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camelliacats · 1 year

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room to grieve

Prewett fam hcs, done for Family Bootcamp Challenge (prompt: hard) in the HPFC on FFN.

Fic: "room to grieve" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Molly-centric Molly Weasley/Arthur Weasley, the Weasley children, & a cameo from Pandora Lovegood/Xenophilius Lovegood, with mentions of others

Rating: K

Words: ~6,600

Additional info: romance, family, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Maydayverse, sequential, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: After news of her brothers' deaths, Molly makes an abrupt change.

"Molly, I…"

Mad-Eye's weak apology faded from her mind, fresh and yet just as distant as his words had faded from his tongue when he'd arrived on their doorstep last week. If she closed her eyes, she could swear that she were still standing with the front door cracked open, her welcoming smile frozen on her face, Arthur behind her with a warm, steadying hand on her back…

"…um. Mum?"

Molly blinked back tears and swallowed a lump caught in her throat. Oh. There really was a warm hand on her back. She mustered a smile for her second oldest. "Sorry, Charlie. Did you need something, dear?"

He furrowed his brow and peered at her, more closely than she would've liked. "Just—it's lunchtime. D'you have something ready? Or I can make something, for the rest of us," he added quickly.

She glanced over his head (still easy for now, but already her eight-year-old was at her shoulder and catching up with his brother). Four more pairs of eyes watched their interaction from the other side of the kitchen counter. It might've been five, she mused, if Ginny were a tot and not almost two months old. But Molly shook her head and wiped her dishwater-stained hands on her apron, grabbing her wand and waving over the sink, hoping magic would pick up her slack. "No, no, we've all got to eat. Let's see," she said, turning around to rummage through the fridge…and finding it surprisingly emptier than usual. "Ah, we're a bit short on eggs."

"I can go 'round back and collect them. I'm more than old enough."

"No, no, the chickens have been out of sorts lately… We'll just have some sandwiches," Molly decided, turning around to the counter instead. But she lifted the door to the bread box and found nothing but heels.

Ah. Right. She…normally would've set a fresh loaf to bake yesterday morning, wouldn't she?

"Then soup—"

Before she could open the fridge a second time, Charlie gently slid into her path. His freckled smile was soft and kind, and he gave her a one-armed hug. "Mum, have a sit, yeah? You seem a bit peaky. I'll make you tea. Right quick, promise."

A second lump formed in her throat, but she leaned into his hug and kissed the top of Charlie's head (anything not to look at that soft expression—no, it was too familiar right now). Molly nodded and wandered into the living room afterwards, staring blankly across the room at Ginny's rocker. It didn't register until Percy turned around from the counter between bites of his sandwich to gently nudge the rocker that Ginny was, in fact, present inside and sound asleep under her brother's watchful eye.

The scene was enough to make the lump wedged in Molly's throat burst, and her vision turned misty, blurry. But she disappeared upstairs so her children wouldn't witness her second meltdown in as many weeks.

For the second time that day, she felt a warm hand on her back. It was enough to rouse Molly from her crying-induced nap, exhausted though she was, but sitting up took effort.

"Ah, there we are." At least it really was Arthur this time, sitting beside her, on their bed—wait, Arthur?

Molly paused mid-unfurl and glanced at the small clock on her nightstand. "Oh, no. Arthur, what are you doing home so early?"

He brushed her curls back from her face and cupped her cheek in his hand. His thumb traced over dried tear tracks as though they marred her, glaringly obvious in how she'd spent her afternoon. Arthur's smile was small. "The boys worried about disrupting me at work and since Bill was spending the day at Ignatius and Lucretia's with, ah, with the new…owl…," Arthur explained, his eyes falling briefly to the mattress. He cleared his throat. "The children Floo'd your parents, who Floo'd me."

Molly furrowed her brow. "But—they don't know how to use the Floo powder."

"Apparently they do." Arthur shrugged. "I suppose when we taught Bill last summer, in case of emergencies, it vaguely stuck with Charlie. But Percy's been reading about it on his own. Very bossy and exacting when it comes to magic, that one," he added with a light chuckle. Then Arthur sighed and locked eyes with Molly. "Your parents described the boys as extremely concerned, Mollywobbles. You didn't eat? You're too quiet today… And you came to our room to cry again."

