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Hermione set her gaze on Molly Weasley– Now Molly Prewett, she supposed. The stout redhead was a few inches shorter than Hermione, but she carried herself in a way that made her feel taller than everyone. She had sparkling brown eyes that looked more akin to amber, and a slightly crooked smile.
Hermione hadn’t given much thought, really, to Molly Weasley’s teenage years before now. If she had to guess, though, she thinks she would have said that Molly was a family-driven girl who loved to bake and knit. Not far off from who she was now. Thus, Hermione was truly and profoundly surprised by what she found upon entering the Weasley home and coming face-to-face with Molly.
“Oh, wow,” Hermione mumbles her surprise, scanning the eighteen-year-old standing in the kitchen of the Weasley home. Her face is round with youthfulness, and her eyes gleam with life. She’s wearing a faded leather jacket, one Hermione has never even seen before, let alone seen Molly wear. It has various patches adorned to the front, including name patches spelling out ‘Fabian’ and ‘Gideon’. Gideon’s patch seems older than Fabian’s, and Hermione assumes it’s because he was the older of the two.
“I told you, it’s bonkers.” Ronald Weasley, Hermione’s ever-faithful boyfriend, has gone deathly pale and is oddly stiff as he hovers near his mother. Bill Weasley, the one who spoke, leans against the door frame and watches the couple. This was the first time they were seeing her, after only being able to hear about her condition. They were out of the country on diplomatic business, Hermione being the Minister of Magic and Ron her Auror Escort. Because they couldn’t simply drop their things and leave, they had to anxiously remain in France until they could feasibly, and politely, excuse themselves to go back home.
“Hiya.” Molly’s voice is smooth and lower than Hermione is used to. “Hullo.” Ron shifts from foot to foot, staring at his mum as if he’s seeing her for the first time.
Molly had been in the middle of making tea when Ron and herself had come in, and now that Hermione is standing close enough to smell it, she can tell it’s not the usual overly-syrupy tea Molly usually drank.
“You must be,” She paused, squinting slightly as if remembering something. “Ronald? Yes?” She looked so hopeful, and Hermione winced and looked towards her boyfriend. Ron had the start of fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and he stared at his mum silently.
“Right, err,” Hermione interjected before Ron could speak, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Ron? Why don’t we go settle in, and put our bags down?” They planned on staying for at least a few days, though Hermione is sure Ron will insist they stay until his mother is cured.
He nods quietly and turns to leave the room. Bill pats him on the shoulder as he passes. “Always a mummy’s boy, that one.” He takes his leave moments later, leaving the two girls alone in the kitchen.
Hermione turns to Molly, who’s already looking at her. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Molly looks helplessly at the door. Hermione sighs, and gives Molly what she hopes is a placating look.
“It’s alright, Mrs Weasley. He’s just– It’s a bit stressful for him, is all.” Molly winces, “Could you just, just call me Molly? I know I’m supposed to be married to Arthur, and I get that, but it's all a bit odd for me. Hard to get used to, you know?”
Hermione gives her an appraising look, and finally notices the dark circles under her eyes. Hermione wants to kick herself. She’d been so worried about Ron, she hadn’t even thought about what this must be like for Molly.
“Right, I’m sorry Molly. How are doing?” Hermione takes a half step forward. Molly shuffles slightly, moving to lean against the countertop.
“I’m alright,” Hermione raises her eyebrow. “No, really. It’s all a bit much, sometimes. Knowing I have so many children, that I’m even a mum at all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hermione cocks her head to the side, and Molly laughs lightly.
“Well, I’m– well, I guess I was , into, err, girls.” Hermione’s glad she wasn’t drinking anything, because she’s sure she would have spit it all over the sheepish redhead in front of her if she was.
“Wh- what?” Molly nods.
“I mean, I know Arthur is trying to court me, but, I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d give him a chance. Though, I did always want children, so maybe this makes sense.” Molly shrugs, training her gaze on her mug, light curls of steam rising from it slowly.
