Divination, task 4: Write about someone breaking a bone
Marauders Map: stargazing, Charlie Weasley
Lizzy's Loft, AmazingPhil: stuffed lion
Book Club, Lisa: mother and child, worried, family
Showtime, Miracle of Miracles: red
Emy's Emporium, roasted marshmallows: Molly Weasley
Arcade, Crunch: burgundy, Charlie Weasley, "Give me a hug."
Around the Board, the Burrow: write about family
Word Count: 1544
Warning: character death
i.
Molly turns her gaze away from the shining stars above. Stargazing isn't much fun alone. She looks around, lips pursing as she looks around for her boyfriend. "Arthur?" she calls.
No answer. Molly climbs to her feet, dusting dirt and grass from her skirt before walking along, painfully aware that a professor could come out and spot them out of bed after curfew. If she ends up in detention because of Arthur Weasley, she will never forgive him.
A sudden rustling overhead catches her attention. Molly pauses, bright-brown eyes following the source of the noise. Through the darkness, faintly bathed in the silver glow of moonlight, she can just barely make out Arthur's wiry body, blending in awkwardly with the slender branches.
"What on earth are you doing in a tree, Arthur?"
"Trying to find the perfect spot for stargazing," he answers, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Molly looks over her shoulder at the spot she has just left, wondering what could be wrong with it. It's open enough that she could see the stars clearly, yet hidden enough that only someone who was actively searching for her could have found her. "In a tree?" she asks, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that Arthur is a strange boy who sees the world through such innocent eyes. She has long since learned to let him do things his own way.
"The higher up you are the better the—"
She never learns what's meant to be better about greater heights. His sentence is interrupted by the sudden crack of a limb breaking, followed by his scream. Molly watches, hand covering her mouth in horror, as her boyfriend falls to the ground.
"Arthur!" She rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Arthur, are you okay?"
For several moments, he just lays there. Molly is about to run back to the castle—detention be damned—when he finally opens his eyes with a groan. Slowly, Arthur tries to sit up, only to cry out.
"What is it?" Molly asks.
"I think my arm is broken."
It takes only a moment to confirm that his wrist is badly broken. With a sigh, Molly carefully moves his arm, adjusting the position until she can easily work with him.
"I'm sorry I ruined our date," he mumbles, and she can see dusty pink blush staining his freckled face.
"It's hardly ruined," she says, drawing her wand and pressing the tip to his wrist before reciting the incantation.
Arthur hesitantly moves his wrist. His eyes widen, and he grins. "How'd you get so good at that?"
Molly shrugs, pocketing her wand once again and plucking twigs and leaves from Arthur's red hair. "My brothers don't know how to stay out of trouble," she explains. "Someone had to learn."
Arthur nods, leaning back against the tree trunk and turning his gaze to the twinkling stars above them. "Maybe our date is still salvageable," he muses.
She rests her head on his shoulder, pointing at the brightest star overhead. As they talk about constellations, she falls a little more in love with him.
ii.
She wonders if she should be suspicious. This is the first time since Bill was born that the house is silent during the day while her sons are awake. Still, Molly decides not to overthink it.
She rests a hand on her swollen, pregnant stomach as she makes her way across the living room and sits in her favorite chair. A half-finished baby blanket drapes over the arm, but she can't bring herself to finish it. This pregnancy is so different from her first two, and she seems to be completely drained of energy these days.
Instead of continuing with her knitting project, she leans back and closes her eyes. Molly would love to take a nap, but she knows she has too much to do before she can even think about sleeping.
"Mum!" Bill's frantic cries fill the air. "Mummy! I broke Charlie!"
It no longer matters that she is exhausted. She hears Charlie's wails and Bill's panicked reassurances, and she is on her feet and sprinting as fast as her condition will allow.
Her sons are in Bill's room. Charlie hides his hand under his shirt, as he sobs.
"I didn't mean to!" Bill says. "I shut the door. I didn't mean to hurt him!"
Molly sighs, relieved that Charlie isn't actually broken. "Go sit down," she tells her eldest firmly before kneeling in front of Charlie. "Let Mummy see, dear."
