FIC: "Links to build a life" for nimrod_9
Recipient: nimrod_9
Author: ???
Title: Links to build a life
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Molly
Word Count: 4,300
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *Grief, elements of hurt comfort*.
Summary: Arthur and Molly keep each other strong through the years.
Author's Notes: Dear nimrod_9, I really hope you enjoy this! Thank you to T for beta-reading.
"Will you look at that! We seem to have..."
"...given Haxby gills."
"Suits him, don't you think, Gid?"
"I believe so, Fabe. Maybe we should stick him in some water, though, so he can breathe."
Wearily, Molly stuck a quill into her textbook and reached for her wand. She had hoped for an hour's peace this afternoon to do her Potions homework; she was determined to justify her presence in the NEWT class, and really, she had enough to do dealing with her brothers during the holidays. But she recognised that tone; it meant they had gone too far and knew it, but were going to keep pushing until someone put a stop to it.
"I think that's enough, now, don't you?" another voice said, and Molly turned. Arthur Weasley, expression serious and fifth year prefect's badge still shiny, was bearing down on the little group by the fireplace.
The twins would eat him alive. Molly jumped to her feet in time to see Arthur tapping his wand against Haxby's jawbone before turning to the others.
"Oh, come on," Gideon said into the silence, "it was just a joke. Haxby can take a joke, can't you?" He nudged the younger boy, who was pale and gulping deep breaths of air. But he mustered a nod from somewhere, and Molly rolled her eyes. The twins always knew how to attract the hero-worshippers.
"Sorry, boys, but it's too much. A bit of practical joking, yes, but you can't transfigure bits of people and not expect to be punished for it. Not outside school, and not here." Molly hoped that neither of the twins noted the slight tremble in Arthur's voice; they'd be on him in an instant if they scented blood.
"Don't be a bore, Arthur." It was Fabian this time, still confident. "He's fine -- look at him! And anyway, we were practising. How are we supposed to get our Transfiguration OWL if we can't practise?"
Arthur hesitated, looking from one curly head to the other. Molly was hovering behind them, ready to intervene, and as their eyes met he blushed, suddenly and completely. "It's no use," he said calmly, as if his skin was not a fiery pink. "I'll have to take five points from each of you. It's not as if you haven't been warned."
The twins exchanged glances. Molly tightened her grip on her wand. Then Gideon sagged and sighed. "All right, Arthur. If you say so."
"Sorry," Arthur said, "you know it's nothing personal."
"Yeah, yeah," Fabian muttered. As he turned away, Molly caught him nodding at Gideon and waited, holding her breath. Apparently believing the situation dealt with, Arthur escorted Haxby to a seat by the fire, which meant that he had his back to them when the twins sprang into action. Molly acted, too, shrieking the bat bogey hex at first Fabian and then Gideon. Then she stared.
Both boys were clutching their faces, groaning in disgust as immense shapes fluttered around them. Which was to be expected; she'd had plenty of practice using that spell on them at home. But Arthur...Leaning over Haxby's chair, to all appearances unscathed, Arthur was holding three wands. His Expelliarmus charm must have been drowned out by the shouts of the others, but it had beaten them all.
He flashed Molly a delighted grin, but a second later his expression was firm. "No more wands for the rest of the day for you two. Sorry, but rules are rules. Get them from me tomorrow at breakfast, eh?" This time, as he turned back to Haxby, the situation emphatically was dealt with.
Molly's brothers gazed sadly at her. "Oh, Molly," Gideon said, swiping at his face with his robe, "I'm sad that you would stoop so low."
"It's not me who's stooping low," she retorted. "That wasn't a joke, it was bullying, pure and simple. Arthur was quite right to stop you." Taking pity on them, she murmured, "Finite Incantatem," and the bats disappeared. The twins retired to a dark corner, muttering mutinously to one another and glaring in Molly's direction. That didn't worry her; she could always handle her brothers.
So, as it turned out, could Arthur Weasley. She'd never really thought much about him before; he was just a boy in her brothers' year; someone she thought was nice. But the quiet authority with which he'd just dealt with them: that was...sexy.
Now there was some food for thought.
***
Molly took one look at Arthur's grey face as he entered the house, and she knew.
"No," she said, her voice tight in her chest. "No, please, Arthur, no."
"I'm so sorry, love." His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw trembling. "It's...it's happened."
"I've been trying to Floo them all afternoon." Her chest closed in, holding out the deep breaths she needed. "I thought maybe they were sleeping off some stupid night out. It's their birthday on Tuesday, maybe an early celebr--"
Shaking his head, he opened his arms and she collapsed into them. Someone was wailing, an agonised, furious, desperate sound, and it was only when it stopped and she found herself on the settee in the living room, with Arthur cradling her as if she were a little girl, that she realised it had been her.
"Mum?" Charlie hovered in the doorway, swaying from one foot to the other. "What's wrong?"
She wanted to reach out and pull him close. He looked so like his uncles at the same age, sturdy and with a serious slant to his face that belied the mischievous reality, that she could almost believe he was one of them -- except that they had always come in a pair, never alone. "Oh, god," she said and groped for the right words.
