The prompt: The Weasleys' Kitchen Table
For the Teachers' Lounge Weekly Insanity Challenge
~oOo~
The Burrow was quiet. Molly moved around the kitchen with her usual efficiency, using a plethora of cleaning and tidying spells so the kitchen would be spick and span, having made most of the dishes for tea in advance. Then she scrubbed the kitchen table which took up most of the space. She never used spells for this, just as her grandmother had always cleaned this very table by hand.
Molly set the grill to pre-heat and set out all of her ingredients on the table: eggs, sugar, flour, lemon zest and vanilla extract and then she oiled the tin.
Today she would make her German grandmother's cake. She had learnt it at this very table as a girl. Her Nana had told her what she must do once the batter was mixed – you cooked a layer for everyone you needed to remember, layering and cooking so, when sliced, it looked like the rings in a tree. It was called a Baumtorte, but Molly called it a memory cake. Whenever she made it, she was assailed by random memories. Some memories were luxuries; some felt like torture. Keeping busy meant they could be avoided, but sometimes, it had to be done.
Nana would remember her own grandparents and parents, brothers and sisters and even some of her children who had died young. Young Molly had listened, rapt in the stories of the old country and of sepia relatives existing in memory only.
Molly mixed the batter and poured the first layer into the tin and placed it carefully under the grill, remembering her beloved grandparents as she did so.
A faint smile touched her lips as she remembered how Arthur, Bilius, Gideon and Fabian had manoeuvred the sturdy oak table she had inherited from Nana into Molly and Arthur's new home. It was a huge fuss, as her brothers guffawed that 'The Burrow' was a fine name for such a tiny house.
"You'll need to burrow to excavate a cellar if you ever have kids!" Gideon had said, laughing raucously as he had pushed the table into place, crunching Fabian's toe, who had sworn profanely.
"Ah!" Arthur had said, straightening his glasses. "I've been studying wizarding engineering. I can add storeys to the house as we need them and I only have to source the materials if I can master the spells!"
"Really?" said Fabian, interested, as they had then each carried in the four matching chairs and immediately sat on them. "This is a dry old cafe, sis!" Fabian complained.
"Oh you!" she had said, giving him a swat, smiling at them all indulgently as she filled the huge copper kettle listening to Arthur talk animatedly about the spells required. No chair for her. Oh well. She had been sure she'd find some more at the junk shop that would roughly match. Arthur pulled her onto his lap, calling her Mollywobbles, making their brothers howl with good-natured derision.
"Wait 'til we've left, can't you?" Fabian had cried, downing his tea and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
"We don't want to see you love birds at it on this table!" snorted Bilius. He had always taken a joke too far, had Bilius.
"Bilius!" Molly had admonished, but she had seen the twinkle in Arthur's eye at the thought.
Poor as church mice, but she and Arthur were such happy newly-weds and Molly smiled as she remembered how she had once been as svelte as Ginny, her red hair falling in luxuriant waves past her shoulder blades. And her Arthur, with a full head of hair, handsome to her eyes, brimming with ambition and plans for their future.
Molly removed the tin from the grill and set it to cool.
Molly had found two extra chairs shortly after, and her mother had presented her with a beautifully carved high chair a couple of months later when Molly had told her their news. Molly's mother had been so happy at the prospect of her first grandchild; for the first time since her father had died, her mother's face shone with happiness.
"I wish," she had said tearfully, "I so wish your father and Nana were still alive for this. They'd be so proud."
Molly hadn't wanted their good news tainted by grief, but later that day, Arthur had soothed her, reassuring her that only the sweetest of news could heal the bitterest of losses.
"Dear Arthur," Molly murmured as added she another layer of batter to the cooled tin. Then she placed it back under the grill, remembering Arthur's parents and her own as she did so.
Molly dusted her hands down on her apron and Summoned the high chair over to its place by the table where it had sat for so many years with the succession of red-haired boys (and an extension charm with the twins) and one girl in it and around it.
"You'd better stay here and look after our sister. Between her and Voldemort, mate ... best off keeping her happy!" Gideon had laughed as he and Fabian sat at this table, playing roughly with Bill and Charlie, laughing with Arthur, as Molly had fed Percy in the high chair.
