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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

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Written In The Stars CXI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

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Chapter Nine: More Bad News.

Mel had to stay in her bedroom because of the dreadful headache she was suffering.

The back of her hand was burning, and she could see the skin actually starting to get a mark.

She wanted to see Ron's try out but she didn't want to fall unconscious in front of everyone. The girl rolled over on her bed, holding her hand and trying to ground herself, but her mind was fixed on Harry and his awful temper. It was true that he didn't deserve the punishment, but she didn't deserve to feel it either!

She went back to the common room, her head feeling heavy. Ron immediately walked up to her and handed her a butterbeer, he was beaming.

"I got in!" Ron did something he'd never done before and hugged her. "I'm on the team!"

"Blimey, Ronnie!" She grinned. "A Prefect and Gryffindor's keeper? You'll be getting dates in no time!"

"Lady!" Fred spoke up. "You knew about this?"

"I helped him train!" She said. "He's good isn't he?"

"He's all right," George shrugged.

"Let's hope his massive nose doesn't get it the way..." Fred smirked.

"Oh, shut up," Mel rolled her eyes.

"Come and make me," He taunted.

Luckily for her, Harry walked in right at that moment, and Ron dragged her with him to meet the boy.

"Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"What? Oh — brilliant!"

"Have a butterbeer. I can't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred.

Hermione was sleeping soundly on one of the chairs.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her..." said Ron.

"Let her sleep..." said George, and in no time a bunch of first years surrounded him and his twin.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," said Katie Bell. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead..."

Angelina walked up to Harry and her.

"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter. It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes... Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," She made a vague movement towards Ron. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, okay?"

Harry nodded and then he turned, his gaze fixed on her.

"You're... you're bleeding."

"Huh?" Mel frowned.

Harry reached for her hand and Mel stepped back.

"I'm fine," She grumbled, walking to where Hermione was sleeping.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Harry insisted.

"It never stopped," Mel scoffed. "Turning your back on me did nothing."

"You... you were supposed to be safe..."

She looked at him, his voice came out so utterly defeated that she had to take a moment to answer.

"You really thought it'd work?" Mel asked, this time softer. "What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry? 'Hey, at least you tried!'– I told you..." Her shoulders fell, she had no energy to be angry. "Harry, I told you... What d'you want me to say?"

He stared at her, speechless and disappointed.

"Oh, guys, it's you..." Hermione stirred up in her place. "Good about Ron, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." She responded without breaking eye contact with Harry. "Yeah... I'm really happy for him."

"I'm just so — so — so tired. I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

"You and those hats," Mel sighed, finally looking down at her friend.

"Listen," The boy sat in front of them. "Dumbledore said we should stick together, right? All right– I'll tell you what happened– I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm– and it... it stung! It reminded me of... you know..."

Hermione started slowly.

"You're worried that You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?"

"Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I mean... the Order believes it's very likely Voldemort has a few spies there..." Mel admitted.

"I suppose so," said Hermione. "But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose... But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," said Harry glancing at Mel's hand. "Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but... Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt."

"I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"

"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"

"Yeah, that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

"Mel, do you think he'll care?" He asked her, and in his voice, she could tell he was asking for real advice.

"I reckon he'll say it's normal now that Voldemort's alive," She sighed after a bit of pondering. "Doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, though. As I said, he asked me to help you."

"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks —"

"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter! Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harry getting up. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"

"Oh no! if you're going that means I can go without being rude too, I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now."

"Er... no, I don't think I will, thanks. Er — not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do... why don't you ask Mel? I still have the hat she gave me, she was getting quite good..."

"Nope, sorry," Mel got up and made her way over to the twins and Ron. "Too busy, got loads to do..."

She felt something warming up on her pocket and pulled it out. She smiled down at the watch on her hand, a message glowing on it.

'Sunday, 5 pm'

"Anything interesting?"

"No, just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married... Wait a moment– Oh no... Sirius!"

Mel dropped her fork.

"What now?"

"What's happened?" Harry took the paper so violently it ripped in half.

"'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah... is currently hiding in London!"

"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Harry. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform..."

"What? You didn't say —"

"Oh no– if they saw him in the platform that means they saw him with my mother!" Mel realized in horror.

"...'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban...' the usual rubbish– Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all. Dumbledore did warn him not to."

"Poor Snuffles, he'll go crazy..."

"Hey! Look at this!" Harry gave a start.

"I've got all the robes I want," said Ron, glancing to what Harry was showing him.

"No, look... this little piece here..."

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch- wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

"Sturgis Podmore? but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"

"Ron, shh!"

"Six months in Azkaban! Just for trying to get through a door!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door — what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?"

"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?"

"Wait a moment... Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember? Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"

"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught."

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed. "No — listen! The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"

"Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true," Hermione shook her head. "Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on Self-Fertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch..."

"We've got Quidditch Ron and I," Harry hurried to say.

"You can come with me, 'Mione," Mel told her. "I'm going to meet Erick in the library, anyway..."

But as soon as she said it she wanted to take it back. The idea didn't feel as appealing as going alone. She decided to bail on it and find another day to meet him in private.

"Hang on– it just came to me– I... I have to do something," She got up, picking up her bag. "Apologize to Erick for me, won't you? Tell him I'll meet him next week..."

"Oh," Hermione's smiled faltered a bit. "All right, I have a few questions about charms, maybe he knows..."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as she joined them.

"Don't ask, keep walking," She said. "I don't feel like studying, that's all."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're getting tired of your study sessions..."

"I would never," Mel frowned. "I know what you're trying to suggest, but you're wrong. Now shut up and keep going."

Harry nodded silently, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Wish I had your dedication," Ron told her. "The schoolwork isn't killing you. I mean, we can do it tonight and we've got tomorrow. Hermione's the one that gets too worked up about work, that's her problem... D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?"

"Yeah, I do. Still, this is important too, we've got to practice if we want to stay on the Quidditch team..."

"Yeah, that's right– And we have got plenty of time to do it all..."

"And you've got me– not that I'm going to give you the answers just like that, but you know, I'm clever and all..." Mel shrugged.

"Well..." Harry looked at her when they reached the dressing room. "See you in a minute..."

Mel nodded shortly before walking to the stands. What was happening to her? She didn't know how to act around anyone anymore. Didn't feel like herself, always bottling up every emotion...

She spotted Malfoy and his team waiting to see the newest Gryffindor addition. Ron had a very thin ego and they couldn't afford to lose him on the very first day.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy called as the Gryffindor lot walked out of the dressing room. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a mouldy old log like that?"

"Don't get involved..." Mel mumbled under her breath.

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" Pansy Parkinson yelled. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"

The Slytherins hadn't noticed her since she was a few seats behind them, and she didn't want them to, they were bound to tease her and she needed to stay out of trouble.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"

Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

"Okay, maybe..." Mel started, "maybe I'll get involved just a little..."

The lot was now singing 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' and many things happened at once: First, directly from her palm, a bunch of red sparks burst and surrounded the Slytherins with an explosion. They covered their faces and jumped out of their seats, trying to put them down. Mel gasped and covered her mouth in shock, she hadn't intended to do that, but there was nothing she could do now.

Back in the Quidditch field, Katie was bleeding profusely, and Angelina stopped the practice to take her to the infirmary. Pansy turned around and spotted Mel, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"You!"

She smiled as innocently as possible. "What's wrong?"

Pansy pulled out her wand and Mel stood up, her smile fading.

"Do it– See what happens, dear prefect, once the teachers find out you attacked an unarmed student."

"You attacked first," She snarled, the rest of her classmates had scattered away, though the firecrackers followed them around.

"Did I?" Mel leaned closer and jumped over the seats that kept them apart, one row after the other. When she was finally in front of her, she added, "Prove it."

No one knew she could do wandless magic. Not to mention that when Pansy asked her to empty her pockets –'prefect orders,' she'd sneered– there was nothing but a pocket watch.

Far from feeling ashamed, a wave of power hit her. No one had to know, and as long as she kept a low profile and a sweet attitude, she could make Pansy and Malfoy's lives an actual hell.

The twins approached the next day when they found out she was the only one near enough the Slytherins to set them on fire. Nothing bad happened to them, but it sure scared them off, and they weren't planning on going back to the training sessions any time soon.

Mel liked the twins' praising and she spent the rest of the day with them, leaving Ron and Harry to do their homework alone.

As a consequence of this, many students approached her. Now that she wasn't around Harry so much they seemed to think she had more common sense than expected. Not that she was talking rubbish about Harry, but she was definitely more likeable when she wasn't attacking others in order to defend him. That without mentioning she was far less loud and dramatic than years prior.

She went back to the common room that night with a bunch of new friends, even better, friends from different houses. Ron didn't like that, he was upset because she hadn't been there to help him as she'd promised. His anger only got worse when he received a letter from his older brother.

"Well," Harry said jokingly once they finished reading it, "if you want to — er — what is it? Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," He snatched the letter. "He is —the world's biggest git." Ron ripped the letter into small pieces and threw them in the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn..."

"I wonder what rubbish is the Daily Prophet writing now," Mel said absently.

"Oh, give them here," Hermione said abruptly, taking the boy's homework.

"What?"

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them."

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver, what can I — ?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,'– Where are you going, Mel? You promised you'd help them too. Sit down."

Mel groaned, but she took Harry's paper and started to review it.

"Thanks a million, girls," said Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, shut up," Mel grumbled. "Don't interrupt me or I'll mess it up."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met, and if I'm ever rude to you again —"

"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione.

"Harry, you really have to pay attention to the things you... Harry?" Mel looked at the boy, who was now crouching next to the fireplace.

"Er — Harry?" said Ron. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire."

"What?" Mel dropped to her knees as well, pushing the essay aside.

"Sirius's head? You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — Sirius!" Hermione squealed.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," The man grinned. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry laughed.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione in horror.

"Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry, I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."

"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —"

"You sound like Molly– This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable."

"You impulsive piece of– You... you..." Mel stammered.

"All that you're wishing to call me, Emily has called me twice already this week," He shook his head. "It's fine, I swear, I just wanted to reply to Harry's letter."

"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione.

"I forgot! Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," said the man with a proud smile. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar. Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion, so maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention."

"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often."

"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?"

"I doubt it. I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"

"She's foul enough to be one..."

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?"

"No, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

"She called him a half-breed during class! I had to bite my tongue to not yell at her!" Mel scolded.

"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione.

"Scared of them, I expect. Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —"

"Sirius!" Hermione said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like? Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"

"No, she's not letting us use magic at all!"

"All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.

"Ah, well, that figures. Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat? What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic. Mel leading the group, of course."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with. Certainly, Mel's good enough to lead the class but to lead an army? That's crazy!"

"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione in outrage.

"Yep. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."

Mel remembered her talk with Dumbledore. In a way, he was training her as if she was going to lead an army, but the mere idea was crazy! He'd said it himself, Mel wasn't supposed to take his place, he just wanted her to be better.

"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"

"I don't know, I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher, Emily and me here..."

"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?"

"Ah... well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him– But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you four get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now..." said Hermione.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay. Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid, it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay. When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"

"NO!" They said altogether.

"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Oh that," Sirius, grinned, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"

"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"

"All right, all right, I've got the point! Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"

"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry.

"...You're less like your father than I thought," he said coldly. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"That's not fair, Sirius, now you're in danger—" Mel started, but he ignored her.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Emily -or maybe Kreacher, dunno- coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

"Oh, get out," Mel huffed.

Sirius vanished with a pop, and Mel carefully turned to Harry.

"Don't listen to him, Glas–" She stopped before they nickname could fully leave her mouth. "Harry. He's just throwing a tantrum."

Harry let out a heavy sigh, stood up and grabbed his essay.

"Thanks for the help. I... I appreciate it."

He went to bed after that.

'MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"'

Mel visibly deflated on her seat, wondering if this was just another nightmare.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's outrageous..." Hermione started.

"I know it is," growled Harry.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," Ron said happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."

"I..." Mel shook her head. "I don't even know what to say..."

"That must be a first," said Hermione, "we'd better get going if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late..."

Umbridge did not inspect any of their morning classes, and Mel was surprised to see an E on her potions essay, graded as if it were her actual O.W.L. examination, which did nothing but to boost her ego even more than her little trick with the fireworks. Hermione was still talking about it with their friends during lunch.

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,'" she was saying, "and then there's A —"

"No, E– E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."

"So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," said Fred.

"Then you get P for 'Poor' and D for 'Dreadful.' "

"And then T," George reminded Ron.

"T?" asked Hermione. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

" 'Troll,' " said George.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred asked once everyone stopped laughing.

"No," said Hermione with interest, "have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," said George. "Charms."

"What was it like?"

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," said George, "he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked.

"Trelawney —"

"A T if ever I saw one —"

"— and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today. Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

"Don't worry about that," Harry gave her a sort of sour look. "Mel will take care of that."

The girl barely looked up from her plate to glare at him, that particular morning she didn't feel like fighting, not after the way Sirius had talked to him.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @sarcasticallywitty15

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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camelliacats · 4 years ago

Text

Slip & Fall

Another random oneshot.

Fic: "Slip & Fall" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: established!Molly Weasley/Michael Corner, Vicky Frobisher, Owen Cauldwell, Terry Boot/Stephen Cornfoot, Lisa Turpin/Su Li, Alice Tolipan–Caruso, Victoire Weasley, & OCs, with cameos from Morag MacDougal/Romilda Vane, Padma Patil, & Audrey Weasley, & mentions of others

Rating: T

Words: ~23,420

Additional info: romance, cross gen, family, angst, fluff, Maydayverse, Next Gen era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Molly was never going to be the perfect daughter. But now, with what she and Michael have done, she's guaranteed that.

The first thing she heard in the morning was her alarm clock, and she Blasted it off her nightstand. Crap, she thought. That's the third one in two months.

Regardless, Molly Lilandra Weasley groaned and got up. She ran a hand through her tangled, short, dark brown curls and fumbled for her glasses behind where her most recent clock had stood. Once she could see clearly—for she had inherited her father, Percy's, relative blindness—she straightened her nightgown and got off the bed. She turned to straighten the blankets and sighed. She tugged on them. "Hey! Michael, wake up. It's time for work."

Her bedmate, Michael Corner, groaned and rolled on his other side, tugging the cover back from her. "Ugh, no…"

"You're utterly useless in the morning, you know that?"

"If being useless allows me five more minutes, then I'm all right with that."

Had anyone else said such a thing to her, Molly would have at least scowled and at most verbally taken a chunk out of them. But not with Michael. No, with him she smirked to herself, because she'd long since gotten used to his plethora of habits. That made sense, since they'd been living together for…ah, what was it now? About a year?

A soft snore escaped Michael, dragging her attention back to him.

"Hey," she asserted. She reached for her wand, also on the nightstand, and nonverbally cast a Vanishing Spell. The blanket disappeared. "I said that you need to get up. And I'm not going to remind you anymore, Michael," Molly added, turning on her heel to rummage through the drawers and to pick out clothes for the day.

Michael dragged his hands over his face. "Revered Rowena, Mols… Can't a man sleep?"

"If you want to sleep, don't stay up reading the night before. You have the time to read on your breaks and on the weekends."

He sounded as if he'd opened his mouth and then closed it. Molly didn't have to look over her shoulder to see if he'd done that. She just knew.

She had a feeling he had been about to remark that she often occupied his free time at work, and they often did things together on the weekends. But it wasn't a gripe, not at all. Molly and Michael got along best with one another, so time spent together was never a waste.

"Do we at least have time for breakfast?" he asked her, yawning and stretching before going to grab any old thing from the closet.

"Of course," Molly replied.

He snorted. "Go figure. You only got me up because I can cook and you can't."

She suppressed a smile. "Guilty as charged. But do be quick. I'll join you right after I shower, but there's some paperwork to handle at the office, and I'd like to get an early start on it so that we might, for once, come home and have supper at a reasonable hour."

Michael gawked at her. "What? Why do I have to cook breakfast while you go shower?"

Molly blushed, pausing to curse the Weasley in her that made said blush all that more apparent. "You can't join me every time…!"