She bristled and pushed Arthur's hand away. Molly stood and smoothed the front of her dress, as well as her skirt and apron, which she'd forgotten to leave behind in the kitchen earlier today. "The children don't need to see me like this."

"They've seen plenty, Molly. They're mourning, too, in their own way."

At that, she gritted her teeth and placed her hands on her hips. She faced their closet, looking for something to do while she stewed. "…it's different, Arthur."

He was quiet for one, two, three beats. "I know." Another pause. "For you, and for Edwin and Milly, I know."

She frowned at the mention of her parents, but at least Arthur seemed to understand her point. Molly exhaled, a large breath, and decided a stack of Arthur's favorite jumpers needed tidying right then, so she squatted beside them and got to it. "This is hardly something to come home early for, Arthur."

The mattress creaked under his weight; he must've shifted (she had to guess without looking). But she heard the weariness in his voice when he said, "You most certainly come before work, Molly. Especially right now, when your days are on repeat."

Molly paused folding a cardigan (ah, the golden one with bronze and mahogany threads—her first anniversary gift to him), long enough to digest his words. But then she resumed her task, and Arthur exited the room to leave her be.

"I just needed a different task and to have everyone home," Molly insisted later that evening when she and Arthur prepared for bed after seeing the boys to their rooms. Ginny's crib magically, silently swayed in a corner of her parents' room while the couple moved about.

Arthur glanced askance at his wife and finished buttoning his pajama top. "That so…?"

"Yes! That's what I need, Arthur. To know where my family is, at all times."

"That seems a bit much, Mollywobbles."

She freed her hair of her nightgown's collar in time to offer him a particularly hard stare. "Nothing is 'a bit much' in these times, Arthur. Look at the close calls the Longbottoms have had. The Potters are in hiding! As for the rest of the Order—" Molly stopped short of listing disappearances and other deaths. Instead, she closed her eyes and summoned to mind Fabian's and Gideon's faces…only to have them overridden by the memory of Mad-Eye's apology yet again.

Something softly thunked outside their bedroom door, interrupting their conversation and Molly's morose train of thought. Closest to the door, Arthur got up and checked. He chuckled as he bent to receive the surprise. "Well, perhaps you're right about having everyone home—Bill's doing, I reckon," he said as he passed Molly a steaming mug.

She accepted it, and the new warmth in her hands helped calm her, as did the chamomile scent. "Mm, perhaps, once he heard about today. Or Charlie, since I didn't let him make me a cup earlier."

"They're good boys, looking out for their mother."

"But that's not their job, Arthur. It's a parent's job, to look out for her children."

"It's all right for things to be a little backwards when the world's a bit upside–down, luv." He let his words sink in with a long look at his wife, and Arthur raised his eyebrows. But then he offered her another small smile and rubbed her upper arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving to turn the covers down.

Molly, meanwhile, remained standing. Arthur's words did a better job penetrating compared to this afternoon, now that she was calmer…and, she supposed with a desire to chuckle herself, tea helped, too. But tea worked best while hot, so she brought the mug to her lips and tilted it back—

—and nearly dropped it.

She tightened her grip on the mug before Arthur took notice and scooted close to the lamp on her nightstand. There, with her back to her husband, she peered at the mug's pale contents…and couldn't quite believe what she saw.

Someone pale, ghost white stared back. Her curls lacked their normal bounce, but their red color only made the reflection's sickly pallor stick out more. And worst of all were the eyes…her eyes, raw to the point where she almost lost sight of her Prewett brown eyes. The bags underneath were a tired, angry purple, like bruises.

The sight terrified Molly. To think Arthur and the children had seen nothing but this for the past week…!

…and yet…

A new lump formed in her throat as she thought about her interaction with Charlie today, about avoiding his eyes.

Because it was one thing to be terrified by her own sordid reflection right now. But it was a far scarier thing to her these days, looking at Charlie or Bill and seeing Gideon and Fabian in them.

Molly forced herself to sip the chamomile tea. It was just on the cooler side of hot, enough to force the lump in her throat to dissolve into a calming heat that nestled in her chest. Several sips later, Molly could set the mug down on her nightstand and get into bed, leaving Arthur to flick off the lights.

But, an hour later, the chamomile hadn't taken full effect. Molly's calm remained, but sleep was far off. She shimmied into an upright position and glanced around the room.