Arthur slipped her gently off his knee and padded over to their son. "Mum's upset," he said quietly, dropping a hand onto Charlie's shoulder. "I'll tell you about it soon, but for now, I need you to take Percy and the twins," he paused and his adam's apple moved, "up to Ron's room and look after them all. Keep them occupied for a while, all right?"
Charlie frowned anxiously at Molly, but he straightened and nodded. He had taken the job of big brother seriously ever since Bill had departed for Hogwarts. "We'll be upstairs if you need us," he said, sharing these words with both parents equally.
Oh, I will need you, my darling, Molly thought, so very much. She managed a nod and an upside-down smile, but when the door had closed she gave herself over to Arthur's embrace.
"Tell me what you know," she said into his chest.
"Not much," he admitted, a hand stroking her back. "They were found together, and there were no signs of torture. It looked like a straight battle; they must just have been outnumbered."
She nodded again, swallowing. "They always did like to rush in," she choked. "Damn, bloody...idiots."
His arms tightened around her, his lips dipping onto her forehead. "Family trait," he muttered unsteadily.
"Oh, I know." She had done it too often herself, at least before the children were born, to deny that. They were all Gryffindors, after all, although sometimes she wished they weren't. In her mind, the twins grinned and waved, and her grief found its way into tears while the shadows lengthened, until the clock struck six.
Reluctantly, she tried to straighten, scrubbing at her face with her handkerchief. "The children..."
"I'll go and tell them." Once more, Arthur slipped out from under her and headed for the door, where he turned. "They'll want to see you."
"Let them," she said quickly, unsure if she wanted to offer or receive comfort. She would not hide her grief from them; she would teach them that death was to be avoided, but not feared. She would teach them to be proud of their uncles.
She waited in silence, remembering her brothers, until feet banged down the stairs and Charlie opened the door. His attempt at manly support evaporated before he was halfway across the carpet. "Mummy," he wailed, "Mummy, I'm sorry!"
He ran into her waiting arms and sobbed while she stroked him, grateful that he was still young enough for this. She or Arthur would have to go up to Hogwarts, she realised; Bill and Charlie were the only ones who would really remember their uncles, or understand what their deaths meant. Bill must not be told the news by a stranger.
A timid hand landed on her arm: Percy, six and solemn with wide eyes, his other hand grasping George's tightly. Careful not to disturb Charlie, she gathered him in and let George clamber up between them.
"Yes, come here, my babies," she murmured. With Ron sleeping in the crook of his arm, Arthur urged Fred up after his twin and eased onto the sofa on Percy's other side. "Come here." She was weeping again, her head bent over Charlie's, her shoulder warm against Arthur's, their sons gathered between them.
Inside her, the child shifted, as if it, too, wanted to be part of the mourning. It would not matter if it was another boy, she decided as George squirmed to be down and she let him slip free. She could never have too many boys in her life, not when they were like these ones.
***
"Goodbye! George, make sure you look after your sister, and you two, I don't want to hear anything from the headmaster about pranks this year, do you hear? Ginny, mind you do what Percy says, he sets a good example, and..." Molly ran down; the train was moving faster than she could, and Ginny's excited face was receding. A summer of running around after unruly teenagers should have been plenty of exercise, but apparently not. "Oh, take care!" she called at the watching faces, "and Fred, do get inside, the tunnel will knock your head off!" She kept waving long after they had disappeared down the track.
With a sigh, she turned to Arthur, who took her hands. "My babies," she mourned with a sob that was only half-feigned.
He smiled, although his eyes were bright with tears. "It'll be Christmas before you know it."
"Oh, I suppose so. Then I'll be dashing around, cursing the twins and wishing for six arms and an extra pair of eyes." She sniffed and forced a smile. They were all so young. Even Ron and Harry, who apparently thought they were grown up enough not to say goodbye; they'd run off down the train somewhere before she and Arthur had made it through the barrier. Even Percy, although he thought himself a great, responsible young man. Molly sniffled. They were just children. And there was Ginny, finally, off with the rest of them, and what would happen to her baby girl out there in the big, wide world?
She swallowed and followed Arthur back to the car. There was no point in worrying. Ginny had learned early on in life to hold her own; she'd had to, with all those older brothers. She'd be fine. It was only...
"Molly."
The urgency in Arthur's voice broke into her reverie. "What?" He had stopped on the main street and was staring at what looked to Molly like a perfectly ordinary car.
"This...this was where we left it, wasn't it?" He pointed upward. "See, there's that clock. I'm sure this was the place."
"It can't be," Molly said soothingly, although her heart had started to thud. "You must be mistaken, Arthur -- it's central London. There must be lots of clocks around like that."
But several miles of walking later, they had to accept it: the car had been stolen. "At least," Molly said, "you don't suppose it could have...taken itself off, do you?" She had no idea just how Arthur had managed the enchantments, and she certainly wasn't going to tell him how impressed she'd been, because he should never have done it, should he, and now -- well, heaven only knew what havoc the damn thing might cause before it was found.
Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so." His tone was even less certain than his words, and he looked at Molly with miserable desperation. "I'll have to go into work and report it. We've got to find it before too many Muggles do."
She thought of the lunch she'd planned for just the two of them, of the unworn underwear waiting under her pillow. Their first real day alone in years. Well, it would keep. "Off you go, then," she said. "Let me know when you'll be back for dinner, won't you?"
For a moment, his distracted expression faded. "I'm sorry, love."
She was tempted to retort angrily -- after all, he had enchanted the thing, which was the real reason why they were both panicking. But no: they had had that discussion, she reminded herself, and it was in the past. There was no point getting angry all over again when it was out of both their hands. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "Never mind. Just keep me posted, all right?"
He squeezed her briefly and was gone, leaving her to Apparate home alone.
***
In the bed beside her, Arthur breathed.
If that was about all that could be said for him, it was also a very crucial thing. She interlaced her fingers together so tightly that they hurt. It had been so close; she'd come so close to losing him.
The worst of it was that when Dumbledore's Patronus had arrived, she hadn't even been surprised. It was only what she'd been imagining and anticipating all these months; hadn't that Boggart emptied out her fears for the world to see? Listening to the message, she hadn't been frightened, or even numb; she'd simply felt relieved, because the worst had finally happened. The worst had happened, and now she would deal with it. She and Arthur would deal with it.
Then she'd arrived at St Mungo's, and the horror had engulfed her. Arthur -- her sweet, uncomplaining Arthur, her perennial supporter and gentle lover -- he was supposed to be beside her; they should be dealing with this together. Instead, he was in that bed, bleeding his life away as she sat by, helpless.
He hadn't bled to death, although Healer Smethwyck said the wound was a tricky one. They had stabilised him; it had been a close thing, but he would be back with her soon. Tears stung her eyes, which were raw with fatigue. In a moment, she must find the floo and let the others know. She must thank Harry for whatever he had done that had allowed them to find Arthur in time. She must Owl Percy, who would surely hurry to reconcile with his estranged father.
Her heart sparked with pleasure at that thought. In the bed, Arthur was silent, unmoving. He'd been breaking his heart over Percy, although he'd refused to admit it. He could be proud about the strangest things -- like all the Weasleys, she supposed, and the Prewetts.
Molly had not struggled with Percy's betrayal to the same extent. She disagreed with him, and it hurt that he had said those awful things. Arthur was right; she knew that in her heart. But she would never turn Percy away -- never. He would come back to them, and her door must be open for that occasion.
At least, for now, they were both still here. The reconciliation could be effected. She'd been terrified that one of them would be killed before Percy came back to them, and now it wouldn't happen. A breath gusted out of her.
It was five in the morning, the outside world deep in darkness, but around Arthur there was constant, quiet movement: a trainee healer with another potion; a mediwitch checking Arthur's pulse; an orderly bringing her a cup of tea. She reached for a smile of thanks, but it became a yawn. She really should go.
Arthur's presence followed her down the corridor: a warm pulse, like an aura. He was alive. He was alive, and she wasn't alone.
***
Muriel's house was old and creaky in ways that were not nearly as friendly as The Burrow. Molly tried to learn the floorboards and the doors, but they were not in her bones, not like those at home. Every groan and complaint felt like the reproaches that Muriel did not utter.
In fact, Muriel had been surprisingly, if brusquely, welcoming. There had been none of the complaining that Molly had anticipated ever since the idea of them moving in had been bruited. She had even allowed Molly to take over her kitchen -- provided that she undertook to follow certain recipes on certain days without a single deviation.
Well, she was an old lady. Perhaps she was glad of the company, and the change. So Molly cooked and cleaned and made the place as homely as she could, and tried not to take the house's reproaches personally.
Despite the creaky floorboards, despite Ginny's furious pacing, despite the gift bag that arrived from Fred and George a week into their stay, silence reigned among them. Molly had never understood the meaning of that expression until now. Behind and between the words they all exchanged was the silence of fear and waiting. She and Arthur spoke over a gulf of it, but they saw it in each other's eyes, however hard they tried not to.
They were safe, perhaps. Ginny, too, and Bill and Fleur. Charlie, perhaps, was safe, although she was waiting for the Owl announcing that he was on his way to the UK and danger. He was a Weasley; how could he not come?
The others...well, Fred and George said they were safe, but of course they weren't; of course they were taking risks, like everyone else, and all she could hope was that they had paid enough already. Their uncles had died; George had lost an ear. Was that enough?
Her worries for Percy were like an abscess in her heart, mostly closed off except for those times when she couldn't resist opening it up and rummaging. All she could do was repeat her familiar litany: we brought him up to be a good boy.
She and Arthur never talked about Percy. But they discussed Ron constantly, their relief that he, Hermione and Harry were safe at Shell Cottage overwhelming the barriers of fear that they had erected.