He grinned. "No, but I'd like to try."

"And the moment you stop taking more time to do your hair than I do, I'll go easier on you."

He sighed. "Dammit."

"That's what I thought." Molly finally left him then, showered, dressed, and prepared in general for the day.

In the kitchen of their house, the old Corner family home located in Durham and long ago vacated by Michael's late parents, Michael was just plating a light meal of scrambled eggs and toasted waffles for two.

"Waffles?" the witch inquired.

"You're the one who insisted on the Muggle toaster."

Molly grinned. Sometimes she was glad that her mother's Muggle-born side had rubbed off on her.

Michael disappeared to dress, as well, and he returned to wolf down his food before jogging after Molly out the front door. Only after it was locked did either of them have the chance to catch their breath.

"It's my turn today," Molly told him, and she held out her arm.

He nodded, and she Disapparated, him Side-Along. The next thing they knew, they were in London, standing outside one of several entrances to the Ministry of Magic. Michael faced Molly and smiled…a rather gentle smile for him. He surprised her by brushing her fringe aside and kissing her forehead. "I'll see you later, luv."

"Bye," she bumbled, and he chuckled before they split, him heading for the Office of Misinformation, she for the Obliviator Squad room.

All right, Molly thought. Three clocks is nothing. It's just another day like any.

When had it really last been another day like any?

Molly wasn't entirely sure. She managed to catch up on the paperwork she'd mentioned to Michael, but it had been more interesting afterwards when Molly and her fellow Obliviators had been called to a scene not far from her desk: just outside in Muggle London when a senile old wizard had forgotten his way into Diagon Alley via the Leaky Cauldron and had begun asking all the Muggles around him how to get inside, explaining the Wizarding world as a result. It was a first for the Obliviator Squad, but it was decent work, nevertheless. Something like thirty Muggles had had to be detained and have their memories modified, and the wizard in question had been sent to St. Mungo's already to see if there were anything which the Healers might be able to do to help him since, according to the wizard, he was capable of looking after himself and he lived alone. Molly felt for her friend, Patrick Wolpert, who had been one of the Healers on hand to take the wizard in. Poor Patrick—he still had two more years out of five of his training to do, and doubtful that was how he wanted to spend them.

Though, she thought as she began reviewing the material given to newbie Obliviators, there were worse ways to spend one's training, she was sure. Molly's own training was nearly up, as one needed just four years for her squad, and she had joined her department in the Ministry nearly right out of Hogwarts. She currently was the youngest in her department, but she was treated with respect because of her immense talent. Her bosses said she had a "knack for Obliteration."

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. She knew she could do the work, and Ministry jobs had their perks, so she had applied. But there were restrictions to her job because it was delicate, serious work. And it weren't as though she could use the spell to fix her problems.

Molly jolted later that morning when she saw a flash of red hair in the corridor outside the office…but then she breathed easily when she realized it was not her father. Oh, if only she could fix her problems with a spell.

She had barely spoken to her father since last year, when she told him she was moving out. Her mother had been too stunned to have any reaction, but her father had gone ballistic. In some ways, after the Second Wizarding War, Percy had loosened up. It was a shame that Uncle Fred had had to die for him to change, but at least he had and had married Audrey that way. Still, Percy was so bent on managing everything.

Sometimes Molly had entertained the idea of being Percy's star of a daughter, the perfect one. But having the tops marks in her class, being as studious and stern as he was, being all about "the rules" had been too much, and Molly had grown weary of it all.

There was a knock at her door to startle her from her thoughts. Michael was there. "Hey, lunchtime?"

"Sure, sure," she said, and the couple left for the cafeteria a few floors down.

Michael, ever the gentleman, didn't even ask what she wanted and went ahead and bought the usual. Molly appreciated that and found them seats, her mind wandering again.

She hadn't fallen for Michael or tried dating him just to piss off her father further; that was just an added bonus. The thing was, Percy didn't get it. Molly bet that, had she explained things completely to her parents, Audrey at least would've understood. Audrey was just like that; she had to be, to have married Percy Weasley and not gone bonkers. But Percy didn't get that Michael had grown up from the times of their schooldays and the war. Michael could be snappish, but loss had taken its toll on him, and he knew heartache. Molly had never lost anyone, no, not yet, but she did know heartache. What she didn't get was that her father didn't see that; she, like Percy, had always been too mature for her age. She'd never fancied anyone at school, and she'd had few friends, so joining the Ministry had been hell on her emotions. First, she'd fancied Theodore Nott, one of the Unspeakables with whom she sometimes worked. Actually, that was how she'd become friends with Michael even, because their lines of work all crossed occasionally. But that didn't change the fact that both of them were so much older than she was, and Theo was married and a father to boot! The same went for another poorly timed crush of hers, Zacharias Smith. He didn't work for the Ministry but for The Daily Prophet as a kind of lackey, so he'd shown up to some large crime and disaster scenes and Molly came to know him. Alas, he was also married and a father; in fact, his son, Xerxes, was just a few years younger than she was. So she wisely gave up on Zacharias as well. Meanwhile, the only steadfast friend she'd had through all of this had been Michael.

Thinking back on it now, she felt ridiculously girly. Michael had been pining after her since they'd first befriended each other and Theo. Things had changed since then: Theo no longer hung around with them, Molly took to seeing her old classmates more often, Michael had begun spending more time with his old friends, and… Well, Molly and Michael had happened. It wasn't that she had tried him out on a whim; she knew he genuinely cared for her, and she, him. It was…an experiment. A very successful one, at that.

But, while everything was coming up roses for her and Michael, she knew it was an issue that she'd barely spoken to Percy. Hell, she'd barely spoken to her younger sister, Lucy. The only one she still chatted with every so often was Audrey, but it had been awkward just last month when everyone had attended Cousin James' wedding to their former Muggle Studies professor, Justin Finch–Fletchley, and Molly finally took Michael with her, their first truly public outing (and she wanted to laugh at how appropriate the word "outing" was), and she'd spoken nervously with her mother because her father was right beside her, and Michael had tried his best to be kind and respectful, and her mother had been swept away by him but her father wouldn't buy it, it didn't matter how happy the ever-serious Molly was, he wouldn't buy that this man could make her happy, was making her happy, had continued to make her happy ever since—

"You're lost in thought," Michael noted as he sat and placed some food in front of her.

"Aren't I always?" she asked.

"Are you all right?" He furrowed his brow. "Lately, you've just seemed…a bit antsy, Mols."

Molly shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Are you thinking about June?"

She glared at him. "I really hate it when you poke around in my head like that."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not as though I'm good enough at Legilimency even to try that, Molly. I can just read it on your face." He sipped his coffee. "So on which part of June are you ruminating?"

"Well…"

"Come now, luv. When a thing's got you like this, you focus on it to the point of distraction. You'll never be able to get through the rest of your day."

The brunet witch frowned. "It's nothing."

"Even I know that was the third clock this morning."

"All right, all right!" Molly cupped her cheek in her palm and pushed her salad around on her plate. "I was just thinking that I can't recall the good parts of James' wedding."

He gave a small shrug. "Well, it was just another wedding. A bit lavish, considering Justin's family's loaded."

"You know what I mean."

Michael loosened his tie a fraction. "Hey, you were expecting your father to act that childish. Don't let him overshadow all your thoughts. You've been handling him well for a year now, haven't you?"

Molly ate half the cherry tomatoes before picking at the lettuce. "That's such a lie, Michael, and you know it. Godric, he was such a prat, you know?"

He snickered. "That's the only thing I've ever heard anyone say about him."

"It feels strange, though. I feel as though I've got a handle on my personal life"—well, what could be called a "personal life"—"the most out of all my cousins, and yet things are so screwed up at home." She shook her head. "And I thought it was bad when Victoire told me about the two Christmases when James' family didn't speak with him."

"He's James, and you're Molly—things are bound to be different," Michael pointed out. "Not to mention that it hasn't been two years with your family, Molly. I'm sure that, somehow, things will work out for themselves."

"Of course. Because I'm Molly. I fix everything eventually, don't I?"

He winked playfully. "That you do." Michael finished his meal and pointed to her plate. "You should finish your food, hon. Break's almost over."

Molly sighed and shook her head. "I'm just not very hungry right now, Michael."

He eyed her carefully but didn't press her further. "All right, then. But don't let that stuff mess with your appetite."

She nodded, and Michael cleaned up before walking her back to her office. Still, the rest of the day would not be easy.

If she were being honest, she'd acknowledge that that day and the next several hadn't been any easier. In fact, July itself didn't get any easier on her.

The Obliviator Squad was busier than normal, though there didn't seem to be any apparent reason for that. Of course, more work meant more paperwork, and Molly remarked a few times that she was beginning to feel like Michael.

"And why's that?" he asked.

"I don't know anyone who sends more interdepartmental notes than you do, luv."

"Uh-huh," Michael said, hiding a smirk.

However, being at work so much gave her the chance to see her friends a tad more often than usual. Case in point: Wilhelmina Flint. Mina and Molly had been…interesting semi-friends during their time at Hogwarts. Mina made for a very good Slytherin, though she had a stubborn streak to rival that of any Gryffindor Molly had ever known.

"All work and no play make Weasley a dull witch," Mina said as she sauntered into Molly's office at the end of July. She crossed her arms in front of her intrusively large chest and stood in the doorway, making it hard for others to pass, until Molly conceded to go for a brisk walk with her.

"Nice to see you, too, Mina," Molly griped.

Mina laughed. "That's the Molly we know and love! But, honestly, Molly—have you even realized?"

"Realized what?"

"You left home a while ago and have thrown yourself into your work like never before." She tossed her crinkly light brown hair over her shoulder and smoothed her robes, the insignia for the Department of Magical Games and Sports on either shoulder.

"I've always been all about work. You know that."

"Yes, the mini McGonagall." Mina rolled her eyes. "Y'know, I don't recall you ever having had any hobbies besides schoolwork and reading."

"I have hobbies…!" Molly scoffed.

Mina raised her eyebrows.

"I…"

"Look, I've got Quidditch. Patrick likes to correct people. Dylan, that timid, timid boy, manages to be the nicest Beater ever for the Falmouth Falcons. But what've you got?"

"I've got a boyfriend. Does that count as a hobby?"

Mina snickered. "Hardly, for you. I know you. You just manage to juggle Michael with everything else." Her gray eyes softened. "How are you two doing?"

Molly was surprised by the question. "We're fine. Why do you ask?"

"Dunno. I suppose… It's just hard for me to think about being involved in that kind of a relationship."

"You mean with the huge difference in years."

"Meh. I suppose it doesn't matter all that much, since we magical folk can live easily past a hundred years. Plus, you've always been an old woman stuck in a young one's body," Mina added with a smirk that was too near the sneer her father used to wear—at least, that was according to stories Molly had heard from Percy and his friend, Oliver. Then again, Percy had never liked Marcus very much, and Oliver likely would always hold his Quidditch grudge.

Molly removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "So, you wanted to go for a walk. Any destination in mind?"

"Yeah, actually. There's a new ice-cream flavor at Florean's, and I thought you might want to try it."

Molly shrugged, not having made up her mind yet, but she followed Mina anyway to Diagon Alley. She listened to Mina go on about the latest happenings in the Department of Magical Games and Sports—"It's getting a little hard to tell Wimbourne to rein in their use of violence during games, since Dad used to play for them and still coaches sometimes"—and Molly told Mina about James' wedding. "It was fun, the happy bits I can recall."

"Well, a scoop should make you feel better," Mina insisted, and she bought two cones of the newest recipe for them.

When she returned to where Molly waited outside, she passed one to Molly, who stared oddly at it. "What flavor did you say this was?"

"Basil and something or other," Mina replied after a bite. "Oh, it's quite good!"

Molly sniffed it, but her stomach suddenly seized up. She pulled a face. "You know… I'm sorry, but I don't think I can eat this…"

"You'll never stop being a picky eater, will you? Ugh," Mina growled.

The Gryffindor witch shook her head. "It's not that, Mina. It's just… I'm not feeling too hot."

Her friend eyed her up and down before zooming in on her face. "…you're serious. Huh. And here I thought you never got sick."

"Things happen," Molly remarked.

"I s'pose no one's perfect," the other witch conceded.

It would've been lovely had Mina chosen any other word. But "perfect" sank its teeth into Molly and hung on as a taunt for the rest of the week, even as she worked through what she called a light summer cold.

Michael definitely noticed. "I've never seen you under the weather," he commented two days after Molly first felt queasy.

"It's nothing. It'll go away." She gave him a bright smile…that was likely brighter than it should've been, but she felt a tad feverish. But it was all right. She'd worked through fevers before without anyone ever knowing.

"No, you should stay home," he told her that Friday morning, after another two days had passed and Molly had slept through their alarm.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Molly, it's not up for debate." He narrowed his tree-bark brown eyes at her. "Don't go to work."

"I'm not contagious or anything." Molly sat up in bed and wobbled. She conjured a glass of water and downed it. Actually, it made her feel quite better. "There. See? I'm all right."

He grimaced. "I don't buy that one bit."

"Sorry, but it's a free country, and, as long as I'm not contagious, the Ministry says I may go to work."

That reasoning held for the next several days. However, Michael kept a watchful eye on her, and Mina kept stopping by his office to tattle on Molly if need be.

"I said I'm fine!" Molly snapped in early August when both Mina and Michael appeared in her doorway one afternoon. She slammed a stack of files on her desk, and papers went everywhere. But she couldn't help it. She was starting to grow irate at their seeming insistence that she was helpless. But that was a load of hippogriff excrement. Molly Weasley was not helpless.

Michael opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off.

"No, don't! Just leave me in peace. Both of you," she added, her tone like steel. Molly waited for both of them to leave.

The last straw, though, had to be when Patrick "miraculously" happened to be in the cafeteria. "There was an accident in the Atrium," he stated.

Molly gave him a long look, disbelieving. Patrick was a brutally honest person, so it was easy to tell when he lied. Such as now. His face was emotionless. Every time he was this way, it just reminded Molly how unlike his warm and gentle parents, Sally-Anne and Nigel, he was. "Mina summoned you, didn't she?"

"No."

Oh. Then Molly thought for a moment… "Mina summoned Dylan, didn't she, to get you to come check up on me?"

Ah, there it was, a flicker in his blue eyes.

Molly shook her head. "We're how many years out of school? And still Dylan can be used against you."

"Best mates aside… How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, completely fine."

"But you've been sick for, what, two weeks or so?"

Molly raised one eyebrow. "I thought you came only because of an 'accident in the Atrium,'" she pointed out.

Patrick frowned. "Molly."

"Look, I was sick. Now I'm better."

"At least you admitted that… How bad was it?" This time it was her friend asking and not the Healer in him.

"I only ever got dizzy and was nauseated. Really," she added when he continued to give her a rather blank stare.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the hospital even for a quick exam? I wouldn't do it," he said, "but I could find you a witch that I trust, if you like."

Molly shrugged. "Maybe if I were still sick, I'd take you up on that offer, Patrick. But I'm all right now."

He gave her an equally disbelieving look, but he relented. "If you say so."

"Would you mind telling Mina and Michael that? They refuse to believe me."

"I can try…"

"Thank you!" Finally, some good news! Had Patrick been a hugger, she would've hugged him.

"…but I wouldn't blame them for not listening to me when even I'm not sure I believe you," he confessed.

Molly groaned. "Well, do what you will, but I'm going back to work."

Patrick's eyes went right to hers after glancing at the table and noting the absence of lunch. "You haven't eaten anything."

"Yes, well, I'd only have about five minutes left anyway, what with our talk," she informed him as she looked at her watch. "I promise I'll eat whatever Michael makes for dinner tonight, clean my plate. Is that all right, Healer Wolpert?"

"Har har, Miss Weasley." He waved over his shoulder as he left first.

Molly did actually pause and think about eating. But then a wave of nausea hit her. It was badly timed, too, for a witch with a plate of asparagus walked by—and the stench sent Molly hurrying for the loo.