Hermione stands in silence for a few beats, still trying to process everything she’s been told. “You haven’t told anybody else, have you?” Molly shakes her head, and Hermione sighs in relief.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but if you could, ah, keep this to yourself? At least, for now. I don’t think anybody would take it well.”
Molly nods, giving Hermione an easy smile. “Of course, I’m not a monster,” She pauses, and then juts her chin out at Hermione. “You’re taking it well. The amnesia thing, I mean.”
Hermione smiles awkwardly. “Well, you’re not my mum, so. Not to mention, I’ve already gone through the whole,” Hermione lifts her hands to form air quotes, “Parents completely forgot your existence,” She drops her hands, “Thing.”
Molly coughs, eyes widening just slightly as she looks at Hermione. “What? Merlin, you all seem to have been through so much. I– I’m not completely clueless, I’ve heard of Voldemort’s lot brewing, and seeing as it’s now,” She pauses to think, “Nearly thirty years in the future, I can only imagine what happened. Nobody really tells me anything, they all sort of tip-toe around me.” Molly shrugs, but Hermione can see the tense line of her shoulders, and the frown tugging at her lips.
“I’m sorry.” Hermione apologizes, for what specifically she isn’t sure. In part, for Molly’s treatment, but also for Hermione herself not being able to tell the girl anything either.
“They tell me things, sometimes. Little things, things they never explain. I was told George was a twin, but everybody got all secretive after it was said, and I’ve never seen the boy’s twin. I asked Arthur about my brothers, Gideon and Fabian, and he said I couldn’t go visit them, and they couldn’t come here. I’ve got a real bad feeling, about, about most of the things going on, but nobody explains anything .”
Molly’s voice is thick with emotion as she finishes, and her throat bobs as she swallows. Hermione freezes, unsure of how to proceed.
“I don’t,” Molly waves her off before she can speak. “It’s alright, dear. I know you can’t tell me anything, either.” Hermione deflates slightly, but nods.
“I suppose I should go to Ron, then. I’ll talk to you later, Molly.” Hermione offers the girl a friendly smile, before turning to stride out of the kitchen.
Her pantsuit feels itchy and uncomfortable, and her hair scratches at her neck in an overwhelming way. As soon as she enters their small bedroom, one bed sitting in the middle of the room, Hermione strips her clothes off until she’s clad in only her panties and bra. She yanks her hair up next, tying it into a bun so none of the strands can touch her skin.
Hermione moves to sit on the bed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
“I miss mum.” Ron’s voice is quiet as he comes into the room, and there’s vague tear tracks under his eyes. “I know, I know.”
Hermione’s cell begins ringing, and she’s quick to snatch it up from the floor, where she’d dropped it when she undressed. She flips the phone open and presses it to her ear.
“‘Mione?” Hermione releases a breath. “Harry, thank God. We’ve been trying to reach you for a week now, where are you?” Harry sighs into the phone, and Hermione can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“I was just– taking a break. The divorce with Ginny’s been rough, you know?” Hermione grimaces, and Ron pauses to look at her, his eyes moving to look at her phone. ‘Harry?’ He mouths the name, and Hermione nods.
“That’s alright, but we were all quite worried, you numbskull,” There’s a pregnant pause, and Hermione can feel the tension. “What is it?” Hermione doesn’t speak. “Hermione? What’s wrong?”
Hermione finally speaks, casting her gaze down as she does.
“There’s been an incident. Ron took a case from the department, and as per the case, he’s been trying to track down all the remaining Death Eaters. One of those escapee’s is Lestrange, Bellatrix’s husband? He encountered Molly in a back street of Diagon Alley, and I suppose he recognized her.” Harry’s breath stutters, and Hermione can hear a wounded sound rip from his throat.
“Is she–?” Harry trails off, his voice cloying. Hermione shakes her head, despite Harry not being able to see the action. “No, no. She’s alive.”
Harry inhales suddenly, “Thank god. So what happened?”
