit straighter where she sat at the very edge of her seat, instinctively reaching across the table as if making to take Cecilia's hand in her own but stopping just short of (frowned upon, she knew) contact.
"I imagine the care system isn't exactly exemplary around these parts. So I suppose it doesn't leave much choice but to get you cleared of these ridiculous charges and out this place."
Cecilia's knees felt weak, her whole body sort of giving out on her as she gripped at the back of the chair. She moved, wobbly as it was, to finally sit down, sinking into the all too familiar but still incredibly uncomfortable chair that she was graced with. She swallowed as she tried to straighten her posture to the way she had been taught but all she could do was sink, letting her shoulders fall as she finally made proper eye contact with George's mother.
Becoming a mother wasn't something Cecilia ever thought she was capable of. Physically, of course, but psychologically was still up for debate. She had no one to look up to, no one to guide her through this process. Her own mother had hardly spent time with her and Holden growing up and while Toffee had tried to fill that gap as much as she could, she was still just the house elf.
But something about George made the thought all that much more clear to her and Madeline liked her so much that it gave her this idea that maybe she could do. Maybe her mother had taught her something after all, showed her exactly what not to do.
But this was the very last way she imagined it all happening.
"I didn't know-" she said softly. "Not until a few days ago and the Healers here only just confirmed it this morning-"
She raked her fingers through her hair, the cool chain grazing against her skin that bound her wrist.
"This wasn't what I wanted-" she told Molly. "And I don't know how to tell George- this isn't-"
She rubbed at her face, sucking in a tight breath, knowing that the last thing she ever wanted to do (given the way this all happened as it was) was to break down in front of her.
"You think I shouldn't be here?" she asked, then, registering what it was Molly was saying.
"I have my son's word that you shouldn't, and Lucius Malfoy's accusation that you should," she said cooly, the name passing her lips as a biting sort of his. "I imagine I don't need to elaborate on which side I'll be taking."
While the convulated family trees of the pure blood lines had, by marriage and child birth, over the years managed to entwine their families in a way that made Lucius some distant cousin of hers, it was common enough knowledge that there was no love lost between her own family and the Malfoys. Any chance to see that man brought down in any way was one she would always gladly jump on.
"Unfortunately, my convictions don't mean much in terms of getting you out of these ridiculous chains. You'll still have to stand trial and wait out the process. But you should have enough pull in your corner to make it as painless as possible-"
Painless was obviously quite relative in this case, but the place was drenched in enough pessimism without her adding to it. Molly Weasley was nothing if not unmovingly firm and stubborn. Her children had gotten it from somewhere, and Arthur had always been flighty in his well-meaning ways.
"Now, as far as this child is concerned-" She straightened up a bit more, her expression carefully set and neutrally controlled, hardly the way she would have hoped or imagined to be reacting to this sort of news.
"I'll leave it to you to tell George. But, congratulations. Welcome to the family-"
For as long as she could remember, that concept was so foreign to her. She felt more like a guest in her own home, her and her brother merely visitors within Jacobs Manor until they were old enough for Hogwarts and then they were shipped off. Neither of them made it home very often for the holidays, unless she was staying with Daphne or Holden with the Bradleys or the Corners. The air had grown too chilly at home, they had both realized what it was like to live in a warmer environment while they were at Hogwarts. They didn't want to pretend anymore.
She looked up at Molly as her eyes widened, tears pooling in the corners of them as she swallowed.
This was what she had wanted for a long time but she never thought it would be like this.
"I'm so sorry this is how we're meeting," she said, softly. "I wanted to make you dinner or something-"
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, of this being the very first time she had the chance to meet Molly Weasley, a woman she'd found herself long looking up to- ever since that final battle.
"I love your son very much, Mrs. Weasley," Cecilia told the older woman. "And I feel really lucky that he loves me, too."
"Yes, I can see that," Molly nodded, the hint of a warm smile pushing past the solid front of steely determination with which she had been processing this whole unfortunate situation. Even a blind man could have seen it, despite the chains and tears and weariness.
