Caretaker
As a girl, Molly Prewett did not know the harshness of the world.
She knew a family, with a mother and a father. She knew two younger brothers, Fabian and Gideon, and she knew the fields they played in together, endless days in the summer sunshine racing on toy broomsticks. She knew innocence, open spaces, gardens that hardly ever withered underneath her mother's green thumb.
She and her mother had quite the relationship. As the only girl and the oldest, she held a special place. By the time she was eight, Molly had many of the household cleaning spells memorized, though she had no wand to perform them with. She always watched her mother, how she ran the house, how she kept everything neat and proper and it would never ever fall apart as long as she was there.
So Molly decided one day she would hold her house just like her mother, and helped as much as she could so she could be just like her.
They cooked and cleaned and laughed. Soon the boys liked dirt and rocks and frogs far too much for her liking, and so she enjoyed the comfort of the kitchen. She enjoyed the security of the dining room table, the way everyone had their place. She enjoyed setting her father's chair and plate for when he came home from work, grumbling his thanks.
She loved the control of it, and never wanted it to end.
…
When she was eleven, she received her letter to go to Hogwarts. She didn't want to go.
Of course, she wanted to learn magic. But she didn't want to leave her mother.
Her mother led her though Diagon Alley where they picked up all her supplies and an owl and she cried all the way to the train station.
Her mother kissed her on the forehead on the platform, the boys behind her, Daddy at work again, and said: "You'll have fun."
And Molly said, "I won't."
She got on the train. She did not look back.
…
Molly returned home for the Christmas holidays, giddy with stories to tell her mother, eager to tell of all the spells she learned and people she met.
But her mother fainted while they were preparing Christmas dinner, and Molly spent her holiday diligently standing watch over her mother's sick bed.
"Please, Daddy, let's take her to St. Mungo's," she said one evening.
"We won't," he muttered, because what did an eleven year old know about sickness? Her mother was strong. Her mother would be fine without any help.
At the end of the holidays, Molly kissed her mother goodbye and her father escorted her to the train. She cried, looking backwards the entire ride to school.
…
In April, she received a letter. Her mother was dead.
She missed a month of classes because she was at home, watching as they lowered her mother into the ground inside an oak box. Packing up her mother's things, shoving them into the coat closet, cooking and cleaning and taking care of her little brothers.
"You're the woman of the house now," her father muttered, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.
Just like she always wanted.
Of course she had to go back to school, though she didn't see the point. She already knew what she wanted to do with her life, and that was to take care of whoever she loved. She didn't need school for that.
And so every day after that, no matter how warm of a spring it might've been, Molly shivered through weeks of blooming flowers, remembering how the coldness first clamped around her heart.
…
In her third year, she met a boy named Arthur Weasley. He was a bit clumsy with shocking red hair and received top marks in Muggle Studies. She sat across the table from him in the Gryffindor common room, book propped open in her lap, foot bouncing up and down, knocking against the table leg.
"Oi!" he exclaimed, annoyed, "Didn't your mum teach you any manners?"
She sneered, slamming her book shut, "My mum's dead."
She didn't speak to him for two months after that.
…
She spent her summers and holidays cleaning the house, cooking meals, dashing up and down, scrubbing in places her father or the maid he hired would never think to look. Fabian asked her why she tried so hard. It wasn't like anyone really cared.
She cared. None of them cleaned correctly. Not like their mother used to.
It was her job to take care of them. She was going to do it right.
…
She began dating Arthur. He was so sporadic; she didn't know what he ever did without her. She constantly found herself brushing off his robes or cleaning up his crumbs, fixing the ink blots on his parchments and sleeves. He always laughed, stroking her cheek, "Why do you always take care of me so?"
She smiled, "It's just what I do."
In truth, maybe if she took care of everyone enough, they'd never leave. Obviously, she didn't try hard enough with her mother. Obviously, if she had stayed home and tried just a bit more, she would've survived…
Except she was dead, and Molly couldn't let that happen to anyone else she loved ever again. She wouldn't tell Arthur this until she was older and not much wiser, and it was April and it was raining and no she did not want to get a sitter for the boys so they could have a nice night out because what if something happened and she missed it?
And she cried, and cried, and cried, because she never understood what it would mean to be such a selfless caretaker.
…
Eventually, she left Hogwarts and married Arthur, and they had little boys with bright red hair. Everyone grew up. A dark wizard came to power. The world was in turmoil. She sat at home trying to keep her little family afloat. She shielded the children from danger and begged her husband not to join the fight. She pleaded with him to stay. The children needed him. She needed him.
Then she got wind that her brothers were killed, killed by Death Eaters, and what was going to happen now?
Her father took her hand and whispered, "You're the only one I have left."
She pulled Fred or George, the smallest at that point, into her lap and cried.
She should've taken care of them better.
Arthur told her it wasn't her fault, but she swore it was, it was, it was. She practically raised them, she should've taught them better, should've told them to not be such idiot heroes, risking their own necks…
And no, she did not forgive herself for letting them die. Just like she didn't forgive herself for anyone else.
…
Many years passed, and she gave everything she could to her family. This time when there was a fight, she let them go and even joined them, because then she could watch over them. If she was there helping them, then everything would be okay.
But Fred, her Fred was gone, just like his uncles and his grandmother. He died just like everyone else and she lost a child.
At least she defeated others. At least she killed that horrible woman before she could hurt Ginny…
Her family was safe, but broken. She didn't protect them all.
If only she could protect everyone forever underneath her wings, and then there would be no loss at all.