“Somehow, we’re not sure how, he knew she had been the one to kill Bellatrix. That’s why he went out of his way to attack her, we think.”
Harry hummed. “You think? Did he say anything to Molly?” Hermione grunted queitly, her eyes turning briefly to Ron as he crumpled to the carpeted floor, sobs wrenching from his body.
“Oh god–” Hermione surged up, shuffling forward and crouching down to sit next to Ron.
‘“It’s, really complicated Harry. You just–” Hermione cut herself off, making shushing noises at Ron. She wraps her free hand around his shoulders, and he turns to bury his face in her neck.
“Is that Ron?” Hermione ignores him.
“Just, get to the Burrow, Harry. I’ll explain when you’re here, alright?” The plastic of her phone frame smacks together as she snaps her cell closed, tossing over her shoulder and praying it lands on the bed.
“Harry will be here soon, Ron. We’ll fix Molly, I promise.”
.1.
Molly shuffles around the kitchen slowly, no rush in her step. She stirs a long-cold cup of tea in her hand, swirling the half empty porcelain in her hand absentmindedly. She moves to the window that outlooks the backyard, pausing as her gaze lands on Hermione.
The curly-haired girl is crouching in their unruly little garden– and as Molly watches her pluck weeds from the ground, she realises it must’ve been her own garden. It only fell into disarray after she.. Lost her memories.
Molly can just hear Hermione humming, and she’s thankful for the still and quiet house. It’s been a month since the incident, and while everyone was still living here, they had all gone back to their day jobs and hobbies, leaving the house mostly quiet midday. She’s not sure what Hermione does, but the girl is home quite often.
She makes her way to the backdoor, opening it and stepping out into the crisp air. She discards her mug on the nearby table, before moving to lean against the wall of the house, her gaze fixed on Hermione.
Molly doesn’t recognize the tune, and assumes it must be Muggle. Hermione had said she was Muggle-Born, after all.
Her voice drifts through the patio, soft and airy. Her hands are delicate, and her fingers are slender. Her dark skin stands out amongst the greens, reds, and blues of the garden and it’s various yields.
Her hair is braided back, tufts of curly hair poking out from the hairdo. Molly spies a few strands stuck to the edges of Hermione’s forehead.
Hermione pulls and yanks more weeds from the pots and trays of plants, a bundle slowly forming in her left hand.
“Why don’t you use magic?” Hermione startles, her head jerking as she turns to look at Molly.
“Oh, Molly,” Hermione breathes a sigh of relief, before standing up. “Your garden has some magical plants that don’t react well with a lot of spells, so you always do this the muggle way,” Hermione pauses, before offering Molly a slight smile. “Plus, it’s good stress relief.”
Molly laughs. “I’m sure. What’s stressing you out?” Molly watches the sweaty girl as she lays her plant bundle on the table, leaving it next to Molly’s abandoned tea cup.
“Work.” Her reply is short, her tone dripping with frustration. Molly stands in silence, waiting for the girl to speak.
She breaks quickly, groaning as she shuffles back to the garden. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but, I’m the Minister of Magic.” Molly’s eyes bulge, and she straightens up. “What now?”
Hermione chuckles quietly, and Molly blinks owlishly. “You’re the Minister? At twenty?” Hermione nods, but offers no other explanations.
“Okay, go on then, what’s bothering you?” Hermione sighs again, and begins tugging at weeds again.
“I’m trying to pass a new law, but it’s giving me trouble. I just wish these things were easier. I want to help people– to do good things, and I can’t when I’m getting blocked at every damn turn.” Hermione butchering the plants at this point, so Molly ventures closer to intervene.
“Are the plants the ones offending you?” Molly leans down, resting her own hand on Hermione’s, stopping the girl from her insistent pulling.
She sighs. “No, you’re right.” Molly wraps their hands together and helps pull her up, her eyebrows dropping just slightly as Hermione pulls away from her hands to go sit down.
“Well, what exactly are you trying to get passed?’ Hermione leans on the table, supporting her head with her hands. Her fingers curl around her jaw, and Molly can’t look away.