The skin around Charlie's fingers is red with blood, and two of his fingers remain bent. Whenever he tries to straighten them, Charlie scream.
"Is he gonna be okay? I didn't mean to!" Bill says, clearly close to tears.
"He's going to be fine," Molly says, gripping her wand. "This might sting a bit, Charlie, so I need you to be a big, brave boy, okay?"
Charlie wipes his pink, puffy eyes and nods.
"Good. That's a good boy," Molly coos before casting the spell.
His fingers straighten, slowly going back to their normal color. Charlie sniffles and wipes his shirt sleeve over his snotty nose. "Thanks, Mummy," he says before running toward Bill's bed. "Gimme Lionel!"
Bill holds the the stuffed lion with a smirk. "Give me a hug."
Molly smiles as she watches Charlie hug his big brother. Maybe they're going to be okay.
iii.
"What happened?" Molly asks when Fred and George try to sneak past her.
The twins exchange nervous glances, and it only makes Molly worry more. In the thirteen years she's spent raising them, she is all too aware that their silence is dangerous.
"Well," Fred says, offering her a too-bright grin, "it's a funny story…"
Molly inhales sharply. Something tells her she won't find the story particularly amusing. "What did you do?"
George steps forward, and she notices the way he winces with even the smallest movement. Molly frowns; her annoyance quickly fades to concern, and she closes the distance between them.
"What happened?" she asks again.
"We were practicing," George says, allowing Molly to guide him to the kitchen table. He lifts his burgundy shirt, revealing his rapidly bruising side. "I think I broke my ribs when I fell off my broom."
"I didn't knock him off," Fred says quickly.
"Maybe not," Molly mutters, already examining George's ribs. "But you didn't seem eager to tell me what happened. Were you going to try and fix him yourself?"
Fred clears his throat but doesn't answer. Molly takes advantage of the silence to concentrate on the task at hand. She takes special care in healing him. Broken ribs are tricky, and she has to make sure she doesn't damage him.
It's a slow process, but his ribs set again. George stands up, moving much more easily now. He grins and wraps his arms around Molly. "Thanks, Mum! Gotta go!"
"Stop right there!" she shouts before her sons can exit the kitchen.
"Mum, I'm fine now. I just—"
"You both were just going to pretend nothing happened and do Merlin knows what to fix it," she says, folding her arms over her chest. "You two are on garden duty for the rest of the summer."
"But Mum!" Fred grumbles.
"That isn't fair!"
"Neither is making me worry like that," she says with an air of finality.
iv.
Ginny gets off the Hogwarts Express, trying to stop her nose from bleeding. Molly feels something that's half panic, half rage swell inside her. Someone has hurt her only daughter. Her precious girl is injured, and Molly couldn't keep her safe.
"I'm fine," Ginny mumbles when Molly reaches her. "Just a fight."
Molly supposes she shouldn't be surprised at how casually Ginny says it. Her daughter has spent fourteen years around mostly boys. How could Ginny be anything other than a tomboy who doesn't shy away from a fight.
"Move your hand, dear," Molly says.
"Am I in trouble?" Ginny asks nervously, bright eyes wide and bordering on panic.
"Episkey," Molly says, and there's a reassuring pop as Ginny's nose fixes itself. "Were you defending yourself?"
Ginny's lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "Something like that."
In the distance, Molly notices a girl with a pug nose nursing a busted lip. Her Slytherin tie is stained with blood, and Molly can put two and two together easily enough.
"Let's get you washed up, dear," she says, resting a hand on her daughter's shoulder and carefully guiding her through the crowd. "Maybe we can go out for ice cream later."
v.
"No…"
It doesn't matter how long she looks at Fred's body, it still doesn't feel real. Her son can't be dead; she refuses to accept it.
Arthur rests a hand on her shoulder. "Mollywobbles," he says softly, his voice breaking.
She pulls away from his touch. She doesn't know if she can be comforted right now. Her world is falling apart, and there's nothing she can do to save it.
Sobbing, she falls to her knees. Fred's body is battered and bruised. Molly can't help but notice the broken bones, and she hates herself. Of all the broken bones she's mended over the years, she can't do a damn thing the one time it really matters.
What good is she anyway?