Arthur snored softly beside her, his back a warm comfort barely an inch away. Ginny's crib kept going even now, but Molly's baby girl must've shifted, for Molly heard the lightest rustle from inside, followed by a sleep-babbling coo. No shadows moved outside their door, meaning the boys remained asleep in their rooms, as well.

Molly glanced at the duvet and then to the empty mug. After catching sight of herself tonight, suddenly she felt as though three ghosts haunted her…

And she wondered why into the wee hours of the morning.

When Arthur woke the next morning, he saw Molly with Ginny in her arms and in higher spirits. "G'morning, you two. Sleep well, Mollywobbles?"

"A little," Molly answered, swaying absentmindedly to an old Celestina song she couldn't recall the whole of at the moment. She made a funny face for Ginny, who stared up at her with wide, rapt eyes. Molly laughed but kept her volume low, since the boys weren't likely to be up yet on the weekend. "My mind kept me awake longer than I hoped."

At that, Arthur frowned. He donned his slippers and shuffled over to her, interrupting Molly's odd half dance with his hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Molly… You really meant it when you said you only slept a little, didn't you?" he asked after peering at her.

But Molly shook her head. "It's not all bad, Arthur, honest. In fact, I think I figured out how I want best to handle my brothers'—absence." She winced. She knew they were dead, but forcing the word "passing" out of her mouth was too daunting a task.

"I'm all ears, luv."

Molly's eyes flicked to his. She held his gaze for two heartbeats and held Ginny close. She pricked up her ears for signs of their little eavesdroppers…but, no, the house remained quiet. So she returned Ginny to the crib and wrung her hands in the fabric of her nightgown. Concentrating on the mix of freckles and plaid made it so much easier to deliver her words: "Arthur…would you hate it…if I went by my maiden name instead?"

The stillness of the house settled in their room now, too. When Molly lifted her head, she saw Arthur had gone terribly still—but he couldn't help his fallen expression.

Molly frowned. Of course it'd be too much to ask. It sounded terrible, too, didn't it? Asking now, after all their years together already.

Almost as if in answer, Arthur reached for her hands with his left, and his ring glinted in the morning sun fighting its way into the room through the curtains. "Molly—"

She shook her head. "No, no. Sorry I asked. That was wr—"

"Molly." Arthur caught her hands and held them, brought them close to his heart, secure and safe and sound. He nodded and rested his forehead against hers. "You do what you need to do, Molly. If this is right for you, if it brings you peace, then how could I possibly hate it?"

This time, when her eyes filled with tears, she didn't feel so heavy the way she had the last several days. Instead, something light filled her, hearing Arthur's words, and she broke into a small smile amidst her tears. She tilted her head up and kissed his nose and then his lips. "Arthur…! Oh, Arthur. Thank you. Thank you so much."

He shook his head. "Nothing to thank me for, Molly."

"You know I love being your 'Mrs. Weasley.'"

"That I do."

Her eyes widened. "The children. It'll be confusing for them."

Arthur drew her into an embrace. "Children have their own way of understanding things. Bill and Charlie are getting older; they'll be off to Hogwarts before you know it. And Percy's far sharper than my knife in my old Potions kit."

The mention of the class brought to mind a few old memories…but Molly sighed in his arms as more recent ones caught up with her.

"Something else, Mollywobbles?"

Molly leaned against his chest. "No, just thinking that I've been stuck on repeat—but I think this is a chance to move forward." She truly believed so.

Whether Arthur concurred, he kept his musings to himself and simply offered her another hug.

She'd been "Molly Weasley" for more than ten years now, so a simple declaration wasn't the same as flicking her wand and waving her present with Arthur away, nor did she want that.

But Molly dressed that day and ran the house with a little more help than usual from Arthur, feeling Bill's and Charlie's eyes follow her throughout breakfast. It helped, though, when Arthur encouraged the boys to get outside while the weather still had a hint of warmth as autumn dragged on.

Yes. Good. That left Molly to watch over a sleeping Ginny in the living room and sit down and sort through the post, which had piled up considerably over the past week. The Prophets had been tidied and managed, she noted, and Molly resisted the urge to search the latest issue's obituaries for familiar names.

Instead, she pulled into her lap assorted letters and bills…oh, dear. There were heaps of letters, sometimes two or more from the same addresses, sometimes a letter from a name she'd long forgotten since her and Arthur's school days…

Even before opening the letters, Molly knew: Word had gotten around about Fabian's and Gideon's deaths.