At first, she thought she just needed to splash water on her face. But when she saw her dripping wet face in the mirror, bile rose in her throat and sent her into one of the stalls. The breakfast she hadn't seen for hours immediately came back for a visit, and she vomited.

Great. It wasn't a cold. She had the flu. Still, she could get through this. After all, Molly Weasley was not helpless.

Her health got worse as August dragged on, but she refused to tell the others, above all Michael. Most people could sleep the flu off just fine.

Molly did get some sleep, but it was the strangest thing. She didn't have a fever; she only sometimes felt feverish. Yet the vomiting kept happening until it was a daily occurrence, and it was never at one specific time of the day. Sometimes she had to slip out of bed without Michael knowing to lock herself in the loo in the middle of the night. Other times she had to time her dash out of the office so no one looked too hard to realize where she'd gone.

But it wasn't long until Vicky Frobisher, her boss, said something to her. "Weasley, you all right?" she said, pausing by her desk.

Molly froze up. She had never been one to get the boss' attention unless it was praise. Oh, Merlin, had she messed up paperwork somewhere? Was this affecting her work? Molly weakly nodded her head.

Frobisher, just as Patrick had done, gave her a look that told her no one bought her act. "You sure? You, ah…" A healthy color rose in the older woman's cheeks. She leaned down. "You've been making more and more frequent trips to the lavatory."

The Weasley reddened, utterly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't think of any other—" Frobisher sighed. "Don't be embarrassed, Molly, please. It's just that a few of us in the squad room have noticed your momentary absences."

Molly automatically looked around the room. The only two faces which ducked belonged to Owen Cauldwell, the assistant squad leader, and Stewart Ackerley, his coworker and friend. Her blush deepened; it wouldn't have been so bad if two older women had taken notice and not the fathers of the friends of some of Molly's youngest cousins.

"Molly?" Frobisher waited for a response.

"Is it affecting my work?" Obviously Molly wasn't required to tell Frobisher the details of her ill-timed trips, but…

"No. Not yet, at least. But…do yourself a favor and rest at home."

"Are you asking me to take a half-day?" She grew panicky. "But I've never taken one! I've never even had a day off!"

Frobisher's voice turned stern. "No, Weasley, I'm ordering you to go home. Sleep off whatever this is, or go to St. Mungo's."

At the mention of the hospital, Molly glared at her boss—not a smart thing to do, but she didn't exactly care. "No, I'll go home. But I'll be back tomorrow."

"Only if you're better, Weasley," Frobisher called after her as Molly grabbed her purse and cloak and stomped out of the Ministry.

When she got home, Molly was too angry to relax. But she was also too tired to stay angry. The late-night toilet trips had messed with her sleeping schedule, so Molly ended up retiring to the bedroom. She struggled to change out of her work clothes but managed, somehow, to do so.

She went into the bathroom—for once, not to be sick—and glanced at herself in the mirror. Good Godric, she had terrible bags under her eyes. That sealed her fate for the evening, and Molly climbed into bed to try and catch up on her sleep until Michael came home.

He was both delighted and fretful to see her home. "Frobisher told me she sent you home, which scared me, because you never leave work. But…" He'd been leaning against the doorjamb initially and now walked over and sat on the edge of the bed by her legs. He patted her calves. "We definitely won't have a long night at the office tonight."

Molly chuckled. "You've got a point."

Michael unbuttoned his jacket and shirt, shrugging out of the first. "What do you want for supper? I reckon I'm up for making anything, since it's been a few months since we've both been home early."

"Erm…" The witch drew her knees up to her chest. "Not sure. Do we have any plain bread lying around?"

"Like a sandwich loaf or a baguette or something?"

"Baguette. I sort of just want to pick it apart and eat that." She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry. I don't have much of an appetite."

"It's all right," he said, standing and kissing the top of her head. "Been a while since we've been to the Market Place anyway. Just let me put on something else and I'll go grab that for you. Anything else, luv?"

"No, that's all."

And that would be about all until half the month had passed and Molly was still off her food. She'd gotten better about managing her daytime loo trips, so Frobisher didn't stay on her case and Cauldwell and Ackerley did not continue to dog her with their prying eyes. Paperwork in the office was easy work to manage, too, and Molly was grateful that things had grown quiet.

Then came The Blow-Up.

What was The Blow-Up? Oh, easy, easy—it was a Thursday afternoon in the fourth week of August when the Auror Office was called out to Brighton to handle a cluster of new but talented Death Eaters-in-training. Originally the case had involved Hit Wizards, but, once a Muggle had been killed inside a busy shopping mall, the Aurors had been called in.

Naturally, Molly's Uncle Harry had led his team to handle the situation successfully. Two of the seven Death Eaters were killed, but the rest were taken into custody. The Obliviator Squad was summoned as soon as the last Death Eater was escorted off the premises.

"You've got your work cut out for you," Morag MacDougal told Frobisher when they arrived. Auror MacDougal pointed to the second floor. "We tried our best to put up shields to contain potential onlookers, but I doubt we caught them all."

"How many victims?" Frobisher asked.

Romilda Vane replied. "Not counting the Death Eaters, we've got four Muggles. All dead." Auror Vane counted off on her fingers. "One was here alone, so we'll have to figure out his family situation. Another was here with her fiancé, another here with her three children, and an older man with his elderly mother." Her look was grim.

Cauldwell cursed, and Ackerley shook his head. "An elderly victim?" He shook his head again. "Our work in the field doesn't get any easier, does it?"

Molly understood their annoyance. There was fear, too. Changing the memories of children was easiest, because, until a certain age, they were gullible and impressionable. Young adults were merely skeptics at best. With adults, it was just easier to Obliterate up to a few hours of their memory altogether. But the elderly? Most of them had fragile minds already. Moving around anything in their heads or removing bits could be as easy as working with children or as disastrous as if the Obliviators had tortured or killed the victims themselves.

"Well, it's not as though it's easy on us, either," Auror MacDougal said bitterly. "One of our Aurors, Fay Dunbar, was injured severely. The field-Healers took her to the hospital because she needs special attention."

Molly blinked. The name "Dunbar" sounded familiar… Her eyes widened. "Wait, Fay Dunbar—you mean Fay Kirke?"

MacDougal and Vane exchanged looks. "Oh, right, sorry," MacDougal said. "I've always been used to calling her by her maiden name. Why?"

"Has her family been told yet?" Oh, great, here came the nausea. Molly really didn't need to be sick right now. Fay was her friend, Dylan's, mother. Fay had a husband, a son, and a daughter.

"Not sure," Vane supplied. "Do you know Fay?"

"Her son and I were in the same class. Dylan's my friend."

Frobisher kept a close eye on Molly while Vane and MacDougal exchanged another look, something passing between them. "We'll find them a.s.a.p., promise," Vane told her gently.

Cauldwell cleared his throat. "Any word yet as to what the Office of Misinformation's cooked up for us to feed the Muggles?"

"No," Harry said, joining the conversation. He'd let some of the younger Aurors—ah, Molly could see Teddy and his compatriots in the background with some training Aurors (though not Al and Scorpius, she noted)—begin to clean up the scene. "But, at this point, we just need this contained." He looked weary.

"Sure thing," Frobisher said. She turned to her squad. "I'll handle the elderly woman. Weasley, you're with me. Owen, you've got the fiancé. Stewart, walk some of our trainees through the kids. Whoever's done first will join the perimeter containment and continue that work." She clapped her hands. "You all have your assignments—off you go."

Molly felt sick and numb simultaneously as she and Frobisher were led by MacDougal to the elderly woman. The Auror left them to their business, but Frobisher sat Molly on the bench with the victim.

"Weasley, are you sure you can do this? You're the best Obliviator I've got—that's why I want you working beside me. But… If you're compromised knowing that your friend's mother's hurt, tell me now."

The twenty-one-year-old swallowed a lump in her throat that had formed in the past five or so minutes. "No…no, I'm good. Let's get to work."

Frobisher nodded and knelt down in front of the woman. She took her hands in hers and began to ask simple questions about the woman's name, if she knew today's date ("Yes: August twenty-second, 2024"), if she could name the members of her family, why she was at the mall today, and what she thought had happened. The woman recalled most of it with startling clarity, though her mind fuzzed when she listed her family members and tried to describe what had happened. When Frobisher was done with her questions, she turned to Molly. "Based on the interview, we've got damage control to handle in both her short-term and long-term memory. I think," she added in a whisper which did nothing to assuage Molly's nerves, "the shock of seeing her son die right before her has her mind trying to compensate by telling her she never had a son. I'll dive in to her long-term memory, but I'd like you to handle short-term, all right?" Then Frobisher got to work.

It truly was delicate work, and Molly sat for a while doing nothing. She ended up taking in her surroundings as the Obliviators worked. After a short time, she realized that the Aurors had gone a while ago, having finished processing the scene and cleaning it up.

Eventually Molly's eyes drifted back to Frobisher. She wondered when her boss would be done so that she could do her part and then things could be turned over to the hands of the Muggle authorities.

At last Frobisher's concentration broke, but she smiled. She turned to hand things over to Molly—

—but then someone grabbed Molly's arm, and Molly panicked.

Molly turned quickly, but her wand was in her hand, and she was primed to Obliterate memories first and ask questions later, and she had always been so good at nonverbal magic, and it was just easy, so easy, too easy for the spell to come to the forefront of her mind, though she almost wanted to shout it for having been so frightened, and—

"NO!" Frobisher yelled.

But it was too late. One of the three Muggle children meant for Ackerley and the trainees had slipped their watch and made his way over to Frobisher and Molly. He had touched Molly's arm and begun to ask, "Where's my mummy?" Yet the spell had hit him. As his eyes glazed over and he repeated "mummy" as if the word were foreign to him, Molly couldn't think.

"No…," Frobisher repeated weakly, and Cauldwell and Ackerley ran to them to see what had happened.

Molly dropped her wand, not knowing what to do. It had been an accident—

Frobisher stood and towered over Molly. "You—!" She was full of anger, but there were tears in her eyes, as well. "You wiped his memory clean!"

—but it was an accident, just an accident—

"Do you have any idea what you've done?! Do you know the effort it takes to recreate someone's entire memory?!"

—honest, no, it was just an accident—

Frobisher snapped at Ackerley, asking for anything the boy's siblings had told the Obliviators about the child. She snarled at Molly, "Five. Do you hear that? Five. Even in five years, so much has been experienced. Do you know how long it will take to recreate the first five years of his life? Of course he can't actively recall every living moment, but you've gone and fucked him up!" she yelled. "His instincts, the reactions his body has that depend on his latent memories—gone! All gone!"

Molly looked up at Frobisher. "It—it was an accident."

Frobisher's eyes widened, as did Cauldwell's and Ackerley's, but Frobisher's anger returned with a vengeance, and Cauldwell had to hold her back. "Leave!" she screamed at Molly. "I don't want to see you until you've gotten your head screwed back on straight or until you send the real Molly Weasley to my squad, because she was dependable, and you sure as fuck aren't!"

Cauldwell motioned for one of the trainees to come get Molly and take her back to the Ministry. It was a good thing, too, because Molly couldn't even stand on her own. Things had happened too quickly. All Molly could do was take her purse and cloak as the trainee passed them to her, and then he asked her to wait while he looked at the squad's Emergency Contacts list, finding Michael listed for Molly. Since it was still during the day, the trainee simply accompanied her to the Office of Misinformation and went and found Michael.

Judging by his shocked face, the trainee told Michael what had transpired. The trainee waited with Molly while Michael asked his boss for the rest of the day off, which thankfully he gave him. Then the trainee left once Michael assured him that he'd go home with Molly.

At home, Molly still was shell-shocked. Why? Why had this happened? Had this happened? Was her mind playing tricks on her? Or had one of the other Obliviators modified her memory? Had they? Frobisher seemed to want a reason to fire her. Ackerley could've done it, because, after Cauldwell, Molly actually was the next one in line to lead the Department. No, wait, she was just being paranoid…or was she?

Michael led her to their couch and sat down, pulling her into his arms. "Oh, Mols…" His voice was so soft. His arms around her were warm, and it felt good to be rocked by him. But, as he gently swayed, he kept saying "Oh, Mols…" over and over again, his cheek pressed against her head.

Her head felt wet, but she didn't understand why in that moment. And it was damp through the rest of the day and evening as Michael quietly sobbed and called her name.

The next several days felt like a dream.

It wasn't a particularly happy dream, but it was dreamlike nevertheless. Things seemed to fade in and out for Molly, and her sickness returned. She could no longer hide it from Michael, but he was unsure what to do. She had no other symptoms besides the vomiting and the wonky appetite that came and went at a moment's notice.

"I wish you'd let me take you to St. Mungo's," Michael breathed into her hair as they reclined in bed.

Her head was on his shoulder, its rightful place, but she moved away from him. "I'll get better." She paused. "How's Mrs. Kirke?"

"I asked Morag what she'd heard, and, when she said she hadn't heard anything, I asked Terry. He wasn't handling her case, but he knew someone who was. Fay's fine."

"Good."

"But you're not, Molly. What's happening?"

Molly sighed and fiddled with the hem of the coverlet. "I suppose…I'm just turning out to be the biggest screw-up of the century."

Michael closed his eyes and pulled her head back to his shoulder. "No, you're not. But this can't go on forever."

"I know." She did. The only reason why they were home was that Michael had enough vacation time saved up, and Molly—well, she had vacation time, too, but she'd heard nothing from her coworkers. She hadn't been fired yet, but she knew Frobisher did not want to see her anytime soon.

When a week had passed, Michael asked if she wanted to go to dinner.

"Just us?" she queried.

"I was hoping to ask Terry and Stephen to join us," he said, referencing his close friends and classmates, Terry Boot and Stephen Cornfoot. Terry was the same Terry whom Michael had mentioned before, a Healer at St. Mungo's. Any other time, she would've been fine with it, because she got on well with Michael's friends. But this time—

"You just want to ask Terry to look me over," Molly snarled.

Michael dashed from the hallway into their bedroom, holding his hands up defensively. "No! No, I would never do that to you, Molly, I swear—"

"Then why the sudden interest to see him?" Tears welled up in her eyes. She wished she knew why, but she felt quick to anger and quick to cry these days.

Michael panicked. "I just haven't seen him and Stephen in a while. They live in London for their work, but we rarely get together because we're all busy."

She almost asked about Lisa Turpin and Su Li, others of his friends who were also a couple and with whom he still visited. But she didn't, because Lisa, too, was a Healer like Terry.

After another minute passed, Molly looked at Michael and found him staring back, a frown on his face. He was waiting for her response.

Molly bit back another retort. Finally, she nodded. "…all right. As long as we're just catching up with your mates, then fine."

Michael breathed a huge sigh of relief. "All right. Thank you. I'll owl them and say we'll meet tomorrow night. How's that sound?"

"Fine," she mumbled, and he left the room. Sweet Merlin, "fine" was becoming her catchphrase, wasn't it…?

That said, it was lovely for a change to dress up and apply makeup and walk outside with her arm linked through Michael's. They walked through Durham for a short bit before cutting a path into some woods and Disapparating. The stroll was sweet, though the Apparition to London toyed with her stomach a bit.

When Michael glanced at her nervously, she patted his arm. "It's all right. I just need something to eat."

He nodded and dropped the subject. While still in Muggle London, he took a turn down a street until they stood before an alley. They partially entered it, and Michael knocked on the dustbin to their left. The brick wall behind it shifted and revealed a doorway, and he led her through to the restaurant known as the Gargoyle's Keep.

It was daunting to the first timer, but the place was laidback. It was cleaner and smelled better than the Leaky Cauldron, and it catered to a more formal evening for the deserving witch and wizard. Michael had brought Molly here twice before, but often when they ate out they went to one of the local restaurants in Durham. Chiefly, though, they ate Michael's home cooking, which Molly tended to prefer. But it was nice to get out and see familiar faces, and it cheered Molly up to see Michael's face light up when he saw Terry and Stephen.