Hermione has a splattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her eyes almost glow in the sunlight. Her collarbones look delicate and arched from where they poke out from the top of her shirt.
“I can’t tell you, it’s classified for now, sorry.” Molly shrugs, moving to occupy the seat aross from Hermione. “That’s alright. How about I make you some lemonade?”
Hermione nods, turning her gaze up. “Thanks, Moll’s.”
And as Molly squeezes lemons and scoops sugar, her brain bounces that word around, refusing to let it go. Moll’s. Hermione’s given her a nickname. She smiles warmly, casting her gaze back out the window. Hermione’s leaning back in her chair, the expanse of throat on display, and her skin glinting in the sun.
Molly swallows thickly.
.2.
Molly scooted closer to where Arthur was seated, peering over his shoulder as he read The Prophet. “Mind if I knick that from you when you’re done?”
“Of course, love,” There was an awkward pause, and Arthur gave Molly a heartbroken look. “Right, err.”
Arthur handed over the newspaper and then made himself scarce.
Molly flipped it open, humming to herself as she skimmed the various articles and boxes. ‘Minister Hermione Granger passes new law..’ Molly perks up, quickly moving to read the following article.
There’s a large, moving photograph of Hermione to the right of the text, and she’s giving the crowd a wide smile and a wave. Gathered in front of her are hundreds of Ministry employees, and a myriad of other witches and wizards just there to hear her speech.
Minister Granger has recently passed a law that will affect Werewolves. It looks favourably on them, and will allow for the pursual of justice if a Lycan is fired only on grounds of them being a werewolf. See also; This law will mandate a weeks time off during the full-moon, not allow a potential employer to deny a witch or wizard purely based on their ailment, and will make Werewolf-based harassment beocome illegal in the eyes of the law.
Molly’s jaw opens a few centimetres, and she stares down at the paper in disbelief. Hermione was helping an entire species of marginalized people. This had been what she was talking about, that day in the garden a month ago.
Molly felt a surge of affection as she re-read the paper, twice. Hermione really was helping people. She was using her power for good, and not just for witches and wizards.
Deciding to do something nice for her, Molly wanders into the kitchen, and sets about making some brownies.
When Hermione is finally home, Molly has flour sploshed acrosser cheeks and nose, and there’s two trays of burnt brownies set aside on the counter.
“Molly?” Molly turns, and Hermione breaks out into laughter. Molly glowers at her, but she too falls in giggles. Hermione’s laugh was contagious.
“Here,” Hermione steps up to Molly, standing so close Molly can feel her body heat. Her breath ghosts over Molly’s lips as she breaths, her brown eyes focused intently on the flour on Molly.
“There we go,” Hermione murmurs, and the feeling almost feels intimate. She rubs her fingers across Molly’s skin, wiping away the white powder with a gentle hand.
Hermione quirks a smile as she steps back. “Thanks,” Molly stares at her.
Nodding, Hermione waves her hand. “Of course. Now, why don’t I go get Ron so he can help you make cookies.” Molly chuckles lightly. “Brownies, actually.”
Hermione grimaces as she pokes at the burnt treats, “Right. Brownies.”
She turns and strides out of the room, and Molly can only watch as she goes. Her hair is frizzy in a way only work can do, and her back is rigid from stress. There’s a slight shuffling from upstairs, and soon Hermione comes back down, Ron in tow.
They look– good together, Molly admits to herself. With Ron’s strong build and red hair, and her slim figure and warm features. Molly almost feels jealous, looking at them. And if she wonders if Hermione would look that good with her? Well, nobody had to know.
.3.
“This was a good idea.” Hermione smiles, painting more black polish onto Molly’s nails. All she had to do was tell Hermione she was lonely, and the girl basically ran to her bedroom to get nail polish and snacks.
Now they splayed out of Hermione’s bed, clad in only their pyjamas, with snacks sitting on a table they dragged in.