Molly reached for Ginny, adjusting the baby's blanket around her. Ginny's tiny fist curled around her mother's pinky finger, and she held on tight with all her baby might. The motion distracted Molly with a smile. So she borrowed that strength and flicked her wand, opening the first letter.

Professor McGonagall's was the first. Molly read it, twice, without committing the words to memory. But it struck her, the oddness of the situation, that such a prim, proper, respectable professor…would pour her heart out, her sympathies on the page to a former student in this time of unimaginable loss.

The Longbottoms' was next. It was from Frank and Alice both, but Molly recognized Alice's penmanship. Alice offered support and an ear, which Molly thought kind, if only the war didn't make that impossible.

Lily wrote on the Potters' behalf, twice: expressing heartbreak for Molly's loss and her fellow classmates and friends, and again checking in with Molly since she'd heard Mad-Eye had bungled delivering the news. James risked penning a quick missive himself, even, bringing the Potters' total to three, saying he'd miss Fabian's and Gideon's echoed laughs.

Professor Flitwick reached out with the offer of his ear and some tea, as did Professor Sprout, and yet more Hogwarts staff offered condolences. Emmeline Vance, sweet woman, spoke of the twins' character as fellow Aurors and as decent men, and other few remaining of the Order said much the same.

The two letters that surprised Molly the most, though, came from very different people. The first was from Augusta Longbottom, Frank's mother. She mentioned that she'd written Molly's parents already and planned to see her former classmates soon, but she extended an invitation of company to Molly, as well, as she was "uniquely aware" of the dangers her son and daughter-in-law put themselves in and understood Molly might want an empathetic ear and shoulder.

The second came from Professor Dumbledore. His elegant script filled a page full of admiration for Fabian and Gideon, two likeable and talented wizards with "so much ahead of them." Dumbledore wrote that it never was and never has been in his plans for the Order or anyone to meet such fates, and that he was so sorry to her and to the Prewett family, "beyond words that I currently possess."

Dumbledore's letter gave Molly pause. Her head genuinely believed his words—he said, in various ways, that he was sorry countless times throughout his letter—but her heart…his letter didn't sit well with her heart. That gave rise to an odd sensation of sourness in her stomach, that perhaps this could be the one time she didn't trust in the old headmaster's words. Molly winced and set his letter aside.

As for the rest… Molly Summoned a dinner tray, a quill, and a bottle of ink, as well as parchment. She arranged things on the tray and picked up McGonagall's letter and chose to answer that one first.

Mostly bland "thank yous" came to mind, and Molly reread McGonagall's letter to tailor her response better. But, after a few lines, she was satisfied that that warranted an owl. And then she signed it:

—Ms. M. Prewett

Her quill hovered over the bar in the second t. Then she blinked before a bead of ink could drop onto the parchment, and Molly admired the signature anew.

How odd. How absurd! How…quaint. She'd grown up "Molly Prewett," so signing her name as such again shouldn't feel so alien…and, in a way, it didn't.

Molly grabbed a scrap of parchment and scribbled out her name a dozen more times.

Molly Prewett Molly Prewett Molly Prewett M. Prewett M. Prewett M. Prewett

She stared at her old name with fresh eyes. Yes…yes! This—this was it. She was Molly Prewett. She was Edwin and Milly Prewett's daughter. She was Fabian and Gideon Prewett's big sister.

She was Molly Prewett, and she would be all right and carry on.

Reclaiming her maiden name had given her a surge, a burst of…not quite confidence, per se, but Molly felt more positive that day, that weekend, than she had in a long while. Perhaps, she mused, more than she had since her brothers had joined the Order of the Phoenix…

She didn't answer every last sympathy letter that day, but Arthur did come fetch her when it was lunchtime.

He laughed at the spread of parchment all around her. "Why am I having flashbacks to cramming for exams?"

Molly scrunched her nose up at him. "Oh, hush up, Arthur. I've made good headway getting through the post."

"I can see that." Arthur reached for her scrap paper nearest him. But, reading her lines of "Molly Prewett" and "M. Prewett" didn't cause another crestfallen expression on his face. Actually, two spots of red blossomed on his cheeks. "Now I'm really having flashbacks to our school days and of me doodling your name in my notes…"

She laughed. "You turned bright scarlet when I asked to borrow your Transfiguration notes! I soon learned why, of course."