She yearned to see him, although she knew that the floppy-haired, lanky boy in her mind was not the man he would be now. He wasn't even the one who had fled on the night of the wedding. She and Arthur had talked about visiting obsessively at first, and Ginny had added her own urgent pleas. But it was too dangerous and they all knew it. They were safe here, but only while those in the know were safe, and how long would that last? Harry, Ron and Hermione were doing...something. Something important, and Molly understood enough of the way Voldemort had overwhelmed the wizarding world in the past couple of years to accept that this mission might be their only hope.
Her only hope of not living out her life in Muriel's old house, always afraid of a knock on the door or of the news on the wireless.
So Molly baked and cleaned and soothed Ginny and waited, and tried to pretend to Arthur that she was all right. He wasn't fooled; neither was she, but what else could they do?
At night, with Arthur's warm bulk behind her, she tried to think of other things they could have done that would not have led to their family becoming scattered fugitives. She never came up with anything. The contributing factors were too disparate: they were Gryffindors; her brothers had died fighting the same cause; Ron had been kind to a lonely little boy; Molly had welcomed him into her heart and home. How else could they have acted?
All roads, even those they hadn't taken, led here, to Muriel's unhappy house and Arthur, breathing quietly behind her.
***
Afterward -- after the funerals, after the media frenzy, after Fred -- Arthur kept his silence, wearing it like a cloak to ward off the world. Molly got through the days with routine: housework, comforting whichever of her children seemed to need it most on any particular day, helping George sort through Fred's things. But Arthur slipped around them all, even her, more ghostly than the old ghoul in the attic. It was as if, if he pretended hard enough, he might cease to exist.
She found him in the living room one evening, flipping blindly through the latest Prophet. They were alone for once, Ron and Ginny having gone to some kind of reunion with their Dumbledore's Army. Arthur did not move when she settled beside him on the settee, and when she said his name he turned, but did not quite look at her.
"Arthur," she repeated. "Arthur, come here."
He shifted toward her along the cushions, and she touched his cheek. His jaw shivered and his eyes came into focus.
"Arthur," she said again, as if it were a prayer. And wasn't it? They had known each other since they were children; had had seven children together; had wept together; had lost a child together. For thirty years he had been the person she turned to when she needed something -- anything. And he had provided. If she was going to pray to anything in her life, it would be Arthur.
She kissed the stubble she had just touched: no longer a prayer but a benediction. He brought his hand up to squeeze hers and she paused in case he was going to cry. But despite that shake of the jaw he did not look near tears; only lost, still, half in a world of grief.
She kissed him tenderly and he came back a little further, his lips seeking hers, his hand dropping to her thigh.
Fred, she thought, and then, Arthur. It hurt so, so much -- much worse than she had imagined, and she had imagined vividly over the past three years. But they were still here, she and Arthur, in this room that had seen them through nearly three decades of married life.
His fingers caressed her tatty summer robe but stopped, as if he had run out of energy. Well, she would provide the energy for both of them. She murmured the charm that would alert them to anyone approaching the house and kissed him again, gentle but firm, and again, and again, remembering those first months at school, when they had kissed for hours after the others went to bed; when it took Arthur twenty minutes to touch her breasts, and weeks to slip a hand inside her knickers. In the end, she had placed his hand there herself, no longer able to bear the anticipation.
He was kissing her back now and the air was soft with their breathing; then his hand settled on her bum and gave a definite squeeze.
She wriggled forward, tugging his robes aside, taking his erection in her hand, dotting kisses on his chest.
"Oh, Molly." The words broke from him like a groan of pain, but when she looked up he managed a smile. "Nice," he murmured. "I've missed you."
She dipped her head again, trailing kisses over his ribs and soft belly, until her mouth reached his cock and enveloped it. She didn't often do this these days -- they hadn't done much of anything for a while -- but his intake of breath filled her up with love for him, and with desire. She cupped his balls, heard him groan again, and then he was pulling at her robe, undoing it as best he could, and reaching for her. She shifted and his fingers slipped inside her, gently at first and then deeper, so that she moaned around his cock, and moaned again when his mouth found her nipple.
Moments later, his hand touched her cheek, even as his fingers drove deeper inside her, and at the familiar signal she rose, still holding him gently.
His thumb was on her clit now and little arrows of pleasure converged as she shifted astride him.
A muttered lubrication charm and he slid inside with a gasp that might have been relief. Molly rode him with her arms on his shoulders, watching him, alert to his signals despite the waves of pleasure rippling inside her. This time was for Arthur.
They had done this so many times: they had made babies; they had tried countless contraception charms; they had done it in anger and sadness and lust, and always, always in love.
He groaned and pulled her close, his hands suddenly taking handfuls of her bum as he guided her and she felt her control slipping. It was all right; he was slipping, too; they were both losing themselves in the rhythm, the pleasure that was like nothing else, even after all these years, and she let him carry her away.
Afterward, he clung to her longer than usual, and she took her time, kissing his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, before reaching for her wand and a clean-up charm.
Fred was still dead, and Arthur still hadn't cried over him. Perhaps he never would. But he smiled, a little, while Molly gathered their robes and wrapped them around him, and his eyes looked straight at her for the first time in weeks.