Hermione’s face was close to Molly’s hands, her breathing warming her fingers. They both laid out, side by side, and the lines of their body’s pressed together. Molly tried to ignore the fact that Hermione’s bare thigh was pressed against her own.
Hermione’s long nails were painted a burgundy colour, courtesy of Molly, and now Hermione slathered black on Molly’s.
“Your hands are beautiful.” Hermione mumbles the compliment absendmindedly, and Molly stills. “Yours are too,” She pauses. “You’re beautiful.”
Her words are soft, soft and fond, but Hermione doesn’t seem to hear them. Molly doesn’t know wether she should laugh or cry, but she wants to do both.
Hermione pulls back from Molly’s hands suddenly, a beaming smile on her face. “All done!”
Molly examines her hands, a toothy grin on her face. “They’re lovely, thank you Mione.” Hermione shrugs and smiles, before rolling so she can sit up and reach for some chocolates.
Molly can’t help but admire Hermione’s tendency’s to fixate on what she’s doing, and she pegs her as a perfectionist. Even if it can get a little tedious.
“Hello, Mione, mum. Mind if I steal Mione away?” Ron walks into the room, an easy smile on his face, and Hermione immediately swoops towards him to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.
Molly feels horrible as she watches them with baited breath, waiting for them to pull apart, to stop touching each other. She knows it’s wrong– so wrong, so very wrong, but she can’t help it. Her teeth grit and her eye twitches, jealousy gripping her heart.
She doesn’t want to feel like this, especially considering Ron was her son . Except, he really wasn’t. Not anymore, not right now. Right now she was Molly Prewett, and he was hanging off Hermione.
As Molly steps out into the hall, leaving Hermione and Ron, she groans. Some people have cigarettes, some have te bottle. Molly has Hermione. Hermione is her vice, her damnation. But, Molly can’t bring herself to be upset about it. Not when she thinks about those pillowy lips and soft eyes, or her long lashes and delicate wrists.
She wants to kiss Hermione breathless,. She wants to steal her very thoughts, burrow herself in her heart, grasp Hermione in her arms and never let go. And it hurts to walk away, to hear the smack of a kiss, and to walk away . But she does. Because Hermione isn’t hers. Not yet, anyways.
.4.
Molly smears lipgloss over her plump pink lips, before slipping into her shoes and heading for the door. The air outside is cool, and the sun is setting to the left. Most of the Weasley family stands outside, gathered around in their grassy backyard.
There’s tables and chairs strewn about, and various drinks and foods settled atop them. Arthur explained that they did little family get-togethers, with everyone and their partners, once every few months. Seeing as they hadn’t had one since her accident in January, they were having one now, in July.
George and his son, Fred, were playing a muggle game called Hopscotch, while his wife looked on. Arthur and Charlie were catching up, and Ginny was hovering around her older brother. Bill and Fluer were smiling and slow dancing in the middle of the Weasley-family-circle, and Molly finally registered the music playing from, presumably, someone’s wand.
Hermione flounces up to the redhead, and she smiles in delight. “Mione, hello.” Hermione wraps her arms around Molly, tugging her into a firm hug.
“How was your day, Molly?” Hermione begins pulling Molly along as she speaks, Hermione nodding along as she does. They pass by a few discarded brooms, and Molly pulls against Hermione’s grip. When Hermione stops and gives her a questioning look, Molly gestures to the brooms.
“Wanna go flying?” Hermione’s eyebrows furrow, and her eyes flit from Molly, to the brooms, and back. “You can fly?” Molly scoffs.
“Of course I can. I was the chaser for Gryffindor.” Hermione gasps, stepping closer to Molly.
“Nobody told me that. I’m not one who’s much for Quidditch, or flying, though.” Hermione offers Molly an awkward smile, before pointing to the brooms. “You can go, though.”
Molly waves her off, reaching forward the wrap a hand around her wrist, and pulls her towards the brooms.
Hermione shakes off her surprise after Molly’s already seated on the broom, and looking at Hermione expectantly.
