Molly Weasley was tidying up the kitchen as the moon climbed up in the sky. She was humming to herself cheerfully. The garden was de-gnomed, the children were safe at home and Harry was being properly fed.

The poor dear, she thought. He's far too thin.

She looked up at her family-clock. Arthur was still at work, Bill and Charlie are safe at their homes (since they moved out), and the rest of her children were pointing at "home". Though this proved to be a positive realization, Molly's face and heart fell slightly. She continued to stare at the clock with a growing sad expression.

The more she stared at the clock, the more she wanted to add another hand to it.

True, Harry wasn't her son. Yes, she had only met him before the children left for Hogwarts last year. And of course, he did technically have a family to live with on his own. (Even though her personal feelings toward that family have grown with more irritation the more she hears about them and the skinnier she finds Harry.)

She finally decided to turn away from the clock. Realizing how late it was, she decided to go upstairs and check on the boys. They should be asleep, but, knowing them, they would be up late again talking about Quidditch teams, school, or some other muggle nonsense.

The twins, indeed, were still awake. It seemed like they were working on something. They tried to hide it from her when she came in, but they certainly looked guilty. Molly passed it off as homework, though she had her doubts, and merely told them to go to bed.

Ginny was still up. She didn't seem to be working on anything. She just seemed to be thinking to herself. She told her mother about how nervous she's been getting knowing Harry Potter is staying at her house and how she wish she could talk to him.

"Just be yourself, dear," Molly encouraged her with a smile. "There's no reason to be nervous."

Molly thought it was adorable the way her daughter had found her first crush at this age. To make it even better, it was on a boy she found to be kind and caring.

Ginny gave a weak smile and agreed to go to bed.

Molly continued up the stairs to Ron's room. His door was a crack open and she saw a light was still on. She smiled to herself and continued to climb.

"Boys," she said just about to open the door. "It's late. You two should-"

She silenced herself immediately. Ron and Harry had both fallen asleep on their beds. Quidditch books and pictures scattered about them. They must have been talking about the famous teams and fallen asleep, leaving the lamp on.

Molly walked over the books and pictures to Ron's bed. He was snoring lightly and his pillow had a small spot of drool. She smiled, picked up the blanket at the edge of his bed and draped it over him. She kissed him on the forehead and blew out the lamp on his bedside table.

She turned around in the dark to the spare bed and walked over, the moonlight shown in the room to help her make her way.

Harry was fast asleep with the book "Quidditch Through the Ages" open under his hand and his glasses still on.

Molly simply looked at him for a moment. It seemed odd to her that this boy, who was so giving, polite and kind, is world famous. He was just so young, yet he seems bothered by that fact. Understandable, of course, after all he can't explain why and the events left him without a family. Her heart ached a little for him.

She slowly reached forward, slipped the book from his hand, closed it and placed it on the floor. Harry gave a slight moan and dug the side of his face deeper into his pillow, skewing his glasses even more. Molly gently removed them, but she stopped and stared at his glasses deep in thought.

It seemed remarkable. For a boy who had been through so much pain, so much sadness, he always seemed cheerful and kind. Since he was born, someone has tried to kill him. He can't even remember his own family because he was so young when they were taken. It shocked her that he can look passed all of that and can see the good in the world. At that age…. Molly didn't believe she would have been able to bear it. Yet, each and every day, he does.

She finally placed his glasses on the tower of books next to the bed. Then, she grabbed the blanket on his bed and pulled them up to his shoulders. She rubbed his shoulder and smiled.

He may not be my son, she thought, but, given the chance, I would take him in a heartbeat.

She leaned forward and kissed Harry's forehead as she had for Ron.