On George's end, it had been entirely too obvious since that first time at dinner when Fred, cornered by her accusing glare for some reason or another, had taken it upon himself to swing the conversation around on ('Oh hey have you heard who Georgie here's been going out with-'). He had blushed an impressive shade of Weasley red, mumbled something about fratricide, and spent the rest of the evening dodging questions and poorly hiding a smitten grin.
And though he had since stopped blushing at the mention of Cecilia's name, her nagging was still being met with that sort of smile, that undeniable spark in his eye-
"But there's no need to apologize. There'll still be time enough for all of that later. For now, let's focus on getting you out of this dreadful place, hm?"
There was an air of certainty in Molly's voice, one that had been a theme throughout most of her visits so far. They all seemed to think she was getting out of here, that there was no way they could keep her- that once they got to her trial, the Wizengamot would see that it was a useless endeavor.
But they had thrown her in here, hadn't they?
"I'm in here under suspicion of forming a new order of Death Eaters-" she said, the words stark against the permanent fear that had settled into her skin since stepping foot inside the prison. "Some of the things I'm charged with-"
She paused, picking at a cut on her finger.
"Well, they happened- I was- well Bellatrix-" she chewed on her bottom lip. "I did a lot of things I'm not proud of then- but this-"
She ran her fingers over the tattoo.
"This is not the mark of wanting to be a Death Eater- But I don't know how to get them to believe me-"
Molly was clicking her tongue and waving a dismissing hand before Cecilia had even gotten to the point of interrupting herself. If she had at all had her doubts about this girl before seeing her like this, meek and stretched thin and heartbreakingly seeming to be crumbling beneath the weight of her own conscience (and, to add that much more of an emotional flare to it, all too clearly pregnant with her grandchild), they had evaporated the moment she had made that initial eye contact.
"Whatever power Bellatrix ever had died along with her," she said sharply, in that tone of hers that could end arguments and leave entire rooms in silence.
"Your past is just that, your past. If you say there's nothing more going on here than vile rumors and fear-mongering, then that's what matters. The Ministry's forgiven worse and less truthful things-"
After all, how many Death Eaters had been pardoned after the first war, only to come crawling back to Voldemort's feet when he rose again over a decade later? Surely this case, with its slew of witnesses lining up to speak on Cecilia's behalf, couldn't hold up against the precedent, no matter how many reforms had been implemented in the system since those mistakes in judgement-
When she had first been arrested, there was a part of Cecilia that welcomed it, that recognized that this was something she had somehow escaped for far too long. She had, after all, played the part of a Death Eater long before she went to Dumbledore for help. She had a penance she had to pay.
But realizing she was pregnant put things into a perspective she didn't expect. She wanted to be a good mother and she knew George was going to be an incredible father. She could see it in the way he so easily got on Madeline's level, dropping him down to her tiny little height and made a friend in her in two seconds flat.
And she wanted to make the family she never had.
She chewed at the inside of her cheek, a spot raw with exhaustion and worry. She wished Dumbledore was still here, the man somehow becoming a godsend to her during the war, somehow always knowing what to say.
"I just never thought this would actually happen," she admitted. "I guess it was foolish to think that way- I should have expected it from Lucius."
"It never should have happened. Whoever allowed Lucius Malfoy to run his mouth after all these years was asking for trouble, quite frankly, and it's at your expense that they found," Molly shook her head, once more clicking her tongue with a little frustrated huff of a breath.
"But never mind that. He can say what he pleases, you'll be the one getting the last word. Let us make sure of that from out there. In the meantime, you just focus on staying some semblance of healthy in this place. I'll see what can be done about bringing you certain things, vitamins and the likes-"
There wasn't much, if anything, the guards ever actually allowed to be delivered to prisoners, as far as she knew, but surely some exceptions could be made for unconventional circumstances?
"Could you really?" she asked, trying not to sound as excited as she might feel. She was growing so worried about how to handle this now that she was here, knowing she wouldn't be able to get all the proper Healer check-ups.
"I mean if it's possible," she corrected then. "I wouldn't want you to go through any more trouble-"
She knew making the trek to Azkaban wasn't exactly a fun adventure.
"No trouble at all," Molly shook her head, as always with that sort of sternness that deterred and warned against arguments.