"I'll put the kettle on," she said, and kissed him.
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Author: ???
Title: Links to build a life
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Molly
Word Count: 4,300
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *Grief, elements of hurt comfort*.
Summary: Arthur and Molly keep each other strong through the years.
Author's Notes: Dear nimrod_9, I really hope you enjoy this! Thank you to T for beta-reading.
"Will you look at that! We seem to have..."
"...given Haxby gills."
"Suits him, don't you think, Gid?"
"I believe so, Fabe. Maybe we should stick him in some water, though, so he can breathe."
Wearily, Molly stuck a quill into her textbook and reached for her wand. She had hoped for an hour's peace this afternoon to do her Potions homework; she was determined to justify her presence in the NEWT class, and really, she had enough to do dealing with her brothers during the holidays. But she recognised that tone; it meant they had gone too far and knew it, but were going to keep pushing until someone put a stop to it.
"I think that's enough, now, don't you?" another voice said, and Molly turned. Arthur Weasley, expression serious and fifth year prefect's badge still shiny, was bearing down on the little group by the fireplace.
The twins would eat him alive. Molly jumped to her feet in time to see Arthur tapping his wand against Haxby's jawbone before turning to the others.
"Oh, come on," Gideon said into the silence, "it was just a joke. Haxby can take a joke, can't you?" He nudged the younger boy, who was pale and gulping deep breaths of air. But he mustered a nod from somewhere, and Molly rolled her eyes. The twins always knew how to attract the hero-worshippers.
"Sorry, boys, but it's too much. A bit of practical joking, yes, but you can't transfigure bits of people and not expect to be punished for it. Not outside school, and not here." Molly hoped that neither of the twins noted the slight tremble in Arthur's voice; they'd be on him in an instant if they scented blood.
"Don't be a bore, Arthur." It was Fabian this time, still confident. "He's fine -- look at him! And anyway, we were practising. How are we supposed to get our Transfiguration OWL if we can't practise?"
Arthur hesitated, looking from one curly head to the other. Molly was hovering behind them, ready to intervene, and as their eyes met he blushed, suddenly and completely. "It's no use," he said calmly, as if his skin was not a fiery pink. "I'll have to take five points from each of you. It's not as if you haven't been warned."
The twins exchanged glances. Molly tightened her grip on her wand. Then Gideon sagged and sighed. "All right, Arthur. If you say so."
"Sorry," Arthur said, "you know it's nothing personal."
"Yeah, yeah," Fabian muttered. As he turned away, Molly caught him nodding at Gideon and waited, holding her breath. Apparently believing the situation dealt with, Arthur escorted Haxby to a seat by the fire, which meant that he had his back to them when the twins sprang into action. Molly acted, too, shrieking the bat bogey hex at first Fabian and then Gideon. Then she stared.
Both boys were clutching their faces, groaning in disgust as immense shapes fluttered around them. Which was to be expected; she'd had plenty of practice using that spell on them at home. But Arthur...Leaning over Haxby's chair, to all appearances unscathed, Arthur was holding three wands. His Expelliarmus charm must have been drowned out by the shouts of the others, but it had beaten them all.
He flashed Molly a delighted grin, but a second later his expression was firm. "No more wands for the rest of the day for you two. Sorry, but rules are rules. Get them from me tomorrow at breakfast, eh?" This time, as he turned back to Haxby, the situation emphatically was dealt with.
Molly's brothers gazed sadly at her. "Oh, Molly," Gideon said, swiping at his face with his robe, "I'm sad that you would stoop so low."
"It's not me who's stooping low," she retorted. "That wasn't a joke, it was bullying, pure and simple. Arthur was quite right to stop you." Taking pity on them, she murmured, "Finite Incantatem," and the bats disappeared. The twins retired to a dark corner, muttering mutinously to one another and glaring in Molly's direction. That didn't worry her; she could always handle her brothers.
So, as it turned out, could Arthur Weasley. She'd never really thought much about him before; he was just a boy in her brothers' year; someone she thought was nice. But the quiet authority with which he'd just dealt with them: that was...sexy.
Now there was some food for thought.
***
Molly took one look at Arthur's grey face as he entered the house, and she knew.
"No," she said, her voice tight in her chest. "No, please, Arthur, no."
"I'm so sorry, love." His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw trembling. "It's...it's happened."
"I've been trying to Floo them all afternoon." Her chest closed in, holding out the deep breaths she needed. "I thought maybe they were sleeping off some stupid night out. It's their birthday on Tuesday, maybe an early celebr--"
Shaking his head, he opened his arms and she collapsed into them. Someone was wailing, an agonised, furious, desperate sound, and it was only when it stopped and she found herself on the settee in the living room, with Arthur cradling her as if she were a little girl, that she realised it had been her.
"Mum?" Charlie hovered in the doorway, swaying from one foot to the other. "What's wrong?"
She wanted to reach out and pull him close. He looked so like his uncles at the same age, sturdy and with a serious slant to his face that belied the mischievous reality, that she could almost believe he was one of them -- except that they had always come in a pair, never alone. "Oh, god," she said and groped for the right words.