"Well, excuse you, but nursing a crush on a very pretty, very bright witch takes patience, like brewing a difficult potion…"

"We were average in Potions, Arthur."

"I was average; you were great. But I digress." He set her parchment down and glimpsed at the post. "Anything ready to send? I imagine, ah, Errol wouldn't mind a flight. Getting a bit of training from Ignatius is different from stretching its wings for real, and Bill seems quite fond of the bird."

Molly sighed. She passed him two letters—a reply each to McGonagall and to Alice and Frank—but hesitated to release her hold when Arthur took them. "Are we even certain Errol's meant for post?"

Arthur gave her a dubious look. "Molly, he's an owl. And he came to us via Fabian's estate. I can't imagine Fabian would keep an owl not meant for post. Unless—well, I don't recall Fabian being like Hagrid, having a general fondness for all animals?"

"No… Fabian liked them all right, but Gideon was the one—" She stopped short with a tight smile. As if on cue, a meow from elsewhere in the house echoed.

Now Arthur sighed. "Right on time, that one. I'll make certain Basil's fed, but your presence is demanded at the lunch table, Ms. Prewett." He pulled her letters free and planted a kiss atop her head. "And I'll send Errol on his way," Arthur promised, his voice quieter, gentler.

Molly watched him go, her unease over the new family owl dissipating after her exchange with her husband. Besides, even if she wanted to sulk longer, Ginny stirred then, and Molly couldn't feed an infant while covered in ink.

It helped. Truly, she believed, it helped, signing things "Ms. Prewett" where she could, and Arthur every now and then using "Ms. Prewett" as though he were calling on her like back in their courting days.

The few times the boys overheard, it left the children rather befuddled. "I'm just trying on an old name," Molly explained as she doled out dinner one evening.

Bill narrowed his eyes while he dwelled on the notion, but eventually he nodded. Charlie nodded with reluctance and Percy pursed his lips, but Fred, George, and Ron gaped at her with open confusion. Then Ron broke the tension with a happy laugh, convinced they were playing a game of make-believe.

In some ways, Molly wondered if she got off lightly. Arthur was right. Their children were taking this in stride; they had their own ways of understanding difficult things. As for adults…

Molly sent out replies to the rest of the letters, slowly, and noticed she didn't hear back. She liked to think it was others being busy (in general, with the school year, with Order business), but a part of her wondered if others thought her odd to revert to her maiden name so suddenly.

Being left to wonder was slightly better, though, Molly decided, than going out on the rare shopping trip in Muggle stores further inland and being greeted with a polite "Hullo, Mrs. Weasley!" She flinched with every smile and wave and wrong name, until she couldn't take it anymore and wrapped up her shopping on the early side.

But returning home with lighter bags reminded Molly of the emptier-than-normal fridge from last week. "Bill, watch your siblings, please," she instructed her eldest before grabbing a basket and popping around back to the coop. She filled the basket with half a dozen fresh, large eggs and then—with another, different POP—Disapparated across the way to the Lovegoods' home.

Molly knocked on their front door and strained her ears to identify which set of footsteps would greet her on the other side.

She lucked out: Level-headed Pandora opened the door with a look of surprise (or so Molly guessed—her pale eyes had this sort of permanently surprised air to them). "Molly! Hello, good to see you."

"Hello, Pandora." Molly held up her basket. "Eggs?"

Pandora smiled. "Thank you, dear. Your chickens really do lay the best." She gestured to the bushes beside the door with a small wave of her hand. "Please, fill your pockets with as many as you can. I and Xeno don't mind, honest."

"No, no, just enough for a pie," Molly insisted, but she let her fingers comb through the bright orange Dirigible Plums their friends grew. "How's Luna, by the way?"

"Still tiny. Eats like a creature with a bottomless stomach, but she's a slip of a thing at only…goodness, it's nearly eight months now, isn't it?" Pandora leaned against the door jamb. "Time flies and she's not even a year old."

Molly smiled, a chuckle in the back of her throat. "Wait until you've got seven with the first one nearly at Hogwarts' doors."

Pandora "hmm'd" at that and let a pleasant quiet settle between them. Once Molly wound down her selections and began plucking, however, Pandora piped up, "…Xeno may write his own paper, but I read the others, Molly. I'm—I'm so sorry."

Molly's hand stilled on a particularly large plum, one perhaps a wee bit too ripe. "I've heard that a lot these days," she admitted in a monotone.

