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Molly sat on the edge of her bed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she rocked back and forth. She had told Arthur she needed to be alone for awhile after they had returned from the cemetery, but what she really had wanted, no, needed, was to see her children who were alive today. She needed the reminder that George and Percy's deaths, the entire war, hadn't been in vain.
They hadn't come. She'd sat on George's bed, staring at the picture from when they all went to Egypt, and waited for the tears to come. They'd been so happy then, the whole family together, before the bad times had started again. Percy wearing his fez and lecturing Ginny about how the ancient Egyptians had used red ochre to stain their lips and henna to make their hair red, like hers. George, always the quieter one, but just as ready as Fred to scare three years off Ron's life by talking about giant spiders living inside mummies. They'd actually found a spider somewhere, and she'd said she'd kill them if they tried to bring it into her house.
She'd stock her house with spiders from root to rafters if it would do any good. But her boys were gone, somewhere she couldn't reach and couldn't follow, not yet. Arthur needed her, and she should find him soon, to let him think that he could comfort her; it would make him feel better. And even if her living children didn't seem to have much use for her these days, maybe that was good; maybe it meant the pain of losing their brothers had lessened, and so maybe they didn't think that she still felt it as acutely as she did.
That was something to be envied, because she didn't forget. Not for one minute, not for one second, not one breath went out of her body that didn't send in a new one accompanied by the sharp sting of loss and regret. Her third child, who was going to be Minister of Magic someday, if he'd ever learned to rein in his pomposity enough to let his natural charisma appear. Her fifth, the troublemaker who had nevertheless learned spells for mending clothes and healing bruises, because he knew how much she worried when her babies came home hurt. He had been happy and prosperous, and constantly trying to send money home to take care of the family, from the first time the joke shop had turned a profit.
It was hard, sometimes, to believe she could feel so much pain and live, but she was still alive. It had been another year, and tomorrow would be another day, and she would get through. Sometime soon, she would contact all of her children, hiding her pain so they'd never see it, because children always panic when they see their parents aren't always strong. She would speak lightly about something or another, and probably nag them about whether they were eating properly, how their hair looked, whether she would get grandchildren someday... And if a part of her keened at never again getting to do such homely things for two of her precious brood, well, that was a mother's lot. And she could bear it, because there was no choice but to keep going, and keep her faith that someday, she would see them again.
That was something to be envied, because she didn't forget. Not for one minute, not for one second, not one breath went out of her body that didn't send in a new one accompanied by the sharp sting of loss and regret. Her third child, who was going to be Minister of Magic someday, if he'd ever learned to rein in his pomposity enough to let his natural charisma appear. Her fifth, the troublemaker who had nevertheless learned spells for mending clothes and healing bruises, because he knew how much she worried when her babies came home hurt. He had been happy and prosperous, and constantly trying to send money home to take care of the family, from the first time the joke shop had turned a profit.
It was hard, sometimes, to believe she could feel so much pain and live, but she was still alive. It had been another year, and tomorrow would be another day, and she would get through. Sometime soon, she would contact all of her children, hiding her pain so they'd never see it, because children always panic when they see their parents aren't always strong. She would speak lightly about something or another, and probably nag them about whether they were eating properly, how their hair looked, whether she would get grandchildren someday... And if a part of her keened at never again getting to do such homely things for two of her precious brood, well, that was a mother's lot. And she could bear it, because there was no choice but to keep going, and keep her faith that someday, she would see them again.
Current Location: The Burrow
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