FIC: Festive Mood (Amelia Bones/Molly | PG | 1000)
Title: Festive Mood
Author: paulamcg
Pairing(s): Amelia Bones/Molly Weasley, Molly Weasley/Arthur Weasley
Prompt: Photo prompt from 2012 - 2015: an invitation to the Ministry Yule Ball
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): *Old grief and loneliness, friendship, romantic feelings, possibly unrequited, no infidelity*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you for being my beta, L!
Summary: At Christmas 1987, Amelia appreciates feminine grace.
READ ON AO3
Arthur Weasley's wife reminds her of Lily. Yes, that must be why Amelia can't help glancing again and again at the pretty redhead, who keeps urging her husband to dance on when the band of banshees is playing an endless series of screechy waltz tunes.
The both serene and playful smiles give the impression that Molly Weasley feels secure in love that's endured hard times and clashes of tempers. That's how those two who were Amelia's dorm mates at school could have smiled while having fun with their husbands' now, after six more years of marriage, perhaps having had another child or more each.
"Dance, Miss Bones?"
A half-arsed question from bloody Fudge, whose words are fortunately slipping aside even before her name's being included! A hot breath reeking of Old Ogden's has assaulted Amelia's face only for a moment. The blustering Junior Minister of Magical Catastrophes - rather a catastrophe himself - is already focusing on someone even younger than her, someone with more conservative views and more revealing dressrobes.
Amelia lifts her wand and hurries to Summon down the nearest crystal goblet from above the hovering sprigs of mistletoe. The selection of drinks looks ever more diverse, but is deceptive, too, thanks to the multi-coloured candle flames surrounding each transparent tray, and Amelia doesn't now bother to choose what she drinks.
Back before 1981 she and the Aurors in their Gryffindor gang were too junior members of the Ministry staff to be invited to the Grand Yule Ball. Of course, the Weasleys must be about ten years older, but Arthur has so little ambition or cunning or both that his career has advanced even more slowly than Amelia's own. And silly as it is, the medieval prejudice against people with that brilliant hair colour has probably harmed him. This must be the first year when he's got the invitation.
And since it's Amelia's second, she's no longer dazzled by the extravagance of the entertainment, the decorations, and the refreshments. This drink can start lulling her to a frivolous festive mood, but at the moment her mind's still closed in a circle of regrets, concern and old grief.
Perhaps she should have been bolder in demanding proper treatment for the last victims of the war. Perhaps it's been a mistake to bide her time - hoping that she'll eventually get to an influential position. She hasn't yet managed to help Alice and Frank better than by visiting them every week at St Mungo's. She still loves telling stories about their school years to them, imagining that at least Alice is listening.
Perhaps she still loves Alice - even feels more free now to love her - in the way she never admitted because Alice was engaged by the time Amelia became fully aware of why she herself wanted no fiancé. She was happy to enter the Muggle gay scene in the late 70s, but finding anyone she'd want to be intimate with was not that easy - and got no easier after she'd lost all her old friends.
Trapped in her partnerless and almost friendless life, she continues to fall for some ladies with amazing voices. If there's any witch among them, that's Celestina, and the ball is, of course, a disappointment because the celebrated singer cancelled.
Surely at Christmas a lonely lesbian can indulge in some drunken daydreaming? Amelia's downed a gobletful of something sparkly and strong without paying much attention to its taste.
Having Vanished the empty goblet, she aims her spell at the most deliciously-coloured beverage. "Accio, red cocktail!"
As she's taking the first gulp, she catches herself stepping ever closer to the dance floor - and staring fixedly at the flaming, flying banner of Molly Weasley's hair. This merry wife's bubbling laughter is the most beautiful sound here and rings out like an irresistible incantation. It blooms like a fiery red rose in the thorny discordance of the band's instruments and the guests' prattle.
All right, her mind's waxing poetic, and she does need moments of release like this. Lifting her goblet before the next sip, Amelia toasts herself, her appreciation of feminine grace.