"I can imagine. If there's anything you need—"

Her words were interrupted by her husband's heavy footfall on their staircase, however. Xenophilius came stomping downstairs, paused at the landing to search for Pandora, and lit up with curiosity when he saw her standing at the open door. "Pandora, you've got to hear this: Luna started to wake from her nap, but she went right back to sleep when I began to detail the Rotfang Conspiracy to her…!" He paused and poked his head over her shoulder. When he saw their guest, he gave Molly one of his sleepy, too-wide grins. "Ah! If it isn't Mrs. Molly Weasley!"

She couldn't help it. Hearing the wrong name yet again, Molly clenched her hand into a fist, smashing the too-ripe fruit in the process.

"Oh, my," Pandora murmured.

But Molly already had a handkerchief out to wipe up the mess. "I've got enough for today, thank you," she said by way of parting. She didn't wait for Pandora's goodbye before Disapparating back home.

And home…at home, Molly was left with her own thoughts and the knowledge that answering a silent letter however she wanted was a simple thing, really (just as easy as a swish of her quill!). But being constantly confronted with greetings and "Mrs. Weasley" while she was trying to adjust…it made all this feel like a futile task.

And that didn't help at all.

By the end of the week, Molly had another plan. Nothing outrageous, of course—just to surprise Arthur at work with lunch.

Much as it had been a long time when she'd last been "Miss Prewett" to his "Mr. Weasley," it'd been a long time since they'd last had a spontaneous date like this…and it would do Molly some good to get out of the Burrow, to get out of Ottery St. Catchpole. Thank Merlin she'd been blessed to have Cedrella as her mother-in-law and nearby, too; Molly dropped the children off to her and Septimus late Friday morning, and her in-laws sent her off with hugs and kisses and "Don't rush to pick them up!"

Arriving in London was a stark reminder of why they'd chosen Ottery St. Catchpole to live, Molly mused when she landed close by outside the Ministry's visitor entrance. The air was thick here and metallic and made her cough, nothing at all like the fresh and earthy scent of the Burrow.

Inside the Ministry wasn't much better. The Burrow gave them sunshine and greenery. The Ministry of Magic was…old and stone and darkness. Molly shivered on her way to the lifts.

It'd truly been too long since she'd last been here. She'd forgotten how the interdepartmental memos overhead hovered like bees and that bodies squished into the lifts much as she crammed vegetables into pickling jars for the season. Thankfully, her ride was short and spat her out onto Level Two, where she followed a few signs and some familiar faces (again, she heard friendly calls of "Hullo, Mrs. Weasley!") on her way to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

She ignored the greetings for now by recalling the Dirigible Plum incident and by focusing on Arthur's office straight ahead. And that was the right thing to do: Everything else seemed to fade into background noise when Arthur picked his head up from his work and saw her coming through his cracked-open door, his face lighting up with delight.

"Mollyw—!" He stopped short, turning bright red at almost calling her by her pet name here, of all places. He sheepishly offered her a hug despite her tiny glare. "Hello, luv. This is a pleasant shock."

"Well, we haven't done this in forever, and it felt like a good time for it," Molly declared, sinking into his arms after setting the basket of food on his desk. "Your parents have the kids, so I'm yours for lunch and dinner, if you like."

"Mm," Arthur hummed. He sighed happily into her hair and broke away only to conjure up a second chair for his wife. "I rather like the sound of that."

Molly smiled.

They opened the basket, revealing ham sandwiches and leftover slices of the spiced Dirigible Plum pie from the night before, as well as the last bottle of butterbeer Molly had found in the back of the fridge. Arthur split the bottle evenly between two cups and toasted to their rare afternoon together, just the two of them.

Molly seconded that, although the toast caught the attention of others in the office or passing through. Some git whistled at them and another snickered, but an older one—was that the one Arthur mentioned was Perkins?—said hello and wished "the Weasleys a pleasant day."

"Molly?" Arthur asked when his wife set her drink down and frowned at her plate.

She twisted her lips around.

"Is something the matter, luv?"

Molly exhaled, low and slow. She picked at the crust on the remaining half of her sandwich and left the last few sips of her part of the butterbeer alone. Not even the pie smelled appetizing anymore.

Arthur finished his sandwich but took his bites slowly, all the while keeping an eye on Molly. He took a polite bite of the pie and smiled at the familiar flavor. Yet when even that didn't turn her frown upside–down, Arthur wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed out of his chair. "All right, Molly. Come with me."