“Oh heavens, no. No, I can’t.” Hermione gives Molly an embarssed smile, and shakes her head, whipping her curls around.
“Come on, Mione. We won’t go high up, I promise.” Hermione chews her lips as she debates it, and Molly can see when she decidedst to agree, her eyes glinting with anticipation.
“Alright, fine. But don’t you dare drop me, Molly. I’ll never forgive you.” Hermione demands her safety, and Molly promises to keep her safe. Truthfully, Molly knows she would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant throwing herself off their broom to cushion Hermione’s fall.
They rise into the air slowly, an Hermione clutches Molly, her arms holding Molly’s waist in a steadfast grip.
“Molly.” Hermione’s tone is full of warning, but Molly pushes on. Soon they’re far above the others, hovering in the air as the wind ruffles their hair.
“This is a bit high.” Molly nods, “You’re not scared, are you?” Hermione snorts, giving Molly’s waist a playful squeeze. Molly grins despite the chilly air, and urges the broom forward.
The sail through the air, slow at first but quickly gaining speed. The wind whips around them, sliding past their bodies as they lower their fronts to be more aerodynamic.
Hermione cries out from behind Molly, but she can detect eagerness in her tone, so she doesn’t stop. They speed around in the air, the rest of the Weasley’s appearing as specks beneath them. They ghost through the clouds, and Molly feels Hermione reach out to touch them.
“This is amazing!” Hermione has to repeat herself twice before Molly finally understands, the high speeds stealing her words and making her shout.
Molly feels at peace, high up in the air, away from everything. Hermione’s warm body is tucked against her own, their hair is wild and free, and Molly can see the stars with startling clarify. She would spend the rest of her life like this, if she could.
.5.
Molly swallows nervously as she enters the grand ballroom, her eyes struggling to focus against all the sining lights and twinkling decorations. The room is huge– bigger than their entire house, really.
The room is swathed in Yule decorations, and the ceiling is charmed to constantly release snowflakes, though as one lands on Molly, she notes that it isn’t cold.
“Mister Malfoy.” She greets Draco Malfoy easily, and he gives her an awkward, tight smile. She didn’t believe in projecting the sins of ones father onto his son, so while Lucius Malfoy may have been a right arse in school, hsi son seemed just fine.
“Hello, Miss Prewett. Your dressing is stunning. And please, call me Draco.” She quirks a smile, her eyes straying to look at Hermione. She must’ve told him of her preferred name ahead of time. What a peach.
“Thank you. You look lovely as well. Harry is one lucky man.” Draco’s cheeks turn a faint pink, and he smiles. “You think so? I think I’m the lucky on, honestly.” Molly laughs lightly, and shakes her head. Draco moves aside andlets her continue into the room.
Draco was hosting a Winter Ball. And seeing as he swept across the room and chatted with nearly everyone, she supposed he invited everyone he knew, and their family’s.
Molly wore a long, green dress. It was silky, but flowy, so it wasn’t tight on her ample figure. She felt beautiful in it, and Hermione had said as much when she helped her pick it out. On top of her dress was her signature leather jacket. She had some doubts about wearing it, seeing as it wasn’t that appropriate for a ball, but ended up tossing the garment on, on her way out.
Hermione was wearing a gorgeous pink dress that went down to just below her knees. Molly beelined towards her friend, catching her by the refreshments table.
‘Molly! You’re here, finally.” Hermione jibes her playfully, and Molly grin. “I had to make sure I looked perfect.” Hermione rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“Of course. Would you like some wine?” Hermione held a glass of wine out for Molly, who plucked it from her hands, nodding in thanks.
They turned to face the rest of the room, and Molly rested against the edge of the table.
They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the dancing couples.
Harry and Draco stood arm in arm, and they twirled around the room with a commanding sort of grace, that had even Molly watching them. She didn’t even know Harry could dance, and definitely hadn’t pegged him as one to be good at it, seeing as he tripped and stumbled on everything.
Ron wasn’t attending, and neither was Charlie. The former was busy with a case, and the later was shuttled back off to Romania the month prior.