Michael embraced Terry tightly, for they'd always been like brothers, and the war and loss of the last third of their original trio, Anthony Goldstein, merely had cemented that. Michael and Stephen had been friends in school, but Stephen had grown closer to them only a few years after the war, when he returned to them despite Michael, Terry, and Padma Patil thinking they'd been the only eagles to survive. Terry was in part to thank for Stephen and Michael's friendship, because of his romance with Stephen, and Molly liked Terry for that. Sometimes she felt as though Michael was too good to her, so she was always relieved to see him have his own friends, and she'd never come between them. No, she'd just befriend them herself, because she'd had her fill of animosity.

Molly shook Terry's and Stephen's hands, and the four of them sat at a table towards the middle of the restaurant.

"Any idea what's good?" Michael asked them. "It's been a while since we were last here, and the menu seems to have changed."

"That's right. We came here on Christmas Eve, didn't we?" Molly remembered it well. It warmed her heart, because it was the first time she had not felt responsible for anyone but herself. Sometimes she liked that Michael could make her feel selfish, because she had been anything but growing up.

Stephen smiled. "There's a noodle dish with some sea creature tossed in it—Terry orders that every single time."

"Do not!" the Healer corrected with a look to his partner. Then his eyes landed on it on the menu, and he pointed it out to Michael. "Oh, wait, there it is—it's got scallops."

At the mention of scallops, Molly could smell them as if they were right in front of her. She put her napkin to her mouth. "I hate to ruin the evening, but would it be too much to ask that no one order seafood?"

All three wizards looked at her. Michael wasn't embarrassed, luckily, but Stephen gave her a strange look before he and Terry acquiesced.

Molly thanked them verbally and excused herself to visit the loo. She felt as though it was the squad room all over again, but her stomach calmed down. Ha! Apparently her sickness wouldn't be messing with her tonight.

When she returned, bread had been delivered to the table, as well as water. The waiter came and took their orders—a simple salad for Molly, though this was more because she felt she could handle that and not just because she liked salads this time—and then the foursome was left to chat in peace.

Molly let the men carry the conversation mostly, tuning in often when it pertained to her and Michael or to her family. She busied herself with the bread, breaking slices into bits and eating the soft insides and leaving the crusts on her plate. Even when their food arrived, Molly pushed her fork through the leaves and continued to eat the bread.

It was quite obvious that her appetite still was not back to normal. "Molly, are you all right?" Terry asked her. "You look…a bit peaky."

Molly briefly smiled. "I'm fine. I, uh, just haven't had enough of my water," she insisted. To prove her point, she drank several gulps of it quickly. But then her nausea returned.

"Mols?" Michael asked.

"It's nothing. Excuse me," she said. She shakily stood and intended to go to the loo once more…but the room swayed before her very eyes, and abruptly the floor rose up to meet her. Then she closed her eyes.

"MOLLY!"

"…doing?"

"…stabilized…now…"

"…dunno…"

These were the sounds Molly heard when she awoke slowly in a bed in St. Mungo's. Ah, yes, she'd arrived at this place at last.

Michael was the first one to see her eyes flicker. "Molly? Mols!" He came to her side and gripped her hand in his. "Hey…"

She struggled to speak but gave up the fight. She hoped he could read her words in her glance.

"You fainted at the Gargoyle's Keep, luv. You knocked your head, too, though Terry said you were lucky they've carpet in there and not hardwood floors or stone. Still, your head's all right."

Molly moaned.

"Molly, can you hear me?" It was Terry. He stood at her other side, and a blond woman was next to him. It was Lisa. Both of Michael's Healer mates.

The Weasley nodded weakly.

"You're dehydrated, Molly," Terry said. "How are you feeling?"

She gave a tiny shrug.

"Can you speak?"

"Ah…" A straw in a cup appeared beside her mouth, and she sipped the water. When she was done, Michael moved the cup away. "Yes," she said at last.

"Can you tell me your name and birthday?"

"Molly…" She took a deep breath. "…Lilandra Weasley. January eighteenth, 2003."

"Do you know what month and year this is?"

"August 2024."

"Who's the Minister for Magic?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Good, good." Terry took her wrist in his hand and found her pulse. After a few moments, he muttered a number to Lisa, who jotted it down on a clipboard. He looked at Michael. "She'll need to stay here for the next day, you know, just so we can be sure that she's getting enough fluids again."

Michael nodded, and then Lisa checked the potion IV in Molly's arm. "She's responding well," Lisa stated. "She's taking the potion at a safe rate."

"How did it get to this point?" Michael asked, though it was a rhetorical question. Molly could hear how wet his voice sounded, and she squeezed his hand as a sign of comfort.

"We'll need to let her rest for a bit before we can figure that out," Lisa said. She looked at Molly. "Molly, we're going to be right outside the room. Squeeze the handlebar of your bed or the mattress and that will tell us if you need something. All right?"

Molly nodded, but she held on tightly to Michael's hand when he moved to leave with them.

Michael pleaded with his stare, and the Healers nodded their assent. They left, and Michael sat down beside Molly, never leaving her side.

"How are you feeling today?" Lisa asked her the following evening.

Molly managed to sit up on her own, and she truly was feeling much better. In fact, she hadn't felt so brilliantly since perhaps May or early June. "Great," she said quietly. Michael snored beside her in the chair.

"Michael," Lisa said. She went and nudged him awake. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

"Mm, what?" He wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth. "What happened?" He groggily looked at Molly, waited a moment, and then his mouth dropped open. "Molly!"

She grinned brightly. "Hope you had a nice nap."

"Molly!" he repeated, standing and hugging her tightly to him.

Molly laughed. "All righty, then!"

Lisa cleared her throat, and Michael toned it down. "While it's nice to see you looking so well, Molly…" She glanced between Michael and Molly. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"All right."

"I think you'd be more comfortable answering in private—witch things," she added, giving Michael a pointed look.

He took the hint. "Uh, yeah. I'll just…go get a snack, I s'pose." Really, though, he was relieved to see her up and at 'em.

Lisa pulled up a stool after closing the door. "One thing I want to get clear here, Molly, is that what you tell me doesn't leave this room. I'm only here to help you. I'm a Healer first, and Michael's friend second, so I won't tell him anything you don't want him to know."

The younger witch furrowed her brow. "Wha…? I'm not on drugs or in love with firewhiskey, if that's what you mean."

"No, but things can be tricky when a couple isn't married."

Molly pursed her lips. "Then what?"

"When was the last time you had your period?"

Molly blushed at the intrusiveness of the question…but then she paled. "Oh, my Godric…" She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Her eyes dropped to the bed. "I, um, I'm not really sure…"

"You don't keep track?"

"Of course I keep track! What woman doesn't?!" Molly snapped.

Lisa stared, her expression nonchalant as if people yelled at her every day. "So when did you last have it?"

"I… Ah… I think…" Crap. When had she last had it? She and Michael had been careful about contraception since they'd first gotten that intimate sometime last year. But the past few months were hazy to her. With the regular stress of work and the added stress of her father and family and then things souring at work recently… "Merlin. I—I don't think I've had it since…maybe May?"

Lisa nodded. "That makes sense. Morning sickness can arrive in the first month or even the sixth. But you seem to have gotten it in the second. That's when Michael said you first started to seem sick."

"Wait, I— Does he know? And how can I…" Her head swam, but because of confusion. "I'm…pregnant?" she whispered.

"Almost to the end of your first trimester, too," the blonde stated, a small smile on her lips.

"But I don't—" Molly gestured to her figure, which wasn't thin but at least in shape. Granted, she had managed somehow to put on a few pounds despite all the vomiting. She'd thought that was just her body's way of trying to hold on to mass while she took in too few calories. Still… "I don't look pregnant." She stared at Lisa and blinked several times. "Do I?" she squeaked.

"In a word, no," the Healer said, standing and checking the potion once more. It was almost gone, and that seemed to make Lisa happy, though Molly looked forward to having the needle out of her arm. "But you may never look pregnant and still be it. My friend, Morag—ah, you know her from the Ministry, don't you?—when her partner, Romilda, had their daughter, Romilda looked amazing throughout the whole thing. No one guessed she was pregnant until Romagda had been born, and even then people thought they'd just adopted instead of Romilda having in vitro—"

"Wait!" Molly's head felt heavy at hearing all of this. She knew of Romagda; Cousin Roxanne was friends with her, as the girls were in the same year. But she didn't know that Romagda had two mothers. Molly's friend, Mina, was different; Mina had two fathers. But two mothers? In vitro? "I'm pregnant?" she asked again, as if that were the only thing she could say right now.

Lisa chuckled. "Yes, Molly." But her grin waned as she sat on the stool once more. "Now you understand why I thought it best to talk to you alone first, since you and Michael aren't married."

Molly blushed. She'd entertained marrying him a few times before, maybe having a family, but… Godric, she was doing everything out of order, wasn't she?

"Are you going to tell him? I was going to fetch one of our midwives to see you, and I don't want to tell him anything he shouldn't know."

Molly ran a hand over her face. "Um… May I have a moment? To myself?"

"Sure," Lisa said. "I'll just check to see who's on duty, and then you can let me know." She exited the room.

Molly ran both her hands over her face this time. Good Godric. If she had ever wanted to be the perfect daughter, well…hell. That was nothing but a dream now. It was bad enough that Percy didn't approve of Michael, hadn't approved of Molly moving in with Michael, and generally couldn't talk to her right now. But this? Couldn't she at least do things in order?

No, that was no longer the question. Lisa had told her as much. But, jeez, the first trimester was nearly up already? Hell…

Molly tried to picture various reactions. Michael—he'd loved her for several years now, but they were planners. They worked because they both were planners. They even planned what they did with their free time. So would he want this fetus to become his child?

Her mother—Audrey would be ecstatic. She was that stereotypical accepting mother, and Molly had never appreciated that so much until now.

Her sister—hard to tell with Lucy. Would she like being an aunt? Or would she be unable to look at Molly and do anything but judge her?

Her family… Well, anything could happen with family, especially the Weasley–Potter one. That would just be a gamble, no matter what.

Her father—Molly didn't even want to think about Percy and his rules right now.

So Molly came back to Michael. He was a logical person. The logical thing to do would be to use their time to prepare for a child, whether it be at home or to put it up for adoption. Molly was logical, too. She knew she couldn't have feelings yet for a child because…because she was still a child, too, wasn't she? No matter how mature she was? Besides, if they did put it up for adoption…

Her thoughts trailed off. She kept coming back to a mental image of her and Michael on the porch to their house—with a child.

Molly swallowed her emotions and called out for Michael. He popped his head in. "Yes, luv?"

"First, tell Healer Turpin to go ahead, if she's out there." She waited while he ducked back out. When he returned, she added, "Now close the door and come here. I…"

Michael did as she asked and returned to her side, but he didn't sit. "What is it, Molly?"

She couldn't look him in the face, so she closed her eyes tightly and blurted: "I'm pregnant, all right?"

When he said nothing, she opened her eyes. She saw Michael with his mouth agape, but he didn't look resentful or calculating—not logical at all!

"Say something!" she whimpered.

He fell over.

"Michael!"

Lisa and Terry came in, and Terry looked him over. He rolled his periwinkle eyes. "Oh, don't mind him. He's just got a stupid grin plastered on his face. He never was good hearing good news. But he'll come around." He hoisted him into the chair and then looked at Molly. "What did you tell him, anyway?"

"A baby. Holy Merlin, a baby!" Michael hadn't shut up since they'd returned home from the hospital.

Molly rolled her eyes, her ears tired. "Yes, that's what I said—that's what I said, that's what Lisa said, that's what Healer Caruso said when she came to introduce herself to me as a midwife." Her cheeks reddened. "Oh, my Godric… Caruso is Ellis' mother. My classmate! It's finally starting to sink in, how much I hate your generation being everywhere and having kids everywhere…!"

All Michael heard was "kids," and that sent him into new flighty dimensions. "Children! Ha, just think—this house that always felt big for the two of us—"

"Please don't even go there!" She could hardly handle thinking about one child. But more than one?!

"Sorry, sorry…" Michael sighed happily and continued to rummage through the fridge and cupboards, discarding anything and everything that Molly shouldn't be eating now that she was pregnant. Luckily there were no expensive wines or anything to chuck since they rarely drank.

She sighed, too, but not as happily. "Michael, have you even thought about what this means for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"This changes everything!" She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. "We've only been thinking about ourselves before."

He scoffed. "What's one more to add to that?"

"I'm almost five years older than Lucy. I remember how demanding she was as a baby. It's a miracle my parents didn't pull all of their hair out." Molly bit back the remark that Michael had never known that, because he was an only child, and it weren't as though his parents were still alive to tell him anything. No, they'd died shortly before he and Molly had met and befriended Theo. That was why Michael had been drawn to them and their own brands of solitude in the first place.

Michael tossed the cheesy crackers (but no, she loved that junk food!) and looked at her as she sat at the island in the kitchen. "I'm not stupid, Mols."

"No, of course not. You're anything but."

"And the same goes for you. This is something we can handle, trust me."

She winced. "Saying it like that makes it sound like a problem."

"No, not a problem, just something else for us to juggle." He gathered up his shoulder-length black hair and tied it back as he surveyed the kitchen. "Dammit, we really need to get more food."

"You didn't have to toss all of it."

Michael saw her eyeing the empty cracker box and smirked. "Are you worried?"

Molly matched his smirk. "Gee, you could tell?"

"Don't worry. We're not stupid, and we don't know everything, but people were having families for centuries before it got complicated…sort of as it is today." There was a long pause of silence. "Molly, do you want this kid?"

That mental image from the other day popped up in her mind's eye again, and she smiled. "Yes," she said quietly. "I do."

"Then that's that."

"That's it?"

"Yup." He snorted. "Though I cannot picture myself as a father."

"Are you joking?" She laughed. "I can't picture myself as a mum! But you'll be brilliant. All snappish about schoolwork one moment and then doting when I have my back turned."

Michael also laughed. "I doubt that. With you as the mum, our kid will be such a genius that he or she won't need me to supervise any homework."

Laughing aside, Molly took a good, long look at Michael. Merlin… She had known of this man her whole life because of her aunts and uncles. She had known him personally for almost four years because of their work. She had known him romantically for almost two because of his caring for her. This tall man and good friend and superior lover—he was all hers. Those inky tresses through which she nightly ran her hands, those coffee-colored eyes which always rested on her, that smirk that only she knew wasn't a sneer, those hands that were delicate yet strong enough to balance handling a frying pan while twirling her in to him as if there were music playing even when there wasn't… He was all hers, and now she had a part of him inside her, a part of him that eventually would reveal to the world that he was hers—

—and she, his.

It felt like such a shock when September rolled in. Molly had a lot on her plate, but she was dealing with all of it better now, in smaller portions, taking things one bite at a time—literally and figuratively.

"It's a good thing that you enjoy salads," Healer Caruso told her during one appointment as the season turned to autumn outside the hospital walls. "All the veggies are good for you. But don't forget to have some protein, as well."

"I know. I'm just glad that the morning sickness has gotten better," Molly said. "Now I'm all right eating, and I'm keeping things down as if I weren't pregnant."

"That's good. You're drinking lots of fluids, too, right?"

"Basically only water and milk, since they go with most of the plain foods I'm eating."

"Good. I'd hate to see you in here because you're dehydrated again."

Molly glanced at the ceiling, counting her prayers. "You and me both, considering the last time I was here I was told I had something growing inside me. With my luck, if I ended up in here again, you lot would tell me I'm expecting twins!" The joke died on her lips, and she looked at Caruso. "Uh, I'm not, right?"

"Twins need a lot of room, so I'd doubt it even at this point," the Healer assured her. "Would you like to see your baby?"

"You can do that?" Automatically Molly thought of the machines her mother had told her about when she was younger, but she couldn't picture any parallels of those Muggle devices existing within St. Mungo's walls.

"Sure." Healer Caruso took out her wand. With a quick spell…nothing happened. But then she grabbed a length of parchment and touched her wand's tip to it, and an image appeared. She passed it to Molly. "There you go."

It was strange, seeing in black and white a picture of the baby growing within her. Molly was also quite struck by the magic. "How did you…?"