She furrowed her brow while he tried to tug her up. "What? Arthur, your lunch break can't last much longer. There's no place to go—"

"Come, come. Just come along, luv."

Molly raised one eyebrow.

"Just—take a walk with me. You'll see."

That lone, skeptical eyebrow stayed put as Arthur donned his outer cloak and rearranged Molly's shawl on her shoulders. So, it wasn't going to be a walk around the Ministry… Molly followed him to the employees' exits, and they vanished in a puff of green smoke the second they stepped into a free fireplace. They arrived in a designated spot shooting off from Diagon Alley; Molly recognized the backside of what could only be Obscurus Books.

"Ah, this way," Arthur insisted, taking Molly by the hand and leading her away from the publisher.

Now she was confused. "Just how far are we going?"

Arthur squeezed her hand in reply: Trust me.

Well, that was just silly. Of course she trusted Arthur.

They walked up a narrow, winding, but clean-swept alleyway. When Arthur emerged and brought Molly along with him, she understood in an instant why he'd wanted to get out here.

It was Muggle London. Yes, it still stank and made her cough…but this was outside the Ministry, outside the Wizarding world, outside their bubble of those who knew (or, rather, didn't know) they called her the wrong name.

And, for that reason alone, Molly could breathe.

Arthur waited a moment for her to reorient herself before they eased into a leisurely pace on the pavement. He glanced at the Muggle wares through the assorted stores' glass, but Molly caught him one time too many watching her in the reflection.

She leaned against his left arm. "…thank you, for bringing me out here."

He nodded.

She slipped her hand into his as they continued to walk, against the tide of some Muggles and with the flow of others. Molly squeezed in close to Arthur. "I've been so silly, Arthur."

"How?"

"This whole 'M. Prewett' thing." She shook her head, her voice cracking as she continued after a minute, "I can't believe it's taken me a whole week to figure it out, but it won't work."

He inhaled and exhaled but didn't comment. He squeezed her hand, urging her to continue voicing her thoughts.

"I feel so ridiculous for getting upset at every other person, friend or not, for calling me the wrong name. It's—It's not that others will never stop seeing me as 'Mrs. Molly Weasley.' What hurts more— No, what hurts the most is that there are no Prewetts left."

Arthur stopped them by a postbox and drew her near it, so they were out of the path of foot traffic. Then he faced her with pinched eyebrows. "Molly…what? How can you say that? What about your parents and your aunt and uncle?"

She shook her head. "No, Arthur, no. Uncle Ig and Aunt Lucy never had children. My parents had just us. And Fabian and Gideon are gone now. The Prewett line…it ends with me."

There.

There it was.

She'd said it aloud. The notion had been on the periphery of her thoughts since she'd first decided to take up her maiden name again…but it felt safer, somehow, to keep this idea unvoiced, to keep it buried, as if saying it aloud would make it too real.

But…it was real, as real as Mad-Eye Moody's horrible apology and the two bodies he'd brought home to her parents two weeks ago.

Letting reality finally sink in caused things to bubble up inside her, and Molly balled her hands up into fists, pressed her fists against her eyes, angry and trying not to cry in the middle of the street. Arthur held her, tight, against him, and it was a help and a comfort, but her emotions wouldn't settle, and she hiccupped into his shoulder.

"It ends with me," she mumbled into his cloak, "and no changing my name or mindset or anything can fix that."

"Molly, I…"

It wasn't Mad-Eye's apology that came to mind anymore. No, Arthur came to mind now, and that afternoon, and her trying not to cry, and Arthur crying in her stead, sharing in her pain and wishing he could fix it or take it away or anything.

And all of it—all of it—seemed like such small worries when, just weeks later, Voldemort finally fell, all at the magic of toddler Harry Potter.

That news made the rounds faster than lightning, but it was a hollow victory, Molly mused, for the losses of Lily and James, for the betrayal of Sirius, for all the heartache that led up to the end of this war.

"But," Molly said as she folded The Daily Prophet and set it and its speculation of Death Eaters' futures aside on the sofa, "if this war is over and it means you will grow up in peace, then I will come to terms with my past and present."

Baby Ginny smacked her lips at her mother and then stuck her tongue out.

