The tears were threatening again, it seemed no matter how much she wished them away; they wouldn't leave. She would cook, and she would cry. She would clean, and she would cry. She would love, and she would cry the most. Molly Weasley could hear her children downstairs; but they weren't laughing. It was silent downstairs, except for the turning of Hermione's pages, and a quill scratching against some parchment. She could only hear two distinct noises, and there were six children downstairs. There was something very wrong.
She sat down on Ron's bed, feeling extremely faint all of a sudden. The shirt she had been folding fell to the floor, but she clutched a fistful of his bedspread tightly. She heard Fred and George's laughter echo in her head, and the tears began to fall. She hadn't heard them laugh in a day and a half. A heartbreaking sob wracked her body, but Molly straightened, looking hopelessly up at the ceiling. She obviously couldn't carry on like this, the children were downstairs. They could probably hear her.
With this in mind, she left Ron's laundry in his room, and set her course on the kitchen. She needed to get to the kitchen, without the children seeing. Otherwise, they would notice her tearstained face and her feeble, watery smile. She crept silently down the stairs, and managed to slip into the kitchen unnoticed. Her children were all engaged in an activity, and not one glanced up at her as she passed them.
There was a faint ticking noise and with a sigh, Molly glanced up at the huge clock in the kitchen. She had brought it with her from the Burrow; Molly found she couldn't leave without it. Everyone was all right, she told herself, looking up at the hands. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be: Arthur at work, Bill sleeping, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all in the living room, and Charlie upstairs studying. Her eyes flickered over Percy's former hand, noting (not for the first time) how it had been carelessly snapped in half. Her most studious son had broken it before storming out of the house, and hadn't come back.
The boggart came back to haunt her at this moment, and she buried her face in her hands. She didn't make a sound as she stood in the middle of the kitchen. She was crying, as large, fat drops appeared on the front of her apron. She whimpered a little, wishing there was someone to reassure her. How was she supposed to reassure her children, if she wasn't convinced in the first place?
"You wouldn't happen to have any ink, would you, Mrs. Weasley? I really –"
Molly whipped around, wiping her hands impatiently on the front of her apron. Hermione looked back at her, tilting her head to the side. She placed her quill on the kitchen counter and rushed to her side, murmuring, "Oh, Mrs. Weasley…"
Hermione lead her over to a kitchen chair, where the elder woman sank into it gratefully. Her tears had subsided a little, but she couldn't help but explain, "I'm so sorry, Hermione, dear…you weren't supposed to see me like this…"
"It's fine," she replied firmly, as she fixed two large mugs of hot tea. Bringing them over to the table, Hermione set them down and sat opposite Molly. She offered a handkerchief wordlessly.
"How can I be strong for you children, if every moment of every day I feel like crying? The only time I feel safe is when everyone is in the living room, and Arthur comes in from work and everyone is here, safe, together."
"I know, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said gently, "but there isn't any point of covering up what we already know. It's okay that you aren't strong all the time. No one expects you to be."
Molly's voice cracked mid sentence, as she tried to say what she felt, "I'm just so helpless. What do I do? I cook, I clean, and I make sure everyone is in bed by eleven. That's all."
"That's all?" Hermione echoed in amazement. She leaned over to take one of Molly's hands in hers. "Mrs. Weasley, the reason why everyone living in this house is still functioning, is because of you. You cook dinners for us every day; you clean up after us when we're all feeling particularly low. If we weren't in bed by eleven, we wouldn't be getting up the next day. Don't you realize how important that is?"
Molly sniffed as an answer, and stirred her tea with a spoon. "I suppose…"
Hermione wasn't finished though, and continued, "Don't you realize that you're the one person everyone can count on? Everyone turns to you, you know this. Harry comes to talk to you every night over hot chocolate, doesn't he? Don't you realize what you mean to everyone living here?"
"Thank you," Molly whispered, using the handkerchief to dry her eyes. She drained the last of her tea, and stood up a bit unsteadily. Hermione stood with her, offering her arm as support. "I'm so sorry…I was acting so daft, I didn't mean to…"
And then, before Hermione knew what was happening, Molly had pulled her into a tight hug. She smiled and wrapped her arms around her second mother, and said, "Its okay Mrs. Weasley."
"Well," Molly said, straightening her apron after their hug, "I guess I should finish cleaning the upstairs bathroom. We've got a nasty nest of bowtruckles in there. Now you go join Ron and the others…they'll be wondering where you are."
Hermione nodded and smiled, and was about to exit the kitchen when Mrs. Weasley's voice cut through her path. "Tomorrow's a big day, Hermione…we've got a load of work to do in the bedrooms. Make sure you're in bed by eleven."
She smiled as Molly went up the stairs, humming something to herself.
END. ( I don't own HP, read and review, please and thanks. )