Ginny danced her date, Dean Thomas, and they hovered around the edges of the dance floor. Bill and Fleur were dancing, and exchanging kisses. George and Angelina were sitting at a table across the room, both with small plates of food in front of them, and their son sitting between them.
“Would you like to dance?” Arthur hadn’t come, because he had to work over time.
“I’d love to.”
Both women made their way to the main floor, before facing each other and stepping close. Molly scans Hermione’s face, enjoying the vague pinkness on her cheeks from the alcohol.
They begin to dance, starting off clumsy and awkward as they get used to each other. Soon enough, though, they’re spinning and twirling around the floor, their movements graceful and poised. Hermione laughs as Molly dips her, and then returns the favour.
Molly’s dress swishes with her legs as she moves, and her flats click against the floor with every step. Hermione and Molly whisper back and forth as they glide across the floor, eyes crinkling in delight and hearts thrumming.
Soon they come to a slow stop, and when they turn their eyes to the rest of the guests, many of the are staring. Bill and Fleur waltz around them, and Fleur chuckles knowingly.
“You two are lovely together.” Bill sends her a confused look, before shrugging and sending Molly and Hermione a smile.
Molly and Hermione, feeling quite bashful, move to a table in one of the corners. Molly watches Hermione lower herself down in her seat.
Molly shrugs her jacket off and steps closer to Hermione. Hermione fixes her with a confused look.
“Merry Christmas, Mione.” She holds out her jacket, waiting for Hermione’s reaction. She gasps, “Molly, no, I can’t.” Hermione tries pushing her hands away, but Molly insists.
“Please, I want you to have it,” Molly sobers slightly. “When I– Well, when I’m back to normal, I guess, I’ll probably just shove it back in my closet. I want it to live, I want it to be cared for. And, I trust you.”
Tears gather at Hermione’s lashes, and bshe jumps up to hug Molly, her arms winding around her neck.
“Of course, I’ll take care of it.” Hermione tightens her arms, and Molly reaches around to hug her.
“Thank you,” Hermione whispers the words, and Molly nods minutely.
Hermione pulls back, and Molly holds the jacket out. “Help me put it on?” Molly nods.
She holds her arms out, and Molly helps her thread her arms into the sleeves. She adjusts the jacket once it’s on, until it settles on Hermione’s shoulders comfortably.
The Gryffindor girl turns around, and Molly stares at her in awe. She looks beautiful like this– wrapped in Molly’s clothes, a radiant smile on her face, and thick brown curls hanging loosely in her face. She looks stunning, and Molly wishes she could kiss her.
“You look amazing, Mione.” Hermione’s smile goes wobbly, and she hugs Molly again.
“Thank you for this, Moll’s.” Molly shrugs. “Of course.”
.1.
Hermione jumps as Molly suddenly enters her room, the door hitting the wall with enough force to make noise.
“Molly?” Molly’s gaze is trained on Hermione, and she looks frantic. Hermione stands up from her bed quickly, moving forward to stand in front of Molly. She places a gentle hand on her shoulder and questions her.
“They’ve,” Molly swallows, and Hermione’s eyes are drawn to her neck. “They’ve found a way to fix me.” Hermione freezes, and her heart stutters.
“They have?” Molly nods.
Molly gives her this– this desperate look, her eyes searching in a way that has Hermione’s knees weak. Hermione’s dark eyes flicker from Molly’s eyes, to her mouth.
Hermione can’t explain her next actions– except, she can. The way Molly looked at her, smiled at her, understood her. The way that she walked, and the way that she talked. The way that she sang unabashed, and the way she danced with no groove. The way she smiled with all her teeth, and the way she wove flowers into her hair.
That is what Hermione would tell you, if you asked why she kissed Molly. Why she surged forward with all the passion and force of a raving current, slamming her body into Molly’s and pressing their lips together tightly.