Wizarding Britain had been at war for seven years by that time. You-Know-Who was becoming ever more powerful, but her brave brothers fought with Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, as did so many of their friends. Arthur worried he should be contributing, but Molly wouldn't hear of it – not with her young family. They needed their father. She needed him. Even as Fabian and Gideon laughed – it seemed to Molly that they were always laughing – Molly could hardly bear the talk of war, it scared her so. She often wondered since if she'd had some sixth sense about what was to come.
Molly would always remember that day when Moody had come to tell her that her brothers were dead. She had been sitting at this table, feeding the three boys. She closed her eyes against the memory of her world falling away from her. The tears that had been welling during her remembrances spilled. Her brothers – gone: the last of the Prewetts.
She had thought they would live their lives in parallel – there would be weddings, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews – huge family Christmases. Of course, she knew there would be funerals eventually but she had thought they would grow old together.
She wiped her eyes.
It was a bitter cake to make as she ladled another layer in remembrance of her dear brothers, even as she remembered her joy at the news that followed swiftly after that she was expecting twins.
And so she continued: a layer for Bilius, a layer for all those friends lost in the first Wizarding War and those friends lost in the last: Emmeline, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore. She even remembered Sirius – for Harry's sake.
Molly couldn't do a layer for each of them separately: after so much loss, the cake would be just too tall and she thought her heart would break.
She mixed the batter once more as she remembered how another four chairs had been picked up from friends and relations over the years, cramming as many people around the table as possible. Ten chairs: enough for the family and one guest but they were always short of space. But that didn't matter because this had been a happy house. It always sang with arguments, shouts and laughter when the children were small, and not just their own children.
Molly and Arthur had helped Andromeda when she had left her privileged pure-blood world on her marriage, joining the world of the blood-traitor. They had entertained Andromeda and Ted at this very table many times, Arthur interrogating Ted about all things Muggle, as their many children ran rings around them and young Nymphadora, soon demanding to be known as Tonks, had forged a mischievous alliance with Charlie.
There had been a time when Molly had harboured hopes that Tonks and Charlie might make a match but that had come to nothing. And yet, years later, Molly and Tonks had sat at this very table as Tonks had poured out her heart about her unrequited love for Remus Lupin. Molly had tried her best to get them together once she knew how Tonks felt, but he was such a stubborn man – so deeply scarred by his affliction. It had taken the death of Dumbledore to bring Lupin to his senses, only for him to lose them again with the news that most would celebrate. But they had found their way back to each other eventually.
She smiled as she thought of the little boy with turquoise hair. Such a happy child. Like Lupin but without his world-weariness. He would sit in the high chair today. Molly cast a polishing spell to it and then returned to the cake.
Molly would always remember Lupin and Tonks seated at this table with their two week old son. Andromeda had held the little mite like a life-line and Lupin had looked surprised by joy. It was the most bitter-sweet of her memories of that little family.
Ted, Lupin and Tonks – Molly cooked a layer for her friend, Andromeda, because no parent should have to out-live her child. She and Andromeda would always share this terrible thing. And now she could no longer put off the inevitable - but this layer was the hardest.
Her boy.
Fred.
Her hands dropped in her lap and she closed her eyes. She thought she had no more tears, but there were always more tears for her boy. Her eyes stung as she looked at her care-worn hands; hands that had once held Fred as a baby, changed his nappy, held his chubby hands as he learnt to walk – he and George toddling around the kitchen table, gabbling to each other in their own language. Even then, toddling in different directions so she became flustered trying to keep up with them, even as Percy tried to help his mother, trying to find some authority over his wayward brothers. Of course, poor Percy never did.
She smiled sadly once more, remembering that strange way the twins did everything together: spoke, walked, even flew with a unity of purpose. No wonder they were formidable pranksters, not to mention Quidditch beaters, and then businessmen.
