First HP fic... tell me how I did. :) Not sure if it's good. Apologies for any grammar errors.
Please review? Reviews keep me writing. ;)
Nothing is the same after that day.
The clock was taken down briefly, broken apart, and one piece removed before resuming it's normal place. But everyone can tell that something is missing from the clock, something important. Molly keeps it wrapped, doesn't throw away the missing piece, she places it on the mantle, in front of a vase of white flowers.
There are some things that should never leave their rightful place.
Her son has left his rightful place, his home, his family.
Their family is together, but like the clock; it was taken down, broken apart, and put back together with one precious piece missing. They lost one, yet at the same time, they lost everything.
The Burrow has darkened slightly, nothing is quite as warm as before, most of the occupants move quietly about the house, not wanting to disturb the silence.
Molly likes to think that she knows her children well, more than they know themselves, because isn't that what a mother does?
A mother knows her children more than they can ever tell or know themselves.
She knows that everyone is silent because they are grieving, and she is grieving as well. But that doesn't matter is what she thinks to herself, what matters the most at a time like this... is her children.
Ginny, for right now, she can do nothing to help, because her daughter doesn't need her, she has Harry to comfort her and Molly trusts and loves Harry, that she leaves him to care for her daughter during this time. As she trusts Hermione to do the same for Ron.
Percy has gone away. Again. This time not in anger, not in arrogance, but in grief and regret. Sometimes a mother's touch can do nothing for the pain nor for the silence, and she knows he left because of the silence left inside their home.
Bill and Charlie, her oldest sons, both are people she can't reach, for they are both are adults that are grown so much that they are far away from the children that she remembers them as, those memories seem like they were no more than a year ago. They have their own scars, their own way of dealing with the sadness, yet she offers them the comfort they need, as they do their best to comfort her in return.
She is their mother and that is all she can do. Offer simple comfort.
And that is what she does when George comes to visit the Burrow. Molly offers simple comfort and every time when he comes back to their home, she takes away or covers with cloth; every mirror, every glass, and anything that is dangerously reflective.
He doesn't speak, there are no jokes that pass through his lips, and she doesn't think that there will be for some time. But her son notices her efforts for him and he sends her a grateful look.
That is his ghost. A reflection of what will never come back. His wound is far deeper and more permanant than any kind of weapon could leave.
Molly knows that the war has left scars on every part of her children, it is wrong and war is terrible.
The scars are reminders to some. The silence is the reminder to many. And the mirror is a reminder to one.
She can't fix anything. But, it is her duty as a mother to love, to care, and comfort.