"There's a child to worry about. My grandchild. A little trouble is hardly reason enough to let you go uncared for. If these excuses for Ministry representatives think they can keep you malnourished and deprived of basic care, they have another thing coming-"
No one crossed Molly Weasley and came out on top. If anyone was bound to run into trouble, it was whatever guard tried to deny her passing along basic prenatal potions.
Cecilia felt immensely grateful for Mrs. Weasley in that moment, more so than she had when she first spotted the older woman in the visiting room, that initial swell of nerves and anxiety dissipating now. No matter the fright she felt at never escaping this prison, she was exceedingly thankful and lucky that this family would be so good to her.
She only wished George was here, too.
"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you have no idea-" she said, tilting her head down, pressing her lips together for as moment before pulling them into a smile. "Just- thank you-"
"There's no need to thank me, dear," Molly assured her, stern yet soft in that way she had so perfectly mastered, that sort of kindness laced with unmoving solidity with which she had both fought wars and managed households.
Whatever else might be at stake here (a woman's freedom, legal precedence, an unborn child's growth and birth and upbringing), as far as she was concerned, this was about the same thing everything else in her life had been about for the past thirty plus years - her children, and their well being and happiness. And George's well being and happiness, from what she had gathered, very much depended on Cecilia Jacobs's fate, and, though he might not yet know it, the fate of their child.
Her own actions, then, were all too clear and predictable.
"At least, not yet. When this is all said and done, I do expect a proper dinner conversation."
Cecilia had rubbed at her face with her hands, shaking her head with exhaustion as she sat there across from George's mother, mind still reeling from the fact that the Weasley matriarch was there at all, completely touched by the entire gesture. It wasn't for the faint of heart to make the trip to Azkaban.
She looked up then at Molly's request with a breath of laughter.
"Yes," she said, smiling again, a weight feeling as if it was taken from her shoulders. "I would really love that-"
And just then, that familiar blaring voice called out, "Ten minutes!"
And while the shaky, broken-looking girl that was shoved into the room to meet her certainly still had the basic structure of the kind of blonde glamazon she wouldn't have been surprised to find her son getting tangled up with, she hadn't quite been prepared for the state in which she found her.
A calculated frown creased Molly's brow as she fought the battling urges of the battle-worn headstrong woman and the undeterred, indiscriminate mother-
The girl, quite honestly, looked like she needed a hug much more desperately than she did an appraisal or talking to-
"Believe me, Miss Jacobs, I much rather would've gone about this differently-"
But then, beyond the weary exhaustion that seemed to have sunk right into her bones, and the drab tangle of her hair, and those undeniable circles rimming her eyes, there was another tell-tale sort of spark to the sickly tint her skin had taken on-
Molly Weasley had always considered herself a simple woman, with simple needs and simple wants and simple skills. But this, she very much knew all about-
She let the silence hang for a moment, weighting the realization in her mind.
"I imagine my son doesn't know yet?"
Reply
And maybe it was a silly thought, but Cecilia found herself imagining what it would be like to be apart of the Weasley family. Maybe committing to George that way, experience what it would be like to be apart of a real family.
This wasn't how she wanted it to be. This wasn't how it should have happened. She imagined baking something, bringing a bottle of wine or flowers and actually wearing real clothing instead of these dingy, itchy robes. Maybe a fresh shower. She wanted to be prepared.
She wanted George there at her side.
But nothing could ever prepare her for the words that came from Mrs. Weasley just then, her fingers gripping at the steel back of the chair, knuckles turning white as her eyes widened.
"Doesn't know what?" she asked meekly, though she already knew what George's mother was insinuating.
Reply
It was an equal-parts warm and cold, harsh and coddling, direct and vague sort of sound that always just managed to make it clear that whatever impressions you might have about being able to get away with whatever you were trying to get away with were entirely hopeless and wrong.
"Darling, I think you're in a position where you ought to be spared every hardship you can manage to avoid. I have seven children. And I've gathered that this is your profession. So let's not pretend you and I don't know-"
It was an odd feeling, this tangled mix of emotion that boiled below the surface of her calm exterior. There was a familiarity about it, like that initial mix of bliss and terror she had felt all those years ago when Bill had been little more than a flicker of an expectation in the midst of a raging battle against a darkness they had barely been able to comprehend-
Molly cleared her throat, sitting up just a bit straighter where she sat at the very edge of her seat, instinctively reaching across the table as if making to take Cecilia's hand in her own but stopping just short of (frowned upon, she knew) contact.