Arthur slipped her gently off his knee and padded over to their son. "Mum's upset," he said quietly, dropping a hand onto Charlie's shoulder. "I'll tell you about it soon, but for now, I need you to take Percy and the twins," he paused and his adam's apple moved, "up to Ron's room and look after them all. Keep them occupied for a while, all right?"
Charlie frowned anxiously at Molly, but he straightened and nodded. He had taken the job of big brother seriously ever since Bill had departed for Hogwarts. "We'll be upstairs if you need us," he said, sharing these words with both parents equally.
Oh, I will need you, my darling, Molly thought, so very much. She managed a nod and an upside-down smile, but when the door had closed she gave herself over to Arthur's embrace.
"Tell me what you know," she said into his chest.
"Not much," he admitted, a hand stroking her back. "They were found together, and there were no signs of torture. It looked like a straight battle; they must just have been outnumbered."
She nodded again, swallowing. "They always did like to rush in," she choked. "Damn, bloody...idiots."
His arms tightened around her, his lips dipping onto her forehead. "Family trait," he muttered unsteadily.
"Oh, I know." She had done it too often herself, at least before the children were born, to deny that. They were all Gryffindors, after all, although sometimes she wished they weren't. In her mind, the twins grinned and waved, and her grief found its way into tears while the shadows lengthened, until the clock struck six.
Reluctantly, she tried to straighten, scrubbing at her face with her handkerchief. "The children..."
"I'll go and tell them." Once more, Arthur slipped out from under her and headed for the door, where he turned. "They'll want to see you."
"Let them," she said quickly, unsure if she wanted to offer or receive comfort. She would not hide her grief from them; she would teach them that death was to be avoided, but not feared. She would teach them to be proud of their uncles.
She waited in silence, remembering her brothers, until feet banged down the stairs and Charlie opened the door. His attempt at manly support evaporated before he was halfway across the carpet. "Mummy," he wailed, "Mummy, I'm sorry!"
He ran into her waiting arms and sobbed while she stroked him, grateful that he was still young enough for this. She or Arthur would have to go up to Hogwarts, she realised; Bill and Charlie were the only ones who would really remember their uncles, or understand what their deaths meant. Bill must not be told the news by a stranger.
A timid hand landed on her arm: Percy, six and solemn with wide eyes, his other hand grasping George's tightly. Careful not to disturb Charlie, she gathered him in and let George clamber up between them.
"Yes, come here, my babies," she murmured. With Ron sleeping in the crook of his arm, Arthur urged Fred up after his twin and eased onto the sofa on Percy's other side. "Come here." She was weeping again, her head bent over Charlie's, her shoulder warm against Arthur's, their sons gathered between them.
Inside her, the child shifted, as if it, too, wanted to be part of the mourning. It would not matter if it was another boy, she decided as George squirmed to be down and she let him slip free. She could never have too many boys in her life, not when they were like these ones.
***
"Goodbye! George, make sure you look after your sister, and you two, I don't want to hear anything from the headmaster about pranks this year, do you hear? Ginny, mind you do what Percy says, he sets a good example, and..." Molly ran down; the train was moving faster than she could, and Ginny's excited face was receding. A summer of running around after unruly teenagers should have been plenty of exercise, but apparently not. "Oh, take care!" she called at the watching faces, "and Fred, do get inside, the tunnel will knock your head off!" She kept waving long after they had disappeared down the track.
With a sigh, she turned to Arthur, who took her hands. "My babies," she mourned with a sob that was only half-feigned.
He smiled, although his eyes were bright with tears. "It'll be Christmas before you know it."
"Oh, I suppose so. Then I'll be dashing around, cursing the twins and wishing for six arms and an extra pair of eyes." She sniffed and forced a smile. They were all so young. Even Ron and Harry, who apparently thought they were grown up enough not to say goodbye; they'd run off down the train somewhere before she and Arthur had made it through the barrier. Even Percy, although he thought himself a great, responsible young man. Molly sniffled. They were just children. And there was Ginny, finally, off with the rest of them, and what would happen to her baby girl out there in the big, wide world?
She swallowed and followed Arthur back to the car. There was no point in worrying. Ginny had learned early on in life to hold her own; she'd had to, with all those older brothers. She'd be fine. It was only...
"Molly."
The urgency in Arthur's voice broke into her reverie. "What?" He had stopped on the main street and was staring at what looked to Molly like a perfectly ordinary car.
"This...this was where we left it, wasn't it?" He pointed upward. "See, there's that clock. I'm sure this was the place."
"It can't be," Molly said soothingly, although her heart had started to thud. "You must be mistaken, Arthur -- it's central London. There must be lots of clocks around like that."
But several miles of walking later, they had to accept it: the car had been stolen. "At least," Molly said, "you don't suppose it could have...taken itself off, do you?" She had no idea just how Arthur had managed the enchantments, and she certainly wasn't going to tell him how impressed she'd been, because he should never have done it, should he, and now -- well, heaven only knew what havoc the damn thing might cause before it was found.
Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so." His tone was even less certain than his words, and he looked at Molly with miserable desperation. "I'll have to go into work and report it. We've got to find it before too many Muggles do."
She thought of the lunch she'd planned for just the two of them, of the unworn underwear waiting under her pillow. Their first real day alone in years. Well, it would keep. "Off you go, then," she said. "Let me know when you'll be back for dinner, won't you?"
For a moment, his distracted expression faded. "I'm sorry, love."
She was tempted to retort angrily -- after all, he had enchanted the thing, which was the real reason why they were both panicking. But no: they had had that discussion, she reminded herself, and it was in the past. There was no point getting angry all over again when it was out of both their hands. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "Never mind. Just keep me posted, all right?"
He squeezed her briefly and was gone, leaving her to Apparate home alone.
***
In the bed beside her, Arthur breathed.
If that was about all that could be said for him, it was also a very crucial thing. She interlaced her fingers together so tightly that they hurt. It had been so close; she'd come so close to losing him.
The worst of it was that when Dumbledore's Patronus had arrived, she hadn't even been surprised. It was only what she'd been imagining and anticipating all these months; hadn't that Boggart emptied out her fears for the world to see? Listening to the message, she hadn't been frightened, or even numb; she'd simply felt relieved, because the worst had finally happened. The worst had happened, and now she would deal with it. She and Arthur would deal with it.
Then she'd arrived at St Mungo's, and the horror had engulfed her. Arthur -- her sweet, uncomplaining Arthur, her perennial supporter and gentle lover -- he was supposed to be beside her; they should be dealing with this together. Instead, he was in that bed, bleeding his life away as she sat by, helpless.
He hadn't bled to death, although Healer Smethwyck said the wound was a tricky one. They had stabilised him; it had been a close thing, but he would be back with her soon. Tears stung her eyes, which were raw with fatigue. In a moment, she must find the floo and let the others know. She must thank Harry for whatever he had done that had allowed them to find Arthur in time. She must Owl Percy, who would surely hurry to reconcile with his estranged father.
Her heart sparked with pleasure at that thought. In the bed, Arthur was silent, unmoving. He'd been breaking his heart over Percy, although he'd refused to admit it. He could be proud about the strangest things -- like all the Weasleys, she supposed, and the Prewetts.
Molly had not struggled with Percy's betrayal to the same extent. She disagreed with him, and it hurt that he had said those awful things. Arthur was right; she knew that in her heart. But she would never turn Percy away -- never. He would come back to them, and her door must be open for that occasion.
At least, for now, they were both still here. The reconciliation could be effected. She'd been terrified that one of them would be killed before Percy came back to them, and now it wouldn't happen. A breath gusted out of her.
It was five in the morning, the outside world deep in darkness, but around Arthur there was constant, quiet movement: a trainee healer with another potion; a mediwitch checking Arthur's pulse; an orderly bringing her a cup of tea. She reached for a smile of thanks, but it became a yawn. She really should go.
Arthur's presence followed her down the corridor: a warm pulse, like an aura. He was alive. He was alive, and she wasn't alone.
***
Muriel's house was old and creaky in ways that were not nearly as friendly as The Burrow. Molly tried to learn the floorboards and the doors, but they were not in her bones, not like those at home. Every groan and complaint felt like the reproaches that Muriel did not utter.
In fact, Muriel had been surprisingly, if brusquely, welcoming. There had been none of the complaining that Molly had anticipated ever since the idea of them moving in had been bruited. She had even allowed Molly to take over her kitchen -- provided that she undertook to follow certain recipes on certain days without a single deviation.
Well, she was an old lady. Perhaps she was glad of the company, and the change. So Molly cooked and cleaned and made the place as homely as she could, and tried not to take the house's reproaches personally.
Despite the creaky floorboards, despite Ginny's furious pacing, despite the gift bag that arrived from Fred and George a week into their stay, silence reigned among them. Molly had never understood the meaning of that expression until now. Behind and between the words they all exchanged was the silence of fear and waiting. She and Arthur spoke over a gulf of it, but they saw it in each other's eyes, however hard they tried not to.
They were safe, perhaps. Ginny, too, and Bill and Fleur. Charlie, perhaps, was safe, although she was waiting for the Owl announcing that he was on his way to the UK and danger. He was a Weasley; how could he not come?
The others...well, Fred and George said they were safe, but of course they weren't; of course they were taking risks, like everyone else, and all she could hope was that they had paid enough already. Their uncles had died; George had lost an ear. Was that enough?
Her worries for Percy were like an abscess in her heart, mostly closed off except for those times when she couldn't resist opening it up and rummaging. All she could do was repeat her familiar litany: we brought him up to be a good boy.
She and Arthur never talked about Percy. But they discussed Ron constantly, their relief that he, Hermione and Harry were safe at Shell Cottage overwhelming the barriers of fear that they had erected.
