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Molly liked her clock.
It hadn’t always been hers, what with it being an heirloom that Arthur’s grandmother had gifted them for their wedding, to the ire of her daughter who had coveted it for years. It was the first piece of furniture they had moved in when they had built the Burrow, and she had always taken great care of it. As time passed, she had added a new hand each time their family had grown.
Seeing it in the corner of her eye as she moved around the house, knowing that she could check on her family with a glance had always been comforting for her. Even at the height of the war, when every hand remained stuck on Mortal Peril no matter the time of day, she’d kept glancing at it every so often, if only to reassure herself that they were still there.
Nowadays, it was all she did.
She spent her every waking moment looking at it, watching the hands spin and move as Arthur and the children went on with their lives. Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and George had gone back to work, living in their own homes and picking up the pieces of a broken world. Ginny and Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts, intent on finishing their education while Harry had been fast-tracked into the Ministry, hoping to help rebuild everything that had been lost.
Light poured into the room as the large clouds lazily moved along with the breeze and revealed the autumn sun, catching her eye. Looking out of the window, she could see Ron putting up the laundry in the garden. She watched as he picked up a bed sheet and failed once again to charm it so it would hang itself.
He had been the only one who had come back to her.
The only one who stayed.
Here he was, taking care of his useless mum instead of going off to live his own life. She knew from the letter he had thrown away that he had turned down an offer from the Ministry so he could stay by her side.
And she hated herself all the more for it.
She watched him struggle until he finally got the charm right and set out to hang the rest of the laundry with a flick of his wand.
He stood tall amongst the white linen, a confidence he had only recently grown into clear in his posture. When she saw him from behind like this, he looked so much like...
Her grip tightened on the small blue sweater she clutched close to her heart and turned away, her eyes finding the clock again, searching for a hand that wasn’t there anymore.
“Gerroff me! Gerroff me! Gerroff-”
The gnome’s squeals turned into a cry as the spun thirty feet away in the air and landed in the sunflower field over the hedge.
“Looks like you got better.” George stuck his arm into a peony bush and pulled it back, holding another Gnome kicking the air with its horned feet. “Bet you still can’t reach the stump though.”
“In your dreams, maybe. Unlike you, I’ve had plenty of time to train.”
George swung the Gnome above his head and threw it out of the garden where it landed a few feet beyond the stump.
“Train all you want, you’ll never equal our-” His breath caught in his throat and the smile that was until now tugging at his lips faltered. After a few moments, the smile returned, forced and strained as the mirth had left his boast. “My innate talent.”
Thankfully, Ron did not remark on it and they simply kept on de-gnoming the garden in silence, knowing that there was nothing they could say that they had not already said or heard a thousand times. And after the memorial earlier this week... George was sick of it.
The Ministry had wanted to pay homage to the victims of the war and had invited all of those who had fought at Hogwarts as guests of honour. Many had gone, George included, in hope of finding some closure they had not been able to find on their own.
It had not helped.
Neither Ron nor Mum had come, and both of their seats in the front row had remained empty for the ceremony. Ron, who looked like George felt these days, had mentioned being too busy with chores and how he’d lost track of time, only realising how late it was when the night was already falling. Never mind the fact that only three people were living in the Burrow now, or that he could use magic to work around the house.
He had not mentioned Mum.
George had not asked.
He was not sure he could have held back the tears if he did.
The moon was already shining in the night sky when Arthur appeared at the edge of the property, slouching from exhaustion as he walked up to the door.
One would have thought that with Voldemort and most of his followers gone, things would get back to normal and life would resume, just as it was before the war. That’s how things had been the first time after all. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had left the Ministry in shamble.
As if killing and arresting most of the employees had not been enough, the Death Eaters had burned down most of the records when word of you-know-who’s death had reached them in a last-ditch effort to spoil their victory. The days were long and the work hard, taking all of Percy and his time, but it was necessary if they ever wanted to rebuild the Ministry and put the war behind them.
Arthur stepped into the house and his nose was immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of something burning. The kitchen was a mess. Pots filled with burnt foods had been cast aside on the counter covered with flour, broken eggs and spilt sauce while piles of dirty bowls and utensils filled the sink. Nothing a little magic wouldn’t fix, however.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Son.”
Letting go of his briefcase, Arthur brought Ron into a long hug without a care for the dirty apron he was wearing.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Could you get Mum?”
“I’ll get her.”
Leaving his youngest boy fusing around the oven, Arthur cleaned his clothes with a flick of his wand and stepped into the living room to find an all too familiar sight.
She was in the same spot she had been when he had left this morning. And every morning before that.
The Green and blue armchair. The one with the frills, sitting right in front of the family clock.
Fred’s favourite.
“Hey there, Mollywobbles.” Her sunken eyes stared straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence and lacking the glint of joy he loved so much, even as he gently took her hand into his. The dim light coloured her skin a pale grey, far too reminiscent of what he had seen only months before. He waved his wand off the side, lighting up more lamps and opening the cupboard while he was at it so that the table would set itself. “Ron’s made dinner. How about that?”
She didn’t answer. She rarely did nowadays.
Still, she let herself be guided up and to the dinner table where Ron was already putting down a roasted chicken with a side of potatoes and leafy greens. They sat down and after a few pleasantries between him and Ron, dug in.
