Molly Weasley sighed as she pulled the pan of baked pasta out of the oven. Somehow, life just wasn't as vibrant ever since the showdown between Harry and You-Know-Who. Ever since that fateful day. Ever since her son's death . . . Molly shut the oven and set the dish down on some potholders lying on the dinner table, surrounded by her family. Except Fred, of course.
Molly sat down, and the boisterous crowd that was her family didn't pause in their devouring of the feast to notice her sadness. Far sooner than was polite, Molly excused herself from dinner under the pretense of exhaustion. Though it was true that she was tired, she only excused herself to spare her family the sight of her tears. She felt them escape from her eyes as she made her way up the stairs, and she had to duck into the bathroom and turn the shower on to avoid being heard downstairs as the sobs she had been holding back racked her body. As these sobs turned into wails, she collapsed onto the tile floor, hoping the door was soundproof. As she found herself crying herself to sleep over the loss of her son Fred on the bathroom floor, she struggled to gain enough sane consciousness to turn off the cold shower and stumble to the bedroom she and Arthur shared. Completely cried out, Molly felt sleep beckon to her as she collapsed once more, fully clothed onto her bed. She woke briefly as she felt herself being pulled under the covers and embraced by what she hoped to be her husband, but had not the energy to check. It was in this state she found herself when she caught a glimpse of a miracle. Molly lifted her head off the pillow, suddenly awake.
"Fred? Is that you?" She whispered disbelievingly. The face she knew so well grinned impishly.
"Mum! I'm a ghost!" Fred's elation turned to confusion as his mother dropped unceremoniously in a dead faint.