"A version of 'Homenum Revelio.' Bloody useful for things like this," the woman said with a chuckle. "Helped assure my husband each time that we weren't having twins and that our kids were healthy. I've got five, you know."

"I do. Ellis was in my year."

"Ah, right, right… Well, with five under my belt, it became even more fitting that I was a midwife. I knew what to expect." She stood and pushed Molly gently until she lay back. "You're doing well, dear—if anyone knows, I do. Now let's finish with some abdominal massages, all right?"

Most of her appointments with Caruso went similarly, though, as time went on, Caruso stressed that Molly indulge a little more. "You're eating for two—it's all right to look it, Molly," she'd commented.

Molly had the time to eat, too. She still had not been back to the Obliviator Squad to tell anyone what had happened. Hell, she hadn't even contacted Mina to let her know anything yet. Above all else, Molly hadn't breathed a word to anyone in her family. One word to one person meant her private business went public—at least within their large family. There was even recent evidence of this, when, two Christmases ago, James had been outed by Al to the rest of the family after the Potters had learned of James' relationship with Finch–Fletchley. Things were getting better for James, especially since the wedding, but he and Al still weren't talking. Molly didn't think Lucy would treat her similarly, but she and Michael agreed that it probably was best for them to keep their secret as secret as possible for now.

So far, the only people who knew were Healer Caruso, Lisa, Terry, and Stephen, the last three chiefly because of the night when Molly had fainted.

Michael thought that was all right, but… "Luv, Lisa, Terry, and Stephen are my friends. Are you sure you don't want to tell just one person?" he asked her as September slipped out of the room and October announced itself with chilly winds.

"No, not right now. I've still Frobisher to answer to, and I'm just trying to figure that out."

He crossed his arms after plucking the crossword puzzles from her hands. "Look, I get that you don't want to tell Victoire, because she's family, even though you two are somewhat close. But what about Wilhelmina? She's your best mate, isn't she?"

Molly thought about it. She hadn't really considered it before. Having a best mate had never exactly meant much to her before. It hadn't been a priority of hers. Although, she could see why Michael assumed as much. With both Molly and Mina working at the Ministry, they rather relied on each other's companionship from time to time, but that was mostly since there was no one else. However, Molly had never shared secrets with her—or with anyone else, for that matter, besides Michael.

"At least use Wilhelmina as a character witness or something before you go get torn a new one by Frobisher," he suggested, and she picked up one of the pillows on the couch and threw it at him.

It did weigh on her mind, though, when Molly went to work with him at last on a Friday early in the month. Michael kissed her for good luck, but he did have to work. He'd only taken off back in August when she'd first been banned from the squad. Besides, they'd done more than well on two Ministry paychecks, and now things were beginning to feel tight on just one, especially with everything Molly devoured these days.

She marched to the lifts and rode to the level for her office, keeping her promise to Michael to avoid all stairs since she'd begun to show that her balance was off. The Obliviator Squad room was not as busy as it had been before. Actually, it was rather quiet.

"Hello?" Molly called.

She didn't see any of their trainees, and even Ackerley was absent. But Cauldwell was there, and—to her surprise—he looked glad to see her. "Weasley."

"Uh, hullo…" She dropped her eyes. It was too awkward to look at any of them considering how she'd been sent home.

"How are you?"

His words and tone were kind, so she at least replied, "Good. Really. Um, is Frobisher in?"

"Yes, hidden deep within her office."

"Yeah?"

He nodded; she watched his shadow bob its head up and down. "We've been swamped in paperwork and…well, she's a bit of a mess."

"Who's a mess?" Frobisher called.

Molly picked up her head and saw that piercing dark brown gaze.

"Ah, Weasley." Her voice softened. "Come in."

Cauldwell said he'd bring them some tea, and he left the two women alone. "Alone" described things perfectly. Molly's initial observation had been right on the mark. The only ones in today appeared to be Cauldwell and Frobisher. "Uh, where is everyone?" Molly inquired.

"Sent some home since it's slow today. A few—" Frobisher stopped. "Ackerley and two of the trainees have taken turns posing as Muggle doctors to finish helping that boy recover in a Muggle hospital."

A lump formed in Molly's throat. "Oh. I see."

Frobisher sighed heavily. "Molly, he… The boy's fine. He'll be all right."

Several minutes—maybe ten—passed. Frobisher conjured up two glasses and poured herself a drink from her secret stash, about which Molly hadn't known until now. She motioned to Molly.

Molly shook her head, though she sat. "Oh, no, I don't…"

Frobisher poured her some anyway. "One won't hurt."

"No, you see… I can't." She steeled herself. "You see, I…have the best and the most terrible excuse for, uh, everything."

The older woman raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"I'm expecting."

The next thing she knew, Frobisher was holding her arms open and shouting, "THANK GODRIC!" And Molly had no clue why.

"Uh, beg pardon?"

Her boss laughed heartily until tears came to her eyes. "Oh, Merlin… Weasley, this is the best news in a decade!"

Molly blushed furiously. That made no sense! Why would Frobisher be ecstatic like this? She knew Frobisher had no kids of her own, so what…? "I'm sorry, but I really don't understand."

"You don't?" Frobisher downed the drink she'd poured for Molly. She laughed again. "HA! Oh, Molly… Sorry, it's just… I've been scaring myself silly, thinking what was wrong with you. To find out it was just hormones—I couldn't be happier. It means I'll eventually have my top Obliviator back on my team! Oh, thank Merlin…!"

Go figure. Frobisher wasn't strangely worried for her—she just wanted to see Molly back at work. "Then, I'm—I wasn't fired?"

"Heavens, no! You think I'd really give you up?"

"But—"

Frobisher shook her head. "Weasley, I blew up at you back in August. Rightly so, I'd like to think. I didn't believe you'd make a mistake like that for no good reason. Granted, that was the worst kind of mistake in our line of work, but… I also shouldn't have let you come with us. You'd been off—morning sickness, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

She nodded. "Your hormonal imbalance and then the shock of hearing about your good friend's mother being hurt… It was too much. But I didn't want to think that, so I let you stay in the field. But you were too jumpy, too jittery. I'm sorry for that."

The last thing she'd been expecting was an apology! "No, I—!"

"But," Frobisher added, "you can't come back to work until your maternity leave's up."

"The Ministry has that?"

"Of course, Weasley. How else do you think the Ministry continues to have workers?" She laughed. "But witches have to have maternity leave. The magical buildup in your system is too touchy—didn't you know witches become risky when they're pregnant?"

Molly gaped at her. She had no clue. Suddenly she wished she had told her mother and had Audrey by her side to walk her through everything. "Sorry if it's too personal, but…"

"How do I know? I'm not a mum, but I'm an aunt, Weasley," Frobisher said. "My twin sister's got a son." Yet, as she said that, she sounded so maternal.

The room went quiet again. Molly shifted in the chair in front of Frobisher's desk. "So…might I at least come in to handle paperwork?"

The older witch appraised her. "…I suppose. You don't look pregnant, by the way."

"I know."

"Good. Now get out of my office, Weasley."

Molly nodded and stood. But, at the door, she paused. "The boy—what's his name?"

Frobisher didn't even glance up from her work. "Alexander. And his mother loved him very much."

The young witch pursed her lips and closed the office door behind her. When she went to head out of the squad room, she saw Cauldwell again.

He stood awkwardly, sans the aforementioned tea, and scratched his head. "It's nice to see you again, Weasley."

"Thanks."

"Um, don't take this the wrong way…" His eyes were wide. "You're, uh, ahm, in a, um…family way, right?"

She put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. Hearing that from him was just too damn funny…! But she nodded. "Please, though, keep it a secret. Tell the boss the same when you have a chance."

He nodded. "I figured as much. Just so you know, Stewart guessed the same thing. Our wives acted the same way, so we sort of knew."

Molly sighed. "I see…" She shrugged. "I suppose it had to be obvious to someone who's at least vicariously experienced it, huh?"

Cauldwell shrugged.

The witch glanced back at Frobisher's office. "She… I feel as though she went easy on me."

"You didn't kill the kid, you know."

"I know, but losing your memory—you have to wonder if that's worse than death."

"She understands that mistakes can happen, Weasley. Really, she does." Cauldwell took her arm and led her further from Frobisher's door. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this office, all right?"

Molly blinked but nodded. "Yeah, sure."

He took a deep breath and whispered, "Frobisher understands what happened because she made the same mistake in her last year of training years ago."

"What?" Molly couldn't believe her ears.

"The only reason I know is that I was in my second year of training at the time. I'm the only one from the old crowd who knows what happened."

"She also Obliterated a child's memories?" the young woman asked.

"No, worse—a middle-aged woman's." He sighed. "Our boss at the time yelled at her just as she yelled at you. But he couldn't blame her. A former coworker of his had done the same thing."

"Does it happen often, with us Obliviators?"

"I wouldn't say often, but it can happen. However," he added with a small, sad smile, "it means we've gotten to know the mind better with magic, since we've gotten a handle on recreating memories."

Molly didn't know what to say, but a surge of sympathy—no, empathy—swelled in her for Frobisher. Frobisher may be gruff, but she knew how to lead them. She was a good boss. "Thank you for telling me, Cauldwell."

He shrugged again. "Well…I just wanted to point out that she does give a damn about us, even though it doesn't always seem that way."

Molly nodded again and bid him goodbye. Michael still had a full day of work ahead of him, so she wandered around the Ministry for a little bit.

Bad. Idea.

Whereas she thought she'd glimpsed her father months before (and it really was possible to avoid him because he was always doing something for the Minister and she and he rarely crossed paths), she now watched him heading to his office, her mother by his side.

Anxiety washed over her, but, as she kept her distance, she stayed in control of her body and didn't simply run away. Instead, she watched her parents talk. In truth, it was more along the lines of Audrey bickering at him, likely for having forgotten his lunch again.

Molly surprised herself by chuckling gently at the sight. But she felt like a little girl again, because her parents had always been the same way. It was nice to see that they hadn't changed, but she also missed them greatly. She missed her mother gushing over her and her sister, and she missed being little enough that she and Lucy used to fight over their father's lap… She missed so much.

She tore her eyes away and exited the Ministry. She spotted Mina in passing, but Mina didn't see her, and Molly was all right with that. She'd had enough excitement for one day.

The rest of October was spent with Molly being responsible and eating for two, Molly and Michael reading as many baby books as humanly possible, and them starting to buy baby items.

Michael had a few ideas about rearranging the house, as well. "For one, I'm glad that my parents had a one-level home," he mentioned to his sweetheart during the weekend.

"Oh, Merlin. Michael, you're more afraid of me and stairs than I am!" She didn't blame him, though. It was his way of showing concern.

"I was thinking," he began, changing the topic, "about finally cleaning out my childhood room."

Molly looked at him over the rims of her glasses. "I know we've only used it for storage, but… Is that all right? You've never really gone through that room."

"I know." His expression was pained, and Molly beckoned to him to join her on the floor in the living room where she was sorting toys and bibs. He plopped down and picked up an empty bottle, his eyes glued to it. "I think I didn't because…there are certain things about it that remind me of how things used to be. Before the war." There was an implied, "Before Anthony, Kevin, and Mandy died," because Michael did not talk about his fallen friends. It was known that Stephen, Lisa, Su, and Morag had been missing for a while after the war, but they had turned up alive; that was one thing. But some topics were still too sensitive for him.

"We don't have to clean it out if you don't want to," she murmured in his ear.

"No…we should." He put the bottle down. "We claimed the master bedroom, and the guestroom should stay the guestroom. And…and it's time to clean my old room out. It's good to welcome new things." Michael reached over, hesitated, and then rested his hand on Molly's stomach. He grinned, as it was the first time he'd done that. "I know that Anthony would berate me for hanging on too long, Kevin would shake his head and sigh at me until he drove me nuts, and Mandy would smack me before she barged in and started cleaning things herself."

Molly gave him an "Eh, that's friendship for you" look. She thought about commenting about Mandy and suggesting that he could just ask for her opinion since Mandy was well-known at Hogwarts as half of the pair of ghosts known as The Lovers, but Molly stilled her tongue. He barely spoke of those three, and she didn't want to offend him or to start something.

They resumed their sorting, and it wasn't until a few nights later when, after he'd made a head start on clearing out his childhood bedroom, Michael stopped and said, "All right, dumb question."

"There are no dumb questions, only dumb answers," Molly retorted.

"When do we get to find out what we're having?"

"What?"

"Like, boy or girl?" His thoughtful expression was funnier to Molly than it should've been, so she stifled a laugh.

"You want to know?"

"Don't you?"

Molly shrugged. "I'm cliché—I just want a healthy baby."

Michael pouted but agreed with her. That didn't mean, however, that their curiosity was sated. During her first November visit with Healer Caruso, it actually was suggested that Molly start scheduling her hospital visits so that Michael could participate and learn more. "Since you say he's going to be involved in the child's life," Caruso explained.

Caruso meant well, but her wording… It was off-putting. Molly kept getting the feeling that Caruso and some of the other midwives in the ward gave her looks at St. Mungo's. Then again, Molly hadn't seen any other witches coming and going who were as young and as unmarried as she was…but Molly put those things out of her mind and refused to let the stares get to her.

Instead, Molly agreed that Michael should start coming, too. "By the way, when would it be possible to find out the baby's gender?" Molly asked the Healer later in the month. It was on the weekend, which began the new schedule so that Michael could be along without missing work.

"Oh, we can definitely tell now. Magical pregnancies are not very different from Muggle ones. You're either twenty-two, twenty-three, or twenty-four weeks along, though we don't know for sure since you're not exactly certain about the time of conception." Caruso flipped through her notes while the couple blushed. "Anywho, we can definitely tell for sure by week twenty, so I can tell you now." She picked up her wand but halted. "Are you certain you'd like to know?"

Molly nodded. "It was his idea," she said, jerking her thumb at Michael, "but I've come around to it after all his needling."

Caruso smiled and went ahead with the spell she'd used during one of Molly's earliest visits. She tapped her wand to some parchment and analyzed the picture. "Ah, yes, yes… You two…"

They leaned forward intently.

"…are having…"

Molly didn't think she'd ever been so excited before in her entire life, but she was near to bursting, wanting to know Caruso's next words.

"…a girl."

"Ha, a girl!" Michael exclaimed. "She'll be a daddy's girl!" he declared.

Molly grinned, trying not to bubble over. But she, too, was just as delighted. Not that it would've been bad had Caruso said "boy." But still… A girl. Likely a witch, too, though magical ability could be discovered as late as one's eleventh birthday, so having a Squib wouldn't necessarily be ruled out yet, but, considering their parentage, having a Squib was not very likely. Molly's brain shut up then, as she began recalling what it was like growing up—her, and Lucy, and their parents… Now she would have her very own little girl in three or four months…

After learning this, Molly and Michael began to specify a bit with the baby items. More pink and purple things got thrown in the cart when they went shopping, and Michael began reciting the names of some of his favorite heroines from books he and Terry and Anthony had read during their school days. He was particularly fond of "Michelle," but Molly vetoed it.

"Firstly, we don't need another 'M' name—that's tacky," Molly remarked. She rolled her eyes when Michael stuck his tongue out at her; sometimes it felt as if she were the older one, really. "Secondly, that's so close to 'Michael;' don't be so narcissistic, dear."

"I get your second point, but the first is ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with having another 'M' name." He frowned, but a couple quiet minutes passed. Molly looked at him and realized he actually was upset.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

Michael disappeared around the corner of the next aisle in the store. After maybe five minutes, he returned with a sigh, but he still had a clenched jaw. "I'm not asking that we name her after my mother. I know it bugs you that so much of your family named you and your cousins after relatives. So I'm not expecting us to name our daughter 'Marlowe.' But—" His expression turned pained, not unlike how it'd been when they'd spoken about changing the room arrangements at home. "Don't forget that you don't have to make all the decisions by yourself, Molly…and that you can't. I'm the father. I don't plan on going anywhere. I love you." Michael stepped close to her and put a hand beside Molly's on the cart's handle; his other hand he placed on her belly. "Both," he emphasized.