“It’s very good.” The grimace on his son’s face as he chewed the painfully dry meat was telling, but Arthur would not belittle his efforts, no matter what. So he ate. No matter how dry or how blackened parts of the meat were, he would eat it all. “You’re improving, Ron.”
Ron did his best, but he was no Molly. Not that he could blame the boy. He was already infinitely grateful that he had chosen to stay and help until things calmed down at the Ministry. He simply never learned how to cook properly.
Despite all their children having been assigned chores since they could walk, none of them had been allowed in the kitchen when came time to cook. It was Molly’s kingdom and no one, not even Arthur would cook in it, even when she felt unwell. His Mollywobbles had always taken pride in her cooking, and she saw it as the best way to express her love and care for her family.
It’s no wonder he fell for her after one meal.
“You need to cook it longer at a lower temperature,” said Molly as she moved around a morsel of her small potion on her plate, Ron and Arthur looking at her in shock. “brining it beforehand also helps.”
She kept eating after that, not speaking another word nor looking at them until she was done and she walked back to the armchair.
Ginny dragged her tired and aching body down the stairs and up to the painting of a bowl of fruits. Tickling the pear until it laughed and opened the passage, her mind was filled with all the ice cream and pastries she could imagine as a consolation for the Quidditch practice of hell she had just experienced.
She had been delighted when she had been made captain, but after months of intense training, she could only cry at how pathetic her team was turning out now that all the experienced players had left or graduated.
She stepped in, ready to find a house elf to barter with, only to stop dead in her tracks when she found Ron only a few feet away, bowls and utensils floating around him as he cooked under the watchful eye of several house elves.
He looked up in surprise, his hands continuing to mash a plate of potatoes, and greeted her with a grin.
“What are you doing here?” She grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit by the entrance and walked up to him. “Missing the school so much you took a job in the kitchens?”
“Not exactly. With how much I keep screwing up, Nobby would never let me serve the kids.” He laughed while the house elf sitting on an upside-down pot on the counter nodded vehemently. “No, I’m learning to cook.”
“Why?” She propped herself up and sat down on the counter “Can’t do it at home?”
“Well, I needed a teacher. And this is a school, right? This is where you come to learn stuff.”
“So what, you’ve been sneaking into the castle every night to haunt the kitchens?”
“Pretty much. I come here after Dad gets home so there’s someone with Mum just in case.” He put the potatoes aside, picking up the meat a charmed knife was grinding to inspect it. “I don’t sneak though, McGonnagal gave me permission and everything.”
They didn’t talk much after that.
Thoughts rolled in her head as she watched him work until, finally, she made up her mind. Throwing away her apple core in a nearby bin, she hopped down and rolled up her sleeves.
“Can I help?”
Ron put down the soup-filled plate in front of Molly and sat down across from her. Disregarding his plate, he watched her as she picked up her spoon and tasted it, trying to discern something in her reaction.
“Too much salt. And you should thin it a bit more. The taste of the fish is too strong.”
Picking up the pen and notebook Hermione had gifted him, Ron crossed out part of the recipe and wrote down some ideas. He hadn’t been able to taste test this one with Ginny and it showed. Maybe he could try to add something to balance the fish?
He kept thinking and scribbling away, his own plate forgotten as Molly ate in silence in front of him.
The fire crackled and popped lazily in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over Fleur’s living room. She took a sip of her hot chocolate, content to let the pages of the book floating in front of her turn as she sat on the couch, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Despite everything, she would never regret crossing the channel to be with Bill, but winter days like this one still had her longing for her childhood home on the Mediterranean coast.
“Got room for me?”
“Only if you warm your feet first.”
Bill smiled, sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and sat next to her on the couch. He leaned forward and she closed her eyes, enjoying the kiss as she felt his hand slip under the blanket to caress her rounding belly. They stayed like this for a while, sitting together and content in each other’s presence.
“I take it he’s gone?”
“He is. He left so fast I was afraid he’d jump out the window just so he wouldn’t waste time with the stairs.”
“Without saying goodbyes? I’d expected better of him.”
“Don’t be too hard on him.” Bill lifted the blankets and snuck underneath, snuggling up to her. “You should have seen him when I found it. He couldn’t wait to try it out.”
“Well, I expect he’ll at least bring some next time he visits. I’m not sure I can forgive him otherwise.”
“I’ll pass it along. But he had someone else in mind first.”
At the precise moment the timer rang, Ron opened the oven and pulled out the tray. Putting it down on the counter, he picked up the leaves he had prepared and garnished the well-baked shepherd’s pie with it. Discarded In a corner of the kitchen, Charlie’s package laid open, and some of the leaves and spices remained inside, waiting to be put away.
With a careful wave of his wand, Ron floated the plate up and onto the dinner table, where Molly was already waiting. After serving her a sizable portion, he stood to the side, holding his breath as she brought the fork to her mouth.
“It’s perfect.”
The warm glow of the spring sun that bathed the living room behind them paled in comparison to her smile and the tears that came to his eyes.
In front of an empty armchair, the family clock was ticking at the rhythm of a beating heart.
In its trunk, nested behind the pendulum, hung a blue knitted sweater, proudly displaying the letter F.
There it would remain, forever in the heart of a family that will keep on living.