"I imagine the care system isn't exactly exemplary around these parts. So I suppose it doesn't leave much choice but to get you cleared of these ridiculous charges and out this place."
Reply
Becoming a mother wasn't something Cecilia ever thought she was capable of. Physically, of course, but psychologically was still up for debate. She had no one to look up to, no one to guide her through this process. Her own mother had hardly spent time with her and Holden growing up and while Toffee had tried to fill that gap as much as she could, she was still just the house elf.
But something about George made the thought all that much more clear to her and Madeline liked her so much that it gave her this idea that maybe she could do. Maybe her mother had taught her something after all, showed her exactly what not to do.
But this was the very last way she imagined it all happening.
"I didn't know-" she said softly. "Not until a few days ago and the Healers here only just confirmed it this morning-"
She raked her fingers through her hair, the cool chain grazing against her skin that bound her wrist.
"This wasn't what I wanted-" she told Molly. "And I don't know how to tell George- this isn't-"
She rubbed at her face, sucking in a tight breath, knowing that the last thing she ever wanted to do (given the way this all happened as it was) was to break down in front of her.
"You think I shouldn't be here?" she asked, then, registering what it was Molly was saying.
Reply
While the convulated family trees of the pure blood lines had, by marriage and child birth, over the years managed to entwine their families in a way that made Lucius some distant cousin of hers, it was common enough knowledge that there was no love lost between her own family and the Malfoys. Any chance to see that man brought down in any way was one she would always gladly jump on.
"Unfortunately, my convictions don't mean much in terms of getting you out of these ridiculous chains. You'll still have to stand trial and wait out the process. But you should have enough pull in your corner to make it as painless as possible-"
Painless was obviously quite relative in this case, but the place was drenched in enough pessimism without her adding to it. Molly Weasley was nothing if not unmovingly firm and stubborn. Her children had gotten it from somewhere, and Arthur had always been flighty in his well-meaning ways.
"Now, as far as this child is concerned-" She straightened up a bit more, her expression carefully set and neutrally controlled, hardly the way she would have hoped or imagined to be reacting to this sort of news.
"I'll leave it to you to tell George. But, congratulations. Welcome to the family-"
Reply
For as long as she could remember, that concept was so foreign to her. She felt more like a guest in her own home, her and her brother merely visitors within Jacobs Manor until they were old enough for Hogwarts and then they were shipped off. Neither of them made it home very often for the holidays, unless she was staying with Daphne or Holden with the Bradleys or the Corners. The air had grown too chilly at home, they had both realized what it was like to live in a warmer environment while they were at Hogwarts. They didn't want to pretend anymore.
She looked up at Molly as her eyes widened, tears pooling in the corners of them as she swallowed.
This was what she had wanted for a long time but she never thought it would be like this.
"I'm so sorry this is how we're meeting," she said, softly. "I wanted to make you dinner or something-"
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, of this being the very first time she had the chance to meet Molly Weasley, a woman she'd found herself long looking up to- ever since that final battle.
"I love your son very much, Mrs. Weasley," Cecilia told the older woman. "And I feel really lucky that he loves me, too."
Reply
On George's end, it had been entirely too obvious since that first time at dinner when Fred, cornered by her accusing glare for some reason or another, had taken it upon himself to swing the conversation around on ('Oh hey have you heard who Georgie here's been going out with-'). He had blushed an impressive shade of Weasley red, mumbled something about fratricide, and spent the rest of the evening dodging questions and poorly hiding a smitten grin.
And though he had since stopped blushing at the mention of Cecilia's name, her nagging was still being met with that sort of smile, that undeniable spark in his eye-
"But there's no need to apologize. There'll still be time enough for all of that later. For now, let's focus on getting you out of this dreadful place, hm?"