But Molly knew them as a mother: how each was subtly different, each complementing the other. Fred had been the more imaginative of the two. His forte was conceiving ideas and planning. George implemented their schemes. It was Fred who was the more forthright: quickest to take offence; fastest to apologise and to forgive. Their closeness meant they always caused double the trouble, but also meant their brilliance at planning, spells and potions was magnified. They hadn't excelled academically, and yet they were every bit as brilliant as Bill was or as Fabian and Gideon had been. The thought stopped Molly in her tracks.
No. She must remember. Molly grasped the spoon and breathed deeply, then ladled on the final layer of batter and placed it under the grill.
Her breath caught as she recalled telling Fred and George off for bringing Ginny to Hogwarts with them on the day of the Battle; how Fred had berated Percy returning to the fold and then Percy had agreed and, true to form, Fred had immediately forgiven him. Then the four brothers had sped away with Fleur.
Molly had not seen her son alive again.
Holding the edge of the table, she steadied herself and then removed the cake, now golden brown, from the grill, leaving it under a Cooling Charm.
This was a monumental step for Molly. She hadn't made this cake for well over a year. She really hadn't felt able to face it. But today, she felt as if she could turn a corner and it was time to remember, just as she had promised Nana so many years ago.
Wiping away a stray tear, Molly frosted some violets from the garden then put them to one side and then she iced the cake. Finally, she laid the table for tea, setting out mugs, plates and cutlery, heaped plates of sandwiches, sausage rolls and scotch eggs. As she finished setting up, she heard the hands on her clock whir as it showed her family members returning home, followed by the cracks of Apparition outside the house.
Arthur arrived first and kissed her cheek, his loving smile quick and ready. One by one, her family and friends arrived and, with each smiled greeting, Molly's mood began to lift as the kitchen filled with noise and chatter.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, as always. In Fabian's seat was Bill, with Fleur by his side; in Gideon's seat was Charlie; Ron and Percy sat either side of George: his props, unobtrusively supporting him. George was still so quiet as if finishing his own sentences was too painful still. It was early days, Molly knew. It would come. Hermione arrived, followed by Ginny and dear Harry – as good as her son and perhaps soon he would become her son. Andromeda arrived last, with young Teddy on her hip.
One day, Molly hoped her grandchildren would sit around this table: the sweetest of news to heal the most bitter losses. She hoped for Christmases, Christenings, birthdays and weddings – great joy and laughter.
The last of the children jostled for places at the table, Summoning foldaway chairs as the kitchen overflowed with her loved ones and the table overflowed with food in a manner of which Nana would have approved.
As Molly laughed and chatted, she couldn't help but wonder where would they have found room for everyone had their lives not been cut short. Imagine it! Ted, Lupin and Tonks crowded around the high chair. Bilius living up to his name! Fabian and Charlie discussing dragons and Gideon teasing Bill about his beautiful, part Veela bride. Their wives, their children! What would they have been like? Would her brothers' magnificent hair have steel running through it, or be thinning like Arthur's? She couldn't imagine. In her mind, they would be as they were, forever young, always teasing her – what were sisters for, after all? Molly heard Ginny admonishing Ron for some misdemeanour as if to prove her point, and then both Ron and Ginny looked to Harry to arbitrate. Poor boy.
"Ginny dear," said Molly. "Perhaps you'd like to do this with me?"
Ginny looked over and saw the cake and gave her mother a sad smile. Saying no more, Ginny squeezed Harry's shoulder and she moved next to Molly and decorated the memory cake with the violets. Smiling at Molly, Ginny placed the cake in the centre of the table. The sweetest of cakes and the most bitter: because all lives should be remembered by those left behind.
Bill coughed, rapped the table sharply and called everyone's attention to himself.
"I've got an announcement to make," he said with a huge smile as Fleur smiled at him radiantly and then shyly at the assembled family, exchanging a lingering look with Molly.
Molly didn't need to be told as her heart leapt with joy. She clapped her hands together and rushed around the table to hug them both.
Bitterness of grief forgotten for now, the cake that sat in the middle of the family table would be the sweetest after all.
~FIN~
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(Inspired by the Baumtorte in "Mr Rosenblum's List" by Natasha Solomons.)