But now over the rim of the goblet she can see the round rosy face turned towards her. Molly gives her a wide smile, and winks, obviously assuming she's meant the toast to her.
And now she stops dancing, pats her husband on the arm, and reaches up to wipe some sweat from his forehead. And walks over to Amelia, with eyes locked on hers. Molly's colouring is not like Lily's, after all. Her eyes are like Alice's, bright and gentle blue.
On her way she's Summoned a goblet, and standing in front of Amelia, not saying a word but only grinning, she clinks it against hers. Although they exchanged a few words earlier, her manner is perhaps overfamiliar.
"You're a great dancer," Amelia manages to say. "It's wonderful you could make it to the ball..." She feels too flustered and barely realises she shouldn't refer to this being Arthur's first time. "Even though you've got so many children. Arthur's told me a lot about what a great mother you are."
"Thank you," Molly says, revealing that she's still catching her breath. "I decided that our three eldest could take care of the younger ones for one evening. I seldom try that, because our twins... They're too much like my twin brothers when they were around ten. You knew Fabian and Gideon?"
"I did. They were among the dear friends who... Not my very closest friends, but still..." Amelia drains her goblet. "Anyway, were you so determined to come because of Celestina Warbeck?"
"Yes! I love her."
"I love her, too." Feeling suddenly giddy, Amelia hopes she's not blushing. "What a pity she had to cancel. But I've been glad to see you... to see how you've had a good time. And glad to get to know you. Perhaps..."
"We can become close friends. I've heard such good things about you from Arthur... and from my brothers in the 70s. In two years Fred and George will go to Hogwarts and I can go out more often."
"I'll be happy to ask you..."
"Look up!" Molly cuts in with another playful smile.
A sprig of mistletoe has wafted to hover right above Amelia. A touch of puckered lips on her cheek startles her so that she can't help lifting a hand to rub her skin, and taking a step back.
But as Molly shifts forward, Amelia braces herself, and places the tiniest of kisses on an endearing dimple.
Author: paulamcg
Pairing(s): Amelia Bones/Molly Weasley, Molly Weasley/Arthur Weasley
Prompt: Photo prompt from 2012 - 2015: an invitation to the Ministry Yule Ball
Word Count: 1000
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): *Old grief and loneliness, friendship, romantic feelings, possibly unrequited, no infidelity*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you for being my beta, L!
Summary: At Christmas 1987, Amelia appreciates feminine grace.
READ ON AO3
Arthur Weasley's wife reminds her of Lily. Yes, that must be why Amelia can't help glancing again and again at the pretty redhead, who keeps urging her husband to dance on when the band of banshees is playing an endless series of screechy waltz tunes.
The both serene and playful smiles give the impression that Molly Weasley feels secure in love that's endured hard times and clashes of tempers. That's how those two who were Amelia's dorm mates at school could have smiled while having fun with their husbands' now, after six more years of marriage, perhaps having had another child or more each.
"Dance, Miss Bones?"
A half-arsed question from bloody Fudge, whose words are fortunately slipping aside even before her name's being included! A hot breath reeking of Old Ogden's has assaulted Amelia's face only for a moment. The blustering Junior Minister of Magical Catastrophes - rather a catastrophe himself - is already focusing on someone even younger than her, someone with more conservative views and more revealing dressrobes.
Amelia lifts her wand and hurries to Summon down the nearest crystal goblet from above the hovering sprigs of mistletoe. The selection of drinks looks ever more diverse, but is deceptive, too, thanks to the multi-coloured candle flames surrounding each transparent tray, and Amelia doesn't now bother to choose what she drinks.
Back before 1981 she and the Aurors in their Gryffindor gang were too junior members of the Ministry staff to be invited to the Grand Yule Ball. Of course, the Weasleys must be about ten years older, but Arthur has so little ambition or cunning or both that his career has advanced even more slowly than Amelia's own. And silly as it is, the medieval prejudice against people with that brilliant hair colour has probably harmed him. This must be the first year when he's got the invitation.