She nodded and pecked his cheek. "I know that. I'm sorry, I overstepped—"

"No, it's all right." They finished their shopping and went home, but things grew uncomfortably quiet. They put the baby bags in the baby's room without saying anything to each other, Michael cooked dinner in silence, they ate in silence, and they readied for bed in silence. After they'd turned out the lights and Molly had pulled the cover over her shoulders, Michael finally spoke. "This is tough, on just the two of us."

Molly frowned. "…yeah, it is."

"How do people do this without family around them?"

"I dunno," she whispered.

Outside their bedroom window, a winter wind hummed by. It was the heavy kind of wind, dense and muffled. It was probably snowing outside.

"Hey, Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking I might at least tell Wilhelmina."

"Oh. Good, good. … I'd like to tell my aunt."

Molly rolled over onto her other side to face him. "You never mentioned an aunt before."

"That's because I haven't seen her since Mum and Dad passed years ago. She married my Muggle uncle who died when I was little, but she moved to Grimsby with him and never left. She never had kids of her own, and I don't see her often."

"She's your last living relative, isn't she?"

"Not counting distant relatives on my mother's side, yes. So I'd like to tell her."

Silence returned to the room, and Molly cuddled close to Michael. "Strange, isn't it?"

"What?" he murmured.

"Caruso warned me that we'd both be hormonal at times."

At last, he snickered and had a hard time quieting down. But he didn't deny it. "Ah, g'night, Mols."

"'Night, Michael."

It was decided that they'd visit Michael's Aunt Ruth before Christmas. Michael warned Molly that Ruth was a very prim and proper woman who'd always preferred parties at which to show off one's wealth over heading north to visit Michael's family in Durham when he was young. "My uncle's family had a history with the fishing industry there, so my aunt learned what she could from him and now she's respected as a buyer for several of the town's restaurants." Michael rolled his eyes as he explained things to his love. "Yes, Aunt Ruthie's a charming woman who's made a name for herself by magically cleaning up the best fish and therefore getting the highest bids—she's lucky she's the only witch around to do that."

The way he spoke about her, the more unsure Molly grew about the woman. Yet Michael insisted on introducing her to his aunt. He kept saying "Family's family," but that was such a joke, and Molly simply tried to keep her conscience from reminding her why that was every time he said those words.

But, considering everything he said about his aunt, Molly knew she'd have to get some nicer dress robes…and there was only one place she could think of to get them in time for their meeting as November rolled into December: Madam Malkin's. The problem? Victoire had been working as Malkin's apprentice for years. Molly could no longer avoid her family.

However, she thought it might be better if she had someone along, though she didn't feel like bringing Michael along this time. If she did, Victoire would pry him with questions about everything under the sun concerning the couple, and they didn't need that at this time. So Molly called upon Mina, whom she hadn't seen for months.

When she did see Mina, she had to flag her down at the end of the workday. Mina looked angry, but she stomped to a stop to wait for Molly.

"Uh…hey," the Weasley began.

Upon getting a better look at her, Mina's anger widened to surprise. "My gods, Molly! You've certainly gotten plump!"

Molly blushed furiously. She thought she didn't look pregnant! "I can explain—"

"What, things go wrong at work so you turn to food instead of friends?" Mina scoffed. "What do you want, Weasley?"

She hated that Mina acted this way. "I know I haven't seen you or even owled you or anything, but…"

"I thought we were friends," Mina spat. "Or is it called something else when you care for someone you spent large chunks of your school life with?"

"Mina, I—"

"And, yeah, I was the one to bribe Dylan to bug Patrick to check up on you when you were first feeling ill. And I was the one to keep Michael in the loop when things were getting worse. And the thanks I get is being kept in the dark?" She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I don't have time for people who don't have time for me, Weasley, so good day."

"Mina, wait!" Ugh, it was not fun trying to walk fast with the extra weight she carried. Still, Molly didn't want to leave things with the Slytherin like this. She caught up with the taller girl. "If I treat you to a snack or dinner or something, will you at least hear me out? Please?" she added when Mina narrowed her eyes at her.

"…I haven't eaten yet."

Molly brightened.

"But don't even think about making me cover the tip or anything! You've got to pay for the whole tab!"

"Deal."

Mina chose dessert instead of dinner, but that didn't make things any cheaper. They went to the Graces Three tearoom in Diagon Alley, and it was exactly like its Hogsmeade counterpart. Mina chose to sample two teas and ordered the pastry platter for two, but Molly was fine with that. Both witches ate more than their fill of dessert, and Molly put away more of it than Mina did, to the snake's surprise. When Mina settled in to drinking just her tea, she watched Molly in awe as Molly continued to eat. "Cripes, Molly… I was just being a bitch when I remarked about your weight. But you keep going like that and you'll balloon in no time at all."

Molly shook her head. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, 'Not exactly'? Is this what you've been doing the whole time? I don't know what happened at work, but it doesn't seem as though you've gotten much better, and Frobisher told me you're taking it easy… What's going on?"

"I'm eating for two."

Mina snorted. "I can see that. But—" Her thoughts disappeared as Molly's words finally caught up to her. "Wait. What?!"

"That's what I wanted to tell you." Molly slowed down. She carefully chewed a chocolate cupcake and swallowed before glancing at Mina. "That's why I was so all over the place. I still sort of am." She hated this. She felt antsy. It was like telling Frobisher all over again. Oh, would telling everyone be like this? If so, she wondered if it'd be possible to hold on to the secret forever.

Mina gaped at her. "No. Way!" Her voice got louder, and other patrons began to stare. Molly hushed her, and Mina sent them some glares before focusing her attention once more on Molly. "You're joking. Really?"

"Yes, of course. I'd never joke about something like this."

"Right, of course. You're Molly Weasley—you don't joke. That'd be anyone in your family except you." Mina cupped her cheek in her right hand. "Sweet Salazar… When are you due?"

"Two, three—maybe just over a month. Not entirely sure…"

"I mean, you've gotten fat—hey, don't glare at me—but I never would've guessed that rigid little Molly Weasley would get pregnant at this age. You don't look pregnant."

"So I've been told," the Weasley sighed exasperatedly.

Mina grinned. "Michael must be delighted."

Molly's cheeks pinked. "How'd you…?"

"As if you don't know how head-over-heels he is for you, you little minx." She tented her fingers and drummed them mischievously. "So, tell me, boy or girl? Any hopes yet for the kid? Most importantly, am I godmother?"

The sudden questions hurt Molly's head. "Ah, uhm, well… Girl. Just that she's healthy—hopefully she won't be premature or anything; we're a little concerned since my belly's small, all things considered. And…we haven't even given that any thought. I, uh…"

Mina smirked—yep, she was a total Flint—and hummed to herself. "Oh, come on, Molly. Of the females you're not related to, who's your closest mate?"

"Well, you have a point…"

"So I'm the obvious choice! I'll be the family who isn't family. I'm sure it'll do the squirt some good to escape the Weasleys every now and then." Mina paused. "Or Corners. Hey, did you two get married or something, too?"

Molly shook her head. "No."

"So it'll be another Weasley, then."

"No, Michael's going to acknowledge her in his will and everything. She'll be born a Corner."

"Uh…"

Molly groaned. "Things are all happening too fast, and it's all unexpected. I think the last thing we need to worry about right now is marriage, Mina."

The other woman shrugged. "Whatever you say. But, still, I have got to be this kid's godmum. Someone has to look out for the kid's best interests."

"Oh, gee, thanks," Molly mumbled dryly. "But first things first—I wanted to catch up with you in part because I'm going to be meeting Michael's aunt—"

"He's got an aunt?"

"Yes, I'm surprised, too. But I need new dress robes before I meet her, so I'll need to see Victoire." Molly reached for the last éclair and passed it to her friend. "Think you could be my backup?"

Mina gave her a sympathetic look. "And do what? Try to convince Victoire that you're just a fatty now?"

"Hey!"

"Well, when are you going?"

"I've got an appointment tomorrow."

Mina grimaced. "Sorry. It's my dads' anniversary tomorrow, and I really can't miss it. I helped Daddy plan something special for Dad," she said, meaning Terence and Marcus, respectively, "so…" She reached across the flower centerpiece and patted Molly's hand. "I'm sorry, mate, I can't. But I can always meet up later tomorrow night, if you want."

Molly sighed. "No…no, it's fine. Thanks, though." They locked eyes. "You're right, Mina. You are a good friend."

The other witch grinned. "And an excellent godmother!"

"Mina…"

"Just tell Michael he can choose the godfather and I'll have his stamp of approval, eh?"

She did, indeed, tell Michael what had transpired, and he simply smiled and chuckled.

"What did I tell you? You can't make all the decisions by yourself."

And then the next morning arrived.

Molly went to Diagon Alley by herself but was careful not to arrive at Malkin's too early for her appointment. She didn't want to give Victoire any extra time to grill her about her life.

Madam Malkin's shop had never changed in Molly's memory. Things looked the same as they had when she was little; the only difference was that, since Victoire had begun work there almost seven years ago, Malkin sold a wider variety of designs. Plus, Victoire was there often enough that now one didn't see Malkin there one hundred percent of the time.

Today was one of those days, it seemed. The shop was empty save for Victoire, and she was behind the counter when Molly entered.

"Hello?" Molly called out.

"Welcome to Madam—ah, Molly!" Victoire smiled brightly and came and hugged her cousin. Then she held her at arm's length and looked her up and down. "Uh…wow. You, um…look jolly."

"Things have been stressful, as of late," Molly remarked. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Victoire raised one strawberry–blond eyebrow. "You can tell me all about that, then." She slipped her measuring tape from around her neck and motioned for Molly to put her bag and cloak to the side. "What's the special occasion? Been a while since you last got robes."

"I'm going to meet…um, Michael's family."

"His folks? Wow…" Victoire gasped. "Wait, Molly. Did he pop the question?" Her face lit up. "He did, didn't he?"

"Well…" Hell. She didn't want to outright lie. But she didn't want to tell Victoire everything, either. It wasn't that Victoire was a blabbermouth, but anything she said to any of her cousins always somehow made it back to the rest of the family. There wasn't any privacy!

Victoire took her silence as conformation. "Oh, wow!" There were tears in her eyes as she hugged Molly. "Congratulations!"

"Um, thank you," she said, patting Victoire's back.

Victoire held on to her for longer than felt comfortable, so, when the older witch finally pulled away, Molly felt something was off. Victoire swiped at her eyes, though, and dried them. "Just…wow. I mean, James was the first to marry. Oh, you probably don't know, either—I have a feeling James might have a kid soon."

Molly gawked at her, red. "What? Isn't that, uh, a little impossible?"

The redhead laughed and began measuring. "No, not that way. He's made friends with a little girl, a runaway, who keeps appearing at the Leaky Cauldron. From what Aunt Ginny's told me, James sounds as though he's been fathering her or something." She rolled her blue eyes. "Good Merlin, imagine if he adopts. Then he'd be the first of us to have a kid, too. How embarrassing, upstaging us two, the oldest!"

For most of the appointment, Molly managed to keep Victoire talking about their cousins, mainly James. The little girl's name was Jacqueline, Victoire said. Molly internally chuckled as she thought about the "J" names in James' family, with him, Justin, and now possibly Jacqueline. She would have to mention it to Michael when he was in a good mood.

"It's hard to believe…" Victoire measured Molly's waist a few times, seeming not to be convinced that Molly had grown larger. "We were once the grandkids. Now our generation is having the grandkids…"

Molly stared at her. "Are you saying…?"

Now it was Victoire's turn to blush. "Heavens, no! Neville and I aren't even engaged! No, we're fine the way we are right now. But it wouldn't surprise me if we do begin a family in the next few years…"

"You can have one, you're sure?"

The seamstress' lips settled into a thick line. Victoire knew what she meant. Last year…Victoire had been pregnant. But she'd miscarried. Molly knew that Victoire had told her as well as James, but Victoire didn't believe that it would be impossible for her and Neville to have children. She blamed the stress of work for what had happened.

Molly knew when to change subjects. "So… Um, I need the dress robes no later than Thursday next week. We have to go to Grimsby, and I think we're staying the night, so… Something preferably in dark colors, like maroon, emerald, or navy—something that looks classy, comely, and smart all at once."

"Anything else?" Victoire asked, her voice hard.

"Nothing flashy. Definitely no gemstone looks or anything. Embroidery's fine. Really, whatever you think's best. I trust your judgment."

"Of course." Victoire wrote some things down and began her sketches. "Are you going to show up at the Burrow for Christmas this year?"

Molly's shoulders sagged; she didn't think she could get away with pulling away from her desk long enough to pop her head in like previous years, especially now that she couldn't use work as an escape and she now looked noticeably…different, even if by just a smidge. "I dunno," she finally fibbed. "Probably not. You?"

"I'll put in the usual appearance, of course." Victoire put her tools away. "Well, that's it. You're all set. I'll have your outfit ready by Thursday, guaranteed."

"Thank you, Vic."

"You're welcome, Molly."

Molly gathered her things and slipped on her cloak, as it was freezing outside. "Victoire—"

"Just go, Mols." The half-French witch suddenly looked very agitated and very tired at once. "Just go." So she did.

"Just so you know, I don't know what we should expect when we get there," Michael said to Molly as they walked past Grimsby Docks the following week. They headed for the marina, as Ruth didn't live far from it.

"It's not terrible here," she commented. She inhaled deeply. "The sea smells wonderful here, not too fishy as I thought it might. These waters are part of the North Sea, right?"

Michael nodded. "When Dad first learned my uncle-to-be lived here, he thought it was nice here. Told Mum all about how we'd visit Aunt Ruthie when we could in the summer. But that didn't really happen."

"Why?"

"Not that she didn't love us, but she sort of lost interest. Dad always described her as a 'character,' but I think that was just him trying to be nice and not say that his sister was a half-Mlood."

Molly stared at him. "What the hell is a 'half-Mlood'?"

He blinked. "You've never heard the term before? Though I suppose it's rather outdated… It's an old term used by some of the older Wizarding families. It's not really used by purebloods, but a half-Mlood is what you call a half-blood witch or wizard who only uses their magic rarely or for the basest of tasks. As if they'd all but given up their magic. It's not a total slur like 'Mudblood,'" Michael added grimly, "but it's still not very nice. It's a mash-up of 'half-blood' and 'Muggle.' But I suppose everyone has to have a name to call someone else."

"Half-Mloods and…Mudbloods," Molly added with a shudder, thinking about her mother and her aunts Hermione and Miraphina, Uncle Charlie's wife. "So what does one call a pureblood?"

"An incestuous maniac?" Michael scoffed. "Though we know that not to be entirely true, considering your family. Now, the Black family, on the other hand… You have to wonder about Draco Malfoy…"

Molly rolled her eyes and playfully nudged him in the shoulder. "Don't be a git, Michael…"

Ruth's house turned out to be a luxury flat lodged between two others, located in a building four streets from the marina. Her place was more like a townhouse, with fancy stonemasonry decorating the front and four levels of windows standing out. Yet the windows on the third and fourth floors were boarded up, and Michael didn't know why.

He rang the doorbell. Inside there was a clamor, and the door cracked open the very next moment.

A woman with an eye resembling Michael's peeked at them. "May I help you?"

"Ruth Corner?" Michael asked. "Aunt Ruthie?"

The door closed and then opened all the way. The woman stood there, a knitted shawl with an anchor pattern draped over her shoulders. She gave Michael a funny look and squinted at him. "Michael?"

"I haven't changed that much," he said with an unsteady chuckle.

Ruth reached up and patted his shoulder. "No…no, you haven't. You'll never cut your hair, will you?"

Molly couldn't help but giggle. Ruth sounded exactly like Grandmam Weasley. But Ruth looked directly at her.

"And who's this?"

"My girlfriend, Molly Weasley," Michael said.

Ruth cocked a gray eyebrow. "Molly Weasley? I knew a Molly Prewett and an Arthur Weasley… They were a few years above me at Hogwarts. Any relation?" At last she stepped aside so that they could enter.