Molly laughed and tickled her baby in her rocker, bringing a smile to Ginny's face. "Yes, yes, my spunky little one. You'll grow up to be a kind witch able to bring a smile to anyone's face… I won't have to worry about you trying to stop Dark Lords or his followers now, will I?"

"Reckon she's got to pursue another line of work," Arthur agreed, joining them in the living room that evening.

Molly smiled at him. "The boys tired yet? It's nearly dinnertime."

"Ah, there's still a bit of light left. Bill and Charlie are using Mum's and Fabian's old brooms for a bit, but they promised to keep their brothers on the ground."

"Oh, Arthur. Really? I'm not sure I like them flying without supervision."

"Bill will be eleven shortly, Molly, and you know he's got a good head on his shoulders." Arthur came and joined her on the sofa. He raised his eyebrows. "It's looking a lot as though both he and Charlie have Mum's thirst for Quidditch."

"But—Cedrella never got to play."

"Nope. So that thirst will be even worse this generation," Arthur said with a laugh.

Molly rolled her eyes, but then she noticed Arthur hadn't come empty-handed, which also might explain him sneaking back inside for a quiet moment with her. "What do you have there?"

He blinked, and those twin spots of red bloomed on his cheeks as usual. Arthur passed her a large gift wrapped in butcher's paper bespelled with a colorful blue tartan pattern and topped with a green bow. "Happy belated birthday, Mollywobbles."

She opened her mouth but held her tongue. That was right. Her birthday had been days ago—but then the massacre in Godric's Hollow had happened and… Everyone, not just Molly, had had better things to dwell on. Everyone except Arthur, of course. "Oh, Arthur…"

"Go on. Open it."

She gave him a tiny but grateful smile and arranged the surprisingly hefty item across her lap. Molly tore the packaging open in thick strips, confused to find a clock. Then she took a second look at it and saw the clock didn't tell time.

The clock had destinations ("school," "work," "mortal peril," to name a few) instead of hours. Where there ought to be hour and minute and second hands, there were nine hands total and each one had a name: seven for each of their children and one each for her and for Arthur.

Molly gaped at her husband.

"You once said you wanted to know where your family is, at all times. Now…you can." He scratched his right cheek in a bashful manner. "You, um, can hang it on the wall or stand it up or take it with you—it's got an Enlargement Charm on it, so size is no issue." Arthur dropped his eyes to the clock and he motioned to it with his chin.

As if the gift weren't enough, Arthur had had it engraved, as well. In swirling cursive, she read:

To my one and only M. Prewett–Weasley

"Thank you," she whispered, emotion dampening her volume. She turned and kissed his cheek and happily accepted his arms around her.

She…She'd meant what she'd told Ginny, about coming to terms with her past and her present, and Arthur's gift felt like a sign that she'd made the right choice.

She was Molly Prewett and she was Molly Weasley.

She was Molly Prewett–Weasley, and she would be all right and carry on.

Also done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #9: blankly) in the HPFC forum on FFN. Oh…my. This turned out to be one of those fics that spiraled out of control. XD SO MANY HEADCANONS…! I knew that, when I saw the prompt of "hard," I wanted to portray Molly's struggle in the aftermath of her brothers' deaths. Originally, this was only going to be her trying out her maiden name again…but several other things cropped up (a bit of my hc for Errol's origins, which I promise I have more of *eyes* and also the debut of the Weasley family clock, amongst other, minor details). I also thought this would be more gen than shippy, but Arthur was just…so, so supportive here that I can't not tag this as Morthur on AO3 and on tumblr. ;w; Writing loss is hard and painful, but having all her kids around her to act sorta like foils helped a lot, as well as including the letter-sorting scene. To think: Molly only turns 32 by the end of this story. That's barely older than me as I currently write this, and it gives me pause. What else… Regarding the family cat: I direct you to my story, "The Lingering Scent of Basil," a fan favorite. Additionally, working on this story in particular has me itching to work on a piece I drafted last summer, but I'm not yet sure if I will stick it in Fortune Favors the Brave or post it separately, but it does elaborate on smthg in the bkgd here. We'll see! And remember: If you're reading this on FFN, just follow this collection; if you're reading on AO3 or tumblr, then follow along with the series. -w-

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#hp #harry potter #morthur #molly weasley #arthur weasley #<7500 #romance #family #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #maydayverse #sequential #rated: G #trio era #3rd POV #prewetts: fortune favors the brave

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