She yearned to see him, although she knew that the floppy-haired, lanky boy in her mind was not the man he would be now. He wasn't even the one who had fled on the night of the wedding. She and Arthur had talked about visiting obsessively at first, and Ginny had added her own urgent pleas. But it was too dangerous and they all knew it. They were safe here, but only while those in the know were safe, and how long would that last? Harry, Ron and Hermione were doing...something. Something important, and Molly understood enough of the way Voldemort had overwhelmed the wizarding world in the past couple of years to accept that this mission might be their only hope.
Her only hope of not living out her life in Muriel's old house, always afraid of a knock on the door or of the news on the wireless.
So Molly baked and cleaned and soothed Ginny and waited, and tried to pretend to Arthur that she was all right. He wasn't fooled; neither was she, but what else could they do?
At night, with Arthur's warm bulk behind her, she tried to think of other things they could have done that would not have led to their family becoming scattered fugitives. She never came up with anything. The contributing factors were too disparate: they were Gryffindors; her brothers had died fighting the same cause; Ron had been kind to a lonely little boy; Molly had welcomed him into her heart and home. How else could they have acted?
All roads, even those they hadn't taken, led here, to Muriel's unhappy house and Arthur, breathing quietly behind her.
***
Afterward -- after the funerals, after the media frenzy, after Fred -- Arthur kept his silence, wearing it like a cloak to ward off the world. Molly got through the days with routine: housework, comforting whichever of her children seemed to need it most on any particular day, helping George sort through Fred's things. But Arthur slipped around them all, even her, more ghostly than the old ghoul in the attic. It was as if, if he pretended hard enough, he might cease to exist.
She found him in the living room one evening, flipping blindly through the latest Prophet. They were alone for once, Ron and Ginny having gone to some kind of reunion with their Dumbledore's Army. Arthur did not move when she settled beside him on the settee, and when she said his name he turned, but did not quite look at her.
"Arthur," she repeated. "Arthur, come here."
He shifted toward her along the cushions, and she touched his cheek. His jaw shivered and his eyes came into focus.
"Arthur," she said again, as if it were a prayer. And wasn't it? They had known each other since they were children; had had seven children together; had wept together; had lost a child together. For thirty years he had been the person she turned to when she needed something -- anything. And he had provided. If she was going to pray to anything in her life, it would be Arthur.
She kissed the stubble she had just touched: no longer a prayer but a benediction. He brought his hand up to squeeze hers and she paused in case he was going to cry. But despite that shake of the jaw he did not look near tears; only lost, still, half in a world of grief.
She kissed him tenderly and he came back a little further, his lips seeking hers, his hand dropping to her thigh.
Fred, she thought, and then, Arthur. It hurt so, so much -- much worse than she had imagined, and she had imagined vividly over the past three years. But they were still here, she and Arthur, in this room that had seen them through nearly three decades of married life.
His fingers caressed her tatty summer robe but stopped, as if he had run out of energy. Well, she would provide the energy for both of them. She murmured the charm that would alert them to anyone approaching the house and kissed him again, gentle but firm, and again, and again, remembering those first months at school, when they had kissed for hours after the others went to bed; when it took Arthur twenty minutes to touch her breasts, and weeks to slip a hand inside her knickers. In the end, she had placed his hand there herself, no longer able to bear the anticipation.
He was kissing her back now and the air was soft with their breathing; then his hand settled on her bum and gave a definite squeeze.
She wriggled forward, tugging his robes aside, taking his erection in her hand, dotting kisses on his chest.
"Oh, Molly." The words broke from him like a groan of pain, but when she looked up he managed a smile. "Nice," he murmured. "I've missed you."
She dipped her head again, trailing kisses over his ribs and soft belly, until her mouth reached his cock and enveloped it. She didn't often do this these days -- they hadn't done much of anything for a while -- but his intake of breath filled her up with love for him, and with desire. She cupped his balls, heard him groan again, and then he was pulling at her robe, undoing it as best he could, and reaching for her. She shifted and his fingers slipped inside her, gently at first and then deeper, so that she moaned around his cock, and moaned again when his mouth found her nipple.
Moments later, his hand touched her cheek, even as his fingers drove deeper inside her, and at the familiar signal she rose, still holding him gently.
His thumb was on her clit now and little arrows of pleasure converged as she shifted astride him.
A muttered lubrication charm and he slid inside with a gasp that might have been relief. Molly rode him with her arms on his shoulders, watching him, alert to his signals despite the waves of pleasure rippling inside her. This time was for Arthur.
They had done this so many times: they had made babies; they had tried countless contraception charms; they had done it in anger and sadness and lust, and always, always in love.
He groaned and pulled her close, his hands suddenly taking handfuls of her bum as he guided her and she felt her control slipping. It was all right; he was slipping, too; they were both losing themselves in the rhythm, the pleasure that was like nothing else, even after all these years, and she let him carry her away.
Afterward, he clung to her longer than usual, and she took her time, kissing his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, before reaching for her wand and a clean-up charm.
Fred was still dead, and Arthur still hadn't cried over him. Perhaps he never would. But he smiled, a little, while Molly gathered their robes and wrapped them around him, and his eyes looked straight at her for the first time in weeks.
"I'll put the kettle on," she said, and kissed him.
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