"Yes," Molly informed her. "They're my paternal grandparents. Sorry, you just—your mannerisms remind me of my grandmother."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"I never thought much of her."

Molly stared at the woman. How was she supposed to react to that?! Michael didn't know either, because he only stared between the two of them.

Ruth shrugged as if she'd said nothing wrong. "Always gallivanting about with Arthur as if the rules didn't apply to them." She looked at Michael with raised eyebrows. "Your father fancied her for a short time, but he was even younger than I was, so thankfully the idea eventually left his head." She sauntered into what looked to be a kitchenette and grabbed a mug of coffee before heading out to the tiny veranda towards the back of the townhouse. "Granted, Marlowe was five years younger than Gabriel, but I liked her family much more."

Molly sent Michael a pointed look. Michael's father had been giving Ruth the benefit of the doubt, saying she had character. Molly had to wonder if anyone had ever called Ruth a "half-Mlood" to her face—if not, she was getting ready to do just that!

Ruth dragged her eyes up and down at the sight of them. "So. Tell me. How did this happen?"

There was no "You look nice" or "Pleased to meet you" with this woman. Molly let Michael do all of the talking because she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't spit venom at the woman, for nearly every other word out of her mouth was offensive: "They had seven children, did they? No wonder people like the Malfoys called them poor" and "A Muggle-born mother? Well, you seem fairly normal" and, best of all, "So what will you do in the future?"

The last one threw them off a tad. "What do you mean?" Molly asked through gritted teeth.

"Obviously you're young—much younger than Marlowe and Michael's father, bless his soul"—Michael's hand tensed in the small of Molly's back, and she didn't blame him—"so you must have other dreams. Do you think you'll be an Obliviator forever?"

"As long as I'm able," Molly stated.

"You don't seem like a bad girl," Ruth suddenly said, much to their surprise. But then she added, "If Michael had to be entertained, I guess you aren't a bad choice."

Her own family had been one thing. Percy was annoying as hell, but he'd never told his daughter that Michael was just a fling. He simply didn't want to believe that they were involved. It was different from how Ruth treated her, which was more shocking. Molly had been dealing with her father's cold shoulder for a while now, and every person from Michael's inner circle had been nothing but brilliant to her, so it was like ice-cold gillywater to the face to have his closest living relative act this way.

Ruth opened her mouth to say something else, but Michael cut her off. "Why must you say these things?" He held up a hand when she babbled. "No, I don't think I want to know. Aunt Ruthie, we came here because you're my family. Look, I've always thought you were a little different—strange, perhaps—but you're family. Mum and Dad always made that clear. You never took your husband's surname, so I grew up thinking being a Corner meant something to you." The wizard shook his head. "Now I see that it doesn't. Still, I thought you should know."

"Know what?" she asked with a sneer.

"There's another Corner on the way. Molly's pregnant."

Ruth dropped her mug, and it shattered on the wooden boards of the veranda.

"I'm not asking for money or any kind of help. Hell, we're not even asking for your support. But can't you at least be civil?" Michael really was hurt by all this.

Meanwhile, his aunt gasped for air. "What! She! My!" Like that, she deflated, and her ego exponentially caved.

Michael reached out to her and gently stroked her arm. "Please," he begged. "We just want to talk. Is that too much to ask?"

She gaped at him, but she had lost all her words. Molly was glad, because that gave her the chance to talk. In fact, brunch and dinner passed by without further qualms from Ruth. She had been stunned into silence, and Michael and Molly took turns telling her about their future plans and everything. They left out the story of the Obliviator accident when telling her how they'd learned Molly was pregnant, but instead Molly tried to share parts of her personality with the older woman. Ruth didn't quite object to the idea of Molly; she simply seemed not to like the idea of any woman whom Michael chose for himself.

As the sun set, it was obvious that they would not be staying the night. They had had enough of his aunt for the day—hell, Molly would've told him that she'd had enough of "Aunt Ruthie" to fill a lifetime, had Michael asked.

When it was time to go, no one said anything. Michael showed Molly to the door and asked that she wait for him outside.

"I just need to say something to her before I go," he mumbled.

Molly understood it to be family stuff, and she didn't mind being excluded. She wasn't sure she wanted to call that woman family…ever.

Michael was gone for only a minute before he reappeared at Molly's side and walked her down the street and back the way they came. "That was…something else."

"Tell me about it!"

Michael hugged her shoulders and pecked her temple. "I'm so sorry about all of that. She's grown impossibly bitter since my parents' deaths. I think she resents not having gone first; she always took her role as Dad's older sister very seriously."

Molly nodded…and, sighing, felt a spot of sympathy for her, though she didn't want to. But there was no denying that Molly took her role as Lucy's big sister seriously, too. Being the older sibling was one step from being a parent, in a way; one had to look out for one's younger sibling, protect them and act in their best interests as best as possible.

"It's frustrating. We've really got no family to back us." Michael cursed.

"Yes, we do," the brunette said, surprising him. "Terry's practically your brother, yeah? And Wilhelmina's hell-bent on being godmother… There's Stephen and Lisa, too, and Su, if you'd like to tell her. Even Morag, though I know you two haven't been as close since the war. And you never told Padma, though it's only a matter of time, because you've always described her to me as the nosy sister you never had. And, should I tell Patrick and Dylan—if Mina hasn't already—that's another two." Molly smiled warmly and snickered. "Oddly, in a way, I think Frobisher's looking out for me, too… So we've got our own little family."

Michael nodded. She'd made a good case. And now they could head home and enjoy a good Christmas break.

They spent their holiday tidying up the house. Actually, Michael did most of the tidying. Molly rested most of the time, keeping off her feet, which were beginning to ache like never before. She did, at least, cast a few spells, so the cradle assembled itself and she changed the color of the walls from pale blue–green to a light lavender color. As the days passed, more and more the Corner home grew cozier.

After the New Year, Molly had Mina over a few times, mainly when Michael went out to do some shopping. "He makes a lovely housewife," Mina teased Molly as soon as the door shut behind him on the first Saturday in January.

Molly shoved her off the couch. "Make snide remarks when you have a bloke in your life, Mina."

"Ow!" Mina whined dramatically.

"Come off it—you landed on the fallen cushion, on the carpet. Your bum's fine."

"Yeah, yeah…" Since she was on the floor, Mina reached for her purse and pulled out something. She passed a doll to Molly. "By the way, here. For the kid."

Molly took it, delighted. No one had given them anything for the baby, and— "Oh, my. Mina, is this handmade?"

Mina snarled and looked away, but her face was red. "So what if it is?"

"No, it—it's adorable. It's knitted perfectly." Molly held it close and looked at the expertly made Hogwarts cloak, broom, and… "Mina," Molly laughed, "is that a wand or a Beater's club?"

The other witch shrugged, feigning innocence. "Ooh, is it a club? My bad. I guess she'll just have to call the doll 'Wilhelmina.'"

"But, judging by the doll's cloak, she hasn't been Sorted yet."

"And that can be changed easily once the little one's got a House in eleven years. Or maybe she'll want to be in Slytherin like me."

Molly rolled her eyes. It was great, having Mina over more often. A few times, Molly had been a bit stir-crazy with just Michael around, so Mina was a welcome change of pace.

And, yet, the following Saturday, Molly wasn't expecting Michael to make another shopping trip so soon. He'd just stocked up well for at least two weeks, so there wasn't anything they needed. "We, uh, ran out of milk," he spluttered, and he left before Molly could bother him further about it.

But she owled Mina to hang out, and Mina came. She brought along her Exploding Snap cards, too, and that kept them entertained for hours.

Yet lunch passed. Mina made them sandwiches since Michael still hadn't returned, and Molly felt something was wrong. "I thought you said he was running out for milk," Mina called from the kitchen.

"He did."

"But you've still got half a gallon of skim in here."

Molly put her cards aside and levered herself off the couch. She went to the kitchen, and Mina held the fridge door open, the milk in her other hand. "But…" It didn't make sense. Michael never lied—about anything!

"Why would he make up such a bogus story?" her friend asked, putting the evidence away.

The Weasley opened her mouth, but no sound came out. So she shook her head.

Mina pursed her lips. "Hey, Mols? I want to ask you something, but don't flip out… Has he been putting in any overtime? Been coming home late?"

"No. As soon as his day's up, he comes right home. He…" She stumbled into one of the chairs at the countertop and grasped it before sitting down. "He's loved taking care of me. He's quite ridiculous about it. Stubborn, really. It's almost irritating, sometimes."

"Is it possible…?"

"No way in Azkaban! He and I are completely fine. He— Nearly all the women he knows play for the same team he does," she said crassly, "and Padma's like a sister to him."

Mina nodded. "Right. I shouldn't've said anything."

Molly couldn't picture it. Michael, cheating? There was no reason for it! …but a part of her told her that there didn't have to be a reason for someone to cheat, not always…

Mina suggested that they play a few more rounds of Exploding Snap while waiting for Michael to get home. Then questions could be asked, answers hopefully would be given, and things should be sorted out. Mina tried to be reassuring about this plan of action, but Molly sourly threw her cards in the pile until the explosions came so quickly together that the noise could've drawn a neighbor's attention, and Mina finally put the cards away.

The pregnant witch dozed off when it got to be half past seven, but she felt she hadn't slept for long when the front door opened and slammed shut. Molly jolted awake, as did Mina, who'd nodded off, too, but Mina took her wand in her hand and went to the door. Molly heard her gasp.

"What happened to you?" Mina screeched.

Molly turned around—and got a good look at her love when he entered the living room. "Oh, my Merlin—Michael!"

His left eye was swollen shut. It was black and blue and purple, as was the cheekbone right below it. There was a red mark at the end of his left eyebrow, too, but the rest of his face was fine. "Hullo, hon. I'm home."

She sat up on the couch, and Mina walked him around and sat him down on it. Michael patted Molly's knees as the two witches gawped at him. "Michael, what on earth…?" Molly swallowed her heart. His appearance had given her quite the fright. "We thought the worst things had happened!"

"Me, dead?" Molly and Mina exchanged a guilty look. "Of course not. Surviving member of Dumbledore's Army, you know." He winced when Mina touched his cheekbone. "Ah, yeah, that stings a bit."

"I reckon so. May I?" Mina motioned with her wand. "I learned a few things. Had to, with two dads in Quidditch."

Michael agreed to let her Heal him. "Thanks… I would've asked Terry or Lisa," he said to Molly, "but they were busy, and I didn't want to bother them."

"Not to mention they would've asked questions right away!" Molly exclaimed. "Michael, what the ruddy hell happened?"

He chuckled nervously. "Um, you won't believe this, but it's a really funny story…"

"Yes, I'm dying from laughter."

Michael swatted Mina's wand out of his face and locked eyes with Molly. "Promise me you won't get mad."

"Michael, just tell me—"

"Promise you won't get mad." He glanced at Mina, who nodded and took Molly's wand out of reach.

"UGH! Just tell me already!"

"I…went to see your father."

Again, both witches stared at him. "Come again?"

Michael motioned with his hands, as if that'd help him make his case. "I thought, man to man, he and I should have a talk."

"But he's barely acknowledged you before this. What made you think it was a good time to have a chat with him now?" Molly's eyes widened. "Oh, my—! He punched you?"

"I'll admit, I came on a bit strongly—"

"What the hell did you say to him?!"

"I told him I was going to ask you to marry me!" Michael bellowed, the tension breaking. He huffed and then continued, "I told him that I wanted to do that and that I still respected him enough to try asking him for your hand. Old traditions die hard with me, I suppose. The same goes for Percy. He didn't even say no—he slugged me instead and demanded that I never show my face around him ever again. I told him I was going to marry you anyway. I said, 'I thought you should know,' but he acted as if I weren't even there by that point. No way in hell did I tell him why I was asking now and not further in the future—"

Molly's eyes grew moist. "You…you wanted to marry me anyway?"

"Of course! I thought it would be easier if it happened now, though, with the baby coming, so things have just been bumped up the schedule." Michael groaned and let Mina finish her magic. He hissed when he opened his eye for the first time in an hour or so, but it was better now. He thanked her and then pulled Molly's legs onto his lap. He looked at his love. "When I was about to leave, he suddenly acted as though it'd be best to get in one more shot, and he came stalking after me…"

"And?" There was always an "and."

"…and I learned something when I briefly dated Ginny as a teenager. I've noted that the Bat-Bogey Hex terrifies her brothers just as much as it terrifies everyone else." He winked. "Sure, I'm not as spectacular at it, but it stopped Percy from coming after me and let me escape."

Molly wetly laughed. "Oh…my Merlin. You hexed my father."

"That I did."

"About time someone did!" Mina piped up.

Michael smirked. "You've completely missed the point, luv."

Molly rested her head on his shoulder, exasperated. "Which is…?"

Michael leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers and looking her in the eyes. "He. Never. Said. No." He kissed her lips gently then and sat up straight, hugging her to him. "As far as the devious eagle in me is concerned, that was just as good as a 'yes.'"

Molly laughed, and Mina cheered. "I'm so…relieved," Molly breathed.

He kissed her again and caressed her cheek. "Hey, I'm fine. What're a few minor injuries to marrying the love of my life?"

"And you said you weren't going to worry about marriage," Mina chimed at Molly as she got up off the floor and fetched snacks for them. Apparently candy was for dinner.

Michael glanced between the two women. "You two really thought I was dying in a ditch somewhere, didn't you?" He gave Mina a look. "Thanks a lot for putting ideas in her head, Flint."

"Uh, of course," Mina nervously murmured. But Molly gave her a look, too. There was no way they'd talk about the ideas that Mina really had put in her head…ever.

The following Saturday, the third that January, arrived, and Molly Weasley turned twenty-two. Two days later, she and Michael went with Wilhelmina and Terry as their witnesses to the Ministry of Magic, and a Wizard of the Peace married them. Now it was Molly Corner who recently had turned twenty-two.

Molly had needed little convincing after Michael had formally proposed to her. It was his idea, as well, to see a Wizard of the Peace, but Molly wholeheartedly agreed with that idea. She had never pictured one of those princess-like weddings for herself, and, when they left the Ministry that day, the more she believed this had been the perfect decision.

"What does it mean, though, living in the mainly Muggle Durham?" Molly asked when they got home. Though it was a Monday, they took the day off. Michael said they'd have a real honeymoon in the summer, after they were settled, but they could at least enjoy their wedding day.

"The Wizard of the Peace explained it to me," Michael responded. "When witches and wizards file their marriage licenses at the Ministry, a copy magically appears in their city or hometown, so Durham's already got our license."

Molly grinned from ear to ear. "Good Godric, sometimes I just love magic."

"Yes, but my favorite kind of magic," he said with a purr in her ear and his hands on her waist, "is the kind between you and me. And may I say, you look ravishing, Mrs. Corner?"

"Thank you, Mr. Corner, but even I finally look pregnant and not just fat anymore."

Michael brushed some stray curls out of her eyes. "Yes, but that means that she'll be here soon."

"Our daughter," Molly whispered, gazing up into his eyes. Oh, she could get lost in them any day.

He rubbed the back of her neck and slipped his fingers under the collar of her turtleneck. He tugged on the chain he found and pulled out her necklace, revealing the white gold ring on it, with a solitaire-cut opal. "Just a little longer, eh?" he breathed.

Molly found his necklace, as well, and fingered his own wedding band. "Just a bit longer."

Michael kissed her cheek and then her neck. He nuzzled her hair and breathed in her scent. "You know, luv…"

"Hmm?"

"We won't have much time to ourselves before the baby comes." He pulled her closer to him.

"I'm two steps ahead of you," she said, and she pulled her glasses off and led him to their bedroom.

But that was all the fun and games they could handle for a long while. The days passed with quiet monotony as they worked like usual. Molly tried to stay at her desk all day long, as much as possible, because she tired too easily when she walked around. Michael would still come and take her to lunch or at least bring it to her, and Mina dropped by every three or so hours, her boss permitting. A few times, even Frobisher "dropped" a piece of wrapped chocolate on Molly's desk to keep up her energy. Things were not so bad, and so the next week flew by, too.