She moved her mouth against Molly’s, and the girl responded in kind, their kiss was fast, messy, and desperate. They poured their souls into the kiss, using their lips as an outlet– they needed to convey just how much they cherished each other, and how deeply they loved one another.
They pulled away too soon– too soon, as Hermione felt her eyes sting, and she spotted Molly’s eyelashes damp and clinging together.
Hermione stares into the big, brown eyes of Molly Prewett, and she realises with a jolt that she is hopelessly, despairingly, and eagerly, in love with her. She’s in love with Molly, a girl who is soon to be no more, a girl who will soon be untouchable, just out of reach, locked away inside a woman Hermione should see as a mother.
Hermione wishes this didn’t have to end. She ignores all the selfishness in that, all the awfulness. Instead, she focuses on Molly. Molly, who she kisses again, and again, and again. Even as salty tears flow down their cheeks, and seep between their lips, Hermione kisses Molly. Even as their mouths sting from the salt, and their cheeks are red from lack of oxygen, Hermione kisses Molly.
Hermione kisses Molly, until she’s not kissing Molly. She kisses Molly, until they’re walking down the hallway, headed to the living room.
She yearns for Molly as she stands next to her, a silent guardian as they enter the Department of Mysteries, and deliver the redhead to the Auror who will fix her. Fix her.
Molly was never Hermione’s to have, never Hermione’s to love. She was never meant to be Hermione’s. And despite this, Molly owns Hermione’s heart– will forever own her heart. She has carved a spot out for herself in the very fibre of Hermione’s being.
Hermione’s heart aches ferociously, and she wants nothing more than steal her away, take Molly far away where they can be together. But then Ron pulls her in, he kisses the side of her head lovingly, and she startles as she looks up at him. He’s looking down at her with hopeful, excited eyes, and Hermione realises nobody will share her despair, because they aren’t losing Molly, not like she is. They’re getting their Molly back.
So Hermione weeps alone, mourning her Molly.
.
She wants so badly to go after her. She needs to go after her.. She takes a step forward–
Molly steps out of the room, Auror Canter following shortly behind. Molly’s face shows signs of age, her real age. Her eyebrows are furrowed deeply, and her face is painted with a frown. Her eyes sweep the room, her gaze not even stuttering when she passes over Hermione, and it hurts .
The room feels smaller, so much smaller, so much tighter. Hermione feels like she’s suffocating, as if she’s being vacuum sealed in a bag, her chest compressing and her lungs suffering. Her eyes sting, and she lets the tears spill out. She pretends she’s happy, that she’s glad Molly is back. When Ron hugs her, he’s crying to, and to everyone else they look like two happy teens who got their family member back. Hermione knows different, though. Hermione feels different.
Her insides quiver as she steps up to Molly, having loitered in the back, waiting for the gaggle of Weasley kids to hug and greet her first. “Molly,” Her voice is hopeful, her eyes searching. She nearly winces when Molly gives her a full, bright smile. A motherly smile, a platonic smile. Eveeyrthing in her face is different. She draws her in for a hug, and Hermione nearly breaks down at that very moment.
Molly was back, but her Molly was gone. Her Molly was dead, doomed to be hidden away in the recesses of this loving mother’s brain.
Hermione decidedly doesn’t make an excuse to slip away. She doesn’t run to the safety of her office and throw herself to the floor. She doesn’t bury her face in Molly’s leather jacket and inhale so hard her lungs struggle and her throat spasms.
Hermione doesn’t weep and sob on her dusty floor, clutching the last piece of Molly she has.
She makes her way back to the happy family, now having migrated back to the Burrow. There’s champagne on the table, and Hermione smells some sort of desert cooking. George is theatrically retelling some of Molly’s most humorous moments from the year, and Ron in serving Molly tea.
Hermione folds herself in with the family, toddling around the room like a ghost, a fake smile plastered to her face. She floats to and fro, but nobody notices. Nobody notices her vacant eyes or her stuffy nose.
And when she makes love to Ron that very night, she’s haunted by the image of Molly, her Molly, Molly Prewett.