Chapter Text
It had been a year since Fred’s death. A long, wrenching year that had been simultaneously profanely quick. The battle was won, and after the constant hum of activity that had left her too busy to really grieve, the house was truly empty for the first time.
Molly Weasley sat in her kitchen, anxiously drumming her fingertips on a lukewarm cup of tea. All her children were busy, and with good things this time: Charlie had been promoted to head Dragon Ranger in Romania, and she was very proud of him, even if every night she lay away with her hair slowly turning gray as she prayed for his safety.
Bill and Fleur were tucked away at Seaside Cottage with a baby on the way. Molly and Arthur spent most of their weekends visiting the couple, Molly trying to concentrate on parenting books while curled up in blankets by her husband’s side. Arthur would always be fiddling with some Muggle contraption, although his heart was not in it lately.
Percy was speaking to them again, but he was still burying his embarrassed face in Ministry work. He also had a new girlfriend, Audrey: a mousy-haired, rectangular, strait-laced waif of a girl. Molly liked her well enough (as much as she tried, she couldn’t find anything really wrong with her), but Audrey was like a moderately attractive boulder: stable, and without much of a personality.
Ron, of course, was busy wooing Hermione. Molly was excited to welcome the brilliant young witch into the family, although she couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that Ron was punching well above his weight. Molly and Hermione had never quite clicked, although she had always enjoyed seeing how well the young woman got along with her children.
Ginny’s longtime crush on Harry Potter had at last been explosively returned. When Harry refused to see her during the war, citing Ginny’s safety, Molly had been subjected to a number of explosive rants (and Howlers, once Ginny got back to Hogwarts) about Harry underestimating her. Somehow Ginny had kept all that buttoned up in front of the rest of the world, and now Molly would have loved a Howler from her daughter, since Ginny was too busy cavorting in France with her (very serious) boyfriend and her new professional Quidditch team.
Harry seemed to be doing all right, as well. Molly had always rather thought of him as a son, staying up late to carefully knit him sweaters each Christmas, but until the boy proposed to her daughter she felt contractually obligated to view him with suspicion.
And then there was George. Ever since the twins had been born, the Burrow had never known a moment of silence. Even when they were away at school something poisonous and acidic would inevitably explode in their room at the worst possible time. Now, after the war, George had insisted on going back to his flat in London above Weezley’s Wizard Wheezes. Despite her very traditional views on marriage, Molly had to admit she was relieved when George’s girlfriend Angelina had moved in with him. She had hated the thought of him alone in the tiny flat, surrounded by memories of his brother. George would come home on the weekends sometimes and Molly would find herself hovering behind him to remember he was there. He was too quiet, although sometimes he would force himself to be boisterously loud: but mostly he slunk about the house, pale and depressed.
All year at least one of them had been around, but now, she was quite alone. All those years pressing Arthur to take a promotion at the Ministry, and the moment she stopped caring he became the deputy head of Magical Law Enforcement. He was technically working two jobs––the former deputy head had been murdered by Death Eaters during the war––and working long hours. Now he was away, on a business trip of sorts, to Brussels. The old Molly would have been bursting with pride, and yes, she supposed there was some pride bursting somewhere within her. But Saturday had never seemed so long.
Molly sighed, heavily, her sigh catching somewhere within her throat. She was going to cry, she knew it; there was nothing else with which to distract herself from the hole in her heart. She had already gotten fresh air—the two-mile walk and following de-gnoming session had really taken the mickey out of her. She had made herself a meal, but lost her appetite halfway through. The hearty stew was now simmering on the stove, halfway finished. Maybe she would eat it for dinner, but probably not; the queasiness in her stomach was such that she had gone ahead and cast a freezing charm on it. It would remain in its own looped stasis bubble, preserved fresh until such time as she regained her appetite. Even with Arthur’s promotion they still could not afford to waste a good stew.
The tea was supposed to calm her, make her feel better, but now she was wringing her hands over it as the first great sob tore from her. She had thought maybe she could push her grief aside, avoid facing it for a while, but with every moment she was alone she found that it was still there. It had grown stronger, even.
She began to weep, tears burning hot trails down her face. Dark images flashed before her eyes: the battle, Fred’s body, frozen in a laugh; the funeral….she was going to get such a headache later from all this crying. At least she had remembered to keep some Anti-Migraine potion on hand. Or had she?
She peered through her fingers, momentarily distracted by wondering if she had remembered to brew more potion last week.
CRASH!
The noise made her jump clear out of her chair. She looked down: her wand was in her hand already, a reflex gained from the recent war. Molly shuddered, and roughly scrubbed the tears from her face with her wand-free hand. The ghoul in the attack must have knocked something over.
BANG!
Her heart was racing now. It was the ghoul, it was the ghoul...but she knew the difference. The ghoul was high enough in the attic that his rumblings were but a faint thud. And at any rate, he mostly occupied himself drifting around and moaning. He rarely summoned the strength to knock anything over. No, this was much, much closer. In fact, if she didn’t know any better, she would say it was…
She heard a child giggling.
Her face blanched white and her blood froze.