That Friday, the last of the month, gave them a small reprieve. Frobisher let Molly go home early, as did Michael's boss with him, so they got home in time to take a sunset walk around their neighborhood before dinner. It was lovely with the snow crunching under their feet, and Molly wasn't too tired for it.

They had an early dinner, too, and tucked in early. It was such a luxury to do so, but Molly felt it was about high time they enjoy some luxury; it wasn't as though it often came to them.

They climbed into bed, and Molly reclined—and winced. She hissed slightly. "Oh…"

Michael spun around. "Mols? Are you all right?"

She chuckled. "Haven't heard that in a while…but yeah. I think I just went horizontal too quickly… Get the lights, will you?"

He did as she asked, and Molly turned on her side. She felt some pressure in her abdomen, but nothing to cause her worry, and being on her side didn't make it seem so bad. Besides, being on her side allowed Michael to snuggle her better, and that helped, too. Eventually she fell asleep.

Yet, sometime later, she awoke. She had another twitch of pain, sharper this time. She didn't ignore it, but another twitch came maybe forty, fifty minutes later. Then nothing…so she went back to sleep.

Some amount of time later—she didn't know how long—Molly's eyes flew open, and she cried out. Sweat drenched the back of her neck, and her hair stuck to her neck, her scalp, and her forehead. Another pang hit her.

"Michael!" she cried out. "Michael, hit the lights!"

Her husband was up as if he'd never fallen asleep. "Oh, Merlin…! Oh, Merlin! This is it, isn't it?" Michael swung out of bed and crashed to the floor, his foot caught in the coverlet. He rushed to dress and to grab the cloak of his in which the pocket held all the items they needed, for they had long since packed a baby bag.

"Yep!" was all Molly could manage. She struggled to throw off the blanket, and she understood that her legs weren't just sweaty. Her water had broken.

Michael ran around to her side of the bed and helped her up. He Summoned two of her thickest cloaks and helped her into them, but then he walked her to the door. After they were outside, he locked up the house and then Disapparated with her.

He'd done a couple run-throughs before, so he Apparated to right in front of St. Mungo's just as Molly let out a high-pitched yowl. He got her inside, and the Healers on duty fetched a wheelchair and got her in it.

"We need Healer Alice Caruso," Michael told them. "She's our midwife. And if Healer Lisa Turpin is on duty, too, please get her for us."

Molly lost all sense of time as the contractions came closer and closer together over what felt like hours but could've easily been minutes. Sometimes Michael was there by her side. Sometimes she felt lost in a sea of Healers. Once or twice she saw Healer Caruso's and Lisa's faces… Another time, she thought she saw Terry with Michael.

No, it was definitely Terry with Michael. "She worked nearly right up until she went into labor," Michael told him.

"I'm not surprised, and I've seen it happen before," Terry remarked.

At times, the pain numbed to nothing, and Molly could almost sleep. At other times, she moaned lowly. She wished for her mother often. If only Audrey had been there with her. If only Audrey had been there to guide her through this, to reassure her… If only Audrey had been there to hold Molly's hand because, in this moment, as she became a mother, Molly wanted nothing more than to have her own mother there with her, family tensions be damned.

Early on in her St. Mungo's stay, someone mentioned midnight, and Molly knew it was now February first. Was this it? Would her baby girl be born on the first day of this month? Or would her labor last so long that Saturday would become Sunday?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Healer Caruso giving one of her spiels. "Unless there's danger for either mother or baby, it's best to deliver naturally," she had said. "The same goes for the pain. The magical build-up in your body from the pregnancy is too risky to deal with if we were to try and lessen your pain. But it's usually all over very quickly." And then Caruso had said that her fourth child had kept her in labor for thirteen hours. Molly didn't want to be in labor for that long.

Ultimately, Molly felt a strong hand in her steely grip, and Michael was back at her side, but he was wearing disposable robes over his clothes now.

"We're going to tilt your cot now," Caruso said from somewhere near her feet. "You won't quite be standing, but it'll be close enough. This is so Baby will have an easier time coming out. She should just slide on right out, Molly."

Molly held on to Michael's hand for dear life. Sweat poured off her, there were two Healers between her knees, and she felt ready to beat a banshee in a screaming contest. She felt, in a phrase, horrifically wonderful.

"Give us a push!" Caruso hollered over Molly's groaning.

She did. She cried out and pushed. Caruso asked for another. Molly screamed this time, as did Michael—ah, had she broken his hand?—and she gave another push. She pushed again and again.

"All right, stop!"

Molly took several deep breaths, and, in the sudden white noise of the hospital, she heard a hiccupping cry.

That was their baby daughter.

Molly laughed and cried at the same time, as did Michael. Healer Caruso cradled the child in her hands as Lisa took care of the cleanup—Molly did everything smoothly afterwards—and then Caruso deemed it all right for Molly to hold her.

She was tiny—not exactly premature, just small. She was a little pale, too, but she…she was perfect. And Molly didn't hate the use of that word in this case.

After the Healers cleaned up the room, mother, and child, Lisa asked for the girl so that the Healers could do a final checkup while Molly rested.

"What's her name?" the blond witch asked, gazing at the baby with a kind, kind smile.

Molly sighed and leaned her head against Michael's arm. "Well, Michael?"

"We could always go the way of the Corners—we've always had Biblical names. Generations of us. It became a sort of joke."

"Fine, then. Sara, but no 'h.'" Molly closed her eyes and saw that ideal in her mind again, of her, Michael, and Baby Sara on the porch… Echoing in her brain, she heard Frobisher's words: "Alexander. And his mother loved him very much." Ah. Molly opened her eyes and spoke to Lisa. "Sara Alexandra Corner. That's her name."

"That's beautiful," Lisa commented. "Really beautiful." She ducked her head at the parents and left the room.

Molly patted Michael's hand and smiled when he winced. "I broke your hand, didn't I?"

"Eh," he said with a shrug. "Terry will heal me. What're a few minor injuries to having a family with the love of my life?" He bent down and he kissed her passionately, and it was better than food in that moment.

When they broke apart, Molly cleared her throat. "So…how long have we been at St. Mungo's?"

"You don't even want to know." A quiet minute passed. "I love it. 'Sara Alexandra Corner.' It's perfect. She's perfect."

Molly couldn't agree more.

And, then, the Corners settled into life.

Molly went on maternity leave, but it was her own version of maternity leave. She didn't physically go into the office, but she Floo'd often with Frobisher about cases, and she insisted on having paperwork sent to her so that she could still earn her money. Frobisher had only acquiesced after Molly had shown her Sara during a Floo call, to which Frobisher had responded with an uncharacteristic squeal. It was quite frightening, really.

Michael could only have two weeks of paternity leave before he was summoned back to his desk, but his time at home did help. As it turned out, he and Molly were more than ready to be parents, as they quickly set up Sara's schedule and stuck to it.

They'd lucked out, too, partially. Sara wasn't a very fussy baby. In fact, she was often too quiet. At first, this had scared them, but Caruso had checked on the child and determined it was just her temperament. "Trust me," Caruso said with an envious sigh, "you two really lucked out."

Mina thought it wasn't luck but the healthy influence of those around them. Of course she would think that—Molly did indeed name her Sara's godmother, and Michael chose Terry as her godfather. Still, it was as if Sara had inherited a slew of aunts and uncles: Mina loved to rock her to sleep, Patrick and Dylan loved just watching her sleep (as did Terry and Stephen), Lisa and Su played games with her, and Padma kept going through her own baby things and giving them little trinkets for when Sara got older.

"But—I—don't—appreciate—hearing—about this—three months—after—she—was—born!" Padma scolded Michael on the third of May, when they invited their friends over to celebrate Michael's birthday. With every pause, Padma had smacked him with a folded up magenta-and-gold sari she told them she'd gotten when she was five. They were to hold on to it, of course, for Sara.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't beat me to death, Padma!" Michael whined. "Molly can't be a single mum! She needs me!"

"Dunno, mate," Terry said to him as Molly held a sleeping Sara in her arms and balanced a book on her knees as she claimed the couch. "I think she'd be fine. Not to mention she's got all of us."

"Traitor! I thought you were my friends!"

"We're her friends, too," Lisa said sweetly…and with a smirk that rivaled Mina's.

"I do still have family, you lot," Molly laughed, but her heart warmed at what Lisa and Terry had said.

Padma looked at her. "But you haven't told any of them yet, have you?"

Molly's smile faded, and she shook her head. She could sense everyone else exchange a look. She looked back up at all of them. "But I plan to, really soon. I promise. So just keep all of this quiet a little longer, if you can manage."

Their friends mumbled their agreement. Padma did, though, warn that it'd be hardest for her, since she saw Percy daily as they both worked closely with Minister Shacklebolt and Padma was Shacklebolt's secretary.

But this didn't discourage Molly whatsoever. Just the opposite: It emboldened her. She had taken on one of the hardest occupations in the Ministry. She had done well on her own. She had loved and lost and loved again. She had achievements. She had mistakes. She had married and given birth. She felt that she could do anything now…

…and she still felt that way when a letter came to the Corner home in early July. Sara was five months old now with a thin coating of dark hair. When she opened her eyes rarely, one could see something special about them: her Prewett brown eyes. That merely excited Molly as she reread the letter—actually, an invitation—and made silly faces at her daughter, who beamed back at her.

"Michael," Molly called to her husband that weeknight. "I got a letter today. From Grandmam and Grandpa Weasley."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "That's new."

"Yeah." She passed Sara to him, and he prepared to feed Sara. "It's a bit of a strange occasion…"

"What's it for?"

"Well, I told you what Vic told me about James, right? And the girl he'd been looking after, Jacqueline? Turns out he and Justin really did end up adopting her."

Michael was stunned. "Wow! When did it happen?"

"Just last month, judging by the invite." She showed him the card. "I'm being invited to a family party. Looks as though they're celebrating the first great-grandkid this weekend."

He read it over and frowned. "This is a bit awkward…"

"Oh, who cares? Jacqueline is the eldest. Sara is the first biological one."

"But they don't know that."

"They will."

Michael rested Sara against his shoulder and burped her. "Mols, are you scheming to…"

Molly nodded. "We won't be able to keep these secrets forever, Michael. And, if we try to do so much longer, it will make it seem as though we're ashamed of all we've done. And…I'm not ashamed." She sighed. "I just want to feel like a part of my family again, to show them this part of the family," the witch added, gesturing to the three of them.

"All right. But only if you're ready."

"I am." She reached across and straightened Sara's bib against the little one's back. "Um…does this mean we'll be seeing your Aunt Ruthie ever again?"

Michael shook his head. "No. You saw her place. Her mind's half there, and what's present is rotting from meanness, sad to say. I, uh, actually told her…back then…that I was going to marry you. So she knew even before your father did."

Molly smiled and poked his clean-shaven cheek. "Sounds as though someone's got a little lion in him," she stated.

"Yeah, tell me that when we see your family in a few days."

She did. They went to Ottery St. Catchpole when the time came, but they didn't go to the Burrow immediately. Instead, they stood atop the hill and watched most others arrive until everyone was there but Molly.

"They're going to skewer me," Michael whispered nervously to his wife.

"I won't let them."

"The invite said 'family only.'"

Molly elbowed him in his right side, hard, and glared at him. "You are family, dolt! Now, come on." She paused. "Ah, wait."

Michael watched as she reached for her necklace beneath her blouse. She removed it and slipped on her ring, which fit exactly right, now that she'd lost most of the extra weight. He didn't even wait for her prodding to do the same with his ring.

"Better," Molly exhaled. And she pecked his cheek before they went down the hillside.

The closer they got to the Burrow, though, the more Molly's bravery ebbed. This was the Burrow. This was where she'd grown up, because Percy and Audrey had raised her and Lucy here. This…this was everything she'd ever known.

"Give me Sara," Molly demanded, and Michael brought the carrier around so that she could pick Sara up in her arms. Then she knocked on the door.

It swung open, and Molly recognized two of the three faces as Grandmam Weasley and her mother. The third belonged to a little girl who Molly assumed was Jacqueline.

For a few terrifying seconds, nothing was said. But then Grandmam Weasley's face lit up, and she took Sara without asking, taking Jacqueline's hand with her free one, and she quite literally twirled out of joy all the way to the backyard. Audrey just stared…and then broke into a wet smile and embraced her older daughter. And, again, Molly was fine using "perfect" to describe the words her mother said to her then:

"Welcome home, Molly, welcome home…!"

So…yeah. The first thing that comes to mind is that I'm twenty as I write this, and I would never land myself in Molly's shoes, though I've always prided myself on being the "responsible one" as she is. Still, stuff happens, and I think she and Michael handled everything very well. Even Michael and Percy, which really just amused me more than anything else. But I digress.

Some of the most interesting things to write in this fic, though, were details for my headcanon—specifically, all the dates. By the end of the fic, you know for certain that Molly's 22, Michael's 45, and Sara is 5 months old. Age gap for Mollychael, yes, but I think Molly explained well enough about her being too mature for her own good, not to mention that Wizarding folk can live for a long while, so ten, twenty years shouldn't really matter…anyway.

There's so much to say about this fic…Merlin… I often write this pairing in the background of my other fics, like my Jamestins and until the ride ends & even after that, but I was so pleased finally to write the story Mollychael deserved. Not to mention that I'd never written a pregnancy quite like this before! (Actually, I believe, at this point in time, I've only truly written a pregnancy once before, in Week in Hell…) But yeah…

Most of the characters written actually were MINOR charries from JKR's universe. OCs used were: Michael's family, Patrick Wolpert, Dylan Kirke, Wilhelmina Flint, Miraphina (Charlie's wife, who is a recurring OC of mine), and Vicky Frobisher's twin sister and nephew/etc. And the Muggles. But no Muggles were harmed in the making of this fic. ;] I thought it fun to write Ruth, btw, because I've only ever written an OC once before that you're supposed to hate, and I was kinda going for another villain-type here. XP

Regarding Mols' pregnancy & job: I thought I put an interesting, plausible spin on things. Molly got pregnant around the end of May/beginning of June, fyi. Gotta say that I loved writing so much about the Obliviator Squad. Expanding on the canon JKR gave us is a lot of fun to me, so I love adding to things in the Ministry and Diagon Alley and such. Which reminds me: cookies if you recognize my two OC!restaurants, the Gargoyle's Keep and the Graces Three tearoom. ;)

So…yeah. I'm still having feels, mainly because of Michael hexing Percy and because of The Blow-Up :'(, but yeah. For further reading, I suggest "Trial By Fire," "Two Young Eyes to Guide Me," the forthcoming "With Open Arms & Wings," and—of course—until the ride ends & even after that. Or message me about Mollychael or any of the minor charries used, too. :]

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

2017 note: WELL! Since my 2013 A/N was so long, I s'pose I'll keep this short. Mollychael, like Jamestin and Vicnev, is v near and dear to my heart, as I'm a giant fan of age-gap ships. But I'm also fond of those in Harry's yr even tho I'm not a Trio fan. Writing Michael's interactions with his mates—well, in this case, rereading and editing as needed—just makes me feel warm and cozy. Yes, there are some spoilers for "A Life-Well Lived," "if you fall at midnight," and "Zugzwang" since this is so far in the future, but that's to be expected, and I like seeing the remaining eagles have some happiness, too. :') I agree with my old A/N, about how much fun it is to expand on JKR's canon (the Obliviator Squad here), but I forgot about coining the term "half-Mlood," and I just find that so interesting now, 4 yrs later… :O What else… I absolutely love Mina. XD Marcus & Terence had quite the daughter…! (And I also rly need to write them more, my goodness. :3c) Well, I could go on for days about everything that transpires in this fic, but I'd rather just recommend reading my other Maydayverse fics instead—tho I'll guide you specifically to ch14 of until the ride ends & even after that, bc that meeting with Victoire did not actually ruin Vic's day. ;]

#hp #harry potter #mollychael #molly weasley ii #michael corner #>20k #romance #cross gen #family #angst #fluff #maydayverse #rated: PG13 #next gen era #3rd POV

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