Reply
There was an air of certainty in Molly's voice, one that had been a theme throughout most of her visits so far. They all seemed to think she was getting out of here, that there was no way they could keep her- that once they got to her trial, the Wizengamot would see that it was a useless endeavor.
But they had thrown her in here, hadn't they?
"I'm in here under suspicion of forming a new order of Death Eaters-" she said, the words stark against the permanent fear that had settled into her skin since stepping foot inside the prison. "Some of the things I'm charged with-"
She paused, picking at a cut on her finger.
"Well, they happened- I was- well Bellatrix-" she chewed on her bottom lip. "I did a lot of things I'm not proud of then- but this-"
She ran her fingers over the tattoo.
"This is not the mark of wanting to be a Death Eater- But I don't know how to get them to believe me-"
Reply
"Whatever power Bellatrix ever had died along with her," she said sharply, in that tone of hers that could end arguments and leave entire rooms in silence.
"Your past is just that, your past. If you say there's nothing more going on here than vile rumors and fear-mongering, then that's what matters. The Ministry's forgiven worse and less truthful things-"
After all, how many Death Eaters had been pardoned after the first war, only to come crawling back to Voldemort's feet when he rose again over a decade later? Surely this case, with its slew of witnesses lining up to speak on Cecilia's behalf, couldn't hold up against the precedent, no matter how many reforms had been implemented in the system since those mistakes in judgement-
Reply
She hoped. Especially now.
When she had first been arrested, there was a part of Cecilia that welcomed it, that recognized that this was something she had somehow escaped for far too long. She had, after all, played the part of a Death Eater long before she went to Dumbledore for help. She had a penance she had to pay.
But realizing she was pregnant put things into a perspective she didn't expect. She wanted to be a good mother and she knew George was going to be an incredible father. She could see it in the way he so easily got on Madeline's level, dropping him down to her tiny little height and made a friend in her in two seconds flat.
And she wanted to make the family she never had.
She chewed at the inside of her cheek, a spot raw with exhaustion and worry. She wished Dumbledore was still here, the man somehow becoming a godsend to her during the war, somehow always knowing what to say.
"I just never thought this would actually happen," she admitted. "I guess it was foolish to think that way- I should have expected it from Lucius."
Reply
"But never mind that. He can say what he pleases, you'll be the one getting the last word. Let us make sure of that from out there. In the meantime, you just focus on staying some semblance of healthy in this place. I'll see what can be done about bringing you certain things, vitamins and the likes-"
There wasn't much, if anything, the guards ever actually allowed to be delivered to prisoners, as far as she knew, but surely some exceptions could be made for unconventional circumstances?
Reply
"Could you really?" she asked, trying not to sound as excited as she might feel. She was growing so worried about how to handle this now that she was here, knowing she wouldn't be able to get all the proper Healer check-ups.
"I mean if it's possible," she corrected then. "I wouldn't want you to go through any more trouble-"
She knew making the trek to Azkaban wasn't exactly a fun adventure.
Reply
"There's a child to worry about. My grandchild. A little trouble is hardly reason enough to let you go uncared for. If these excuses for Ministry representatives think they can keep you malnourished and deprived of basic care, they have another thing coming-"
No one crossed Molly Weasley and came out on top. If anyone was bound to run into trouble, it was whatever guard tried to deny her passing along basic prenatal potions.
Reply
She only wished George was here, too.
"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you have no idea-" she said, tilting her head down, pressing her lips together for as moment before pulling them into a smile. "Just- thank you-"
Reply
Whatever else might be at stake here (a woman's freedom, legal precedence, an unborn child's growth and birth and upbringing), as far as she was concerned, this was about the same thing everything else in her life had been about for the past thirty plus years - her children, and their well being and happiness. And George's well being and happiness, from what she had gathered, very much depended on Cecilia Jacobs's fate, and, though he might not yet know it, the fate of their child.
Her own actions, then, were all too clear and predictable.
"At least, not yet. When this is all said and done, I do expect a proper dinner conversation."
Reply
She looked up then at Molly's request with a breath of laughter.
"Yes," she said, smiling again, a weight feeling as if it was taken from her shoulders. "I would really love that-"
And just then, that familiar blaring voice called out, "Ten minutes!"
Reply
Leave a comment