And since it's Amelia's second, she's no longer dazzled by the extravagance of the entertainment, the decorations, and the refreshments. This drink can start lulling her to a frivolous festive mood, but at the moment her mind's still closed in a circle of regrets, concern and old grief.
Perhaps she should have been bolder in demanding proper treatment for the last victims of the war. Perhaps it's been a mistake to bide her time - hoping that she'll eventually get to an influential position. She hasn't yet managed to help Alice and Frank better than by visiting them every week at St Mungo's. She still loves telling stories about their school years to them, imagining that at least Alice is listening.
Perhaps she still loves Alice - even feels more free now to love her - in the way she never admitted because Alice was engaged by the time Amelia became fully aware of why she herself wanted no fiancé. She was happy to enter the Muggle gay scene in the late 70s, but finding anyone she'd want to be intimate with was not that easy - and got no easier after she'd lost all her old friends.
Trapped in her partnerless and almost friendless life, she continues to fall for some ladies with amazing voices. If there's any witch among them, that's Celestina, and the ball is, of course, a disappointment because the celebrated singer cancelled.
Surely at Christmas a lonely lesbian can indulge in some drunken daydreaming? Amelia's downed a gobletful of something sparkly and strong without paying much attention to its taste.
Having Vanished the empty goblet, she aims her spell at the most deliciously-coloured beverage. "Accio, red cocktail!"
As she's taking the first gulp, she catches herself stepping ever closer to the dance floor - and staring fixedly at the flaming, flying banner of Molly Weasley's hair. This merry wife's bubbling laughter is the most beautiful sound here and rings out like an irresistible incantation. It blooms like a fiery red rose in the thorny discordance of the band's instruments and the guests' prattle.
All right, her mind's waxing poetic, and she does need moments of release like this. Lifting her goblet before the next sip, Amelia toasts herself, her appreciation of feminine grace.
But now over the rim of the goblet she can see the round rosy face turned towards her. Molly gives her a wide smile, and winks, obviously assuming she's meant the toast to her.
And now she stops dancing, pats her husband on the arm, and reaches up to wipe some sweat from his forehead. And walks over to Amelia, with eyes locked on hers. Molly's colouring is not like Lily's, after all. Her eyes are like Alice's, bright and gentle blue.
On her way she's Summoned a goblet, and standing in front of Amelia, not saying a word but only grinning, she clinks it against hers. Although they exchanged a few words earlier, her manner is perhaps overfamiliar.
"You're a great dancer," Amelia manages to say. "It's wonderful you could make it to the ball..." She feels too flustered and barely realises she shouldn't refer to this being Arthur's first time. "Even though you've got so many children. Arthur's told me a lot about what a great mother you are."
"Thank you," Molly says, revealing that she's still catching her breath. "I decided that our three eldest could take care of the younger ones for one evening. I seldom try that, because our twins... They're too much like my twin brothers when they were around ten. You knew Fabian and Gideon?"
"I did. They were among the dear friends who... Not my very closest friends, but still..." Amelia drains her goblet. "Anyway, were you so determined to come because of Celestina Warbeck?"
"Yes! I love her."
"I love her, too." Feeling suddenly giddy, Amelia hopes she's not blushing. "What a pity she had to cancel. But I've been glad to see you... to see how you've had a good time. And glad to get to know you. Perhaps..."
"We can become close friends. I've heard such good things about you from Arthur... and from my brothers in the 70s. In two years Fred and George will go to Hogwarts and I can go out more often."
"I'll be happy to ask you..."
"Look up!" Molly cuts in with another playful smile.
A sprig of mistletoe has wafted to hover right above Amelia. A touch of puckered lips on her cheek startles her so that she can't help lifting a hand to rub her skin, and taking a step back.
But as Molly shifts forward, Amelia braces herself, and places the tiniest of kisses on an endearing dimple.