Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter.
"We won't be able to do this."
Molly's voice is flat, but the tears continue to stream down her face as they've been doing since Percy and Lee carried Fred – well, his body into the Great Hall. Arthur turns away. He feels bad about it, but he can't even look at her anymore. All he's been doing for the past few hours is trying to soothe her, but now they're alone; their kids aren't looking to them to be the unreasonable pillars of strength that they can't be, and he just wishes he could go to bed and forget any of this ever happened.
But he can't. It happened – it is happening. He knows now that this Battle – well, it will never really be over for them. He'd hoped – they all had – that they might actually make it through this intact – that they might actually lead the charmed life that he'd begun to think they actually led. But no. And – and it's Fred. He swallows hard.
"Arthur." It's Molly voice again, and now it's not as flat. She wants him to look at her, to give her answers he doesn't have. He clenches his jaw as he forces himself to turn. It's the first time he has to force himself to look at his wife. It's the first time he can ever remember not wanting to. And it scares him. But when he finally looks at her again, he knows he's not the only one who's scared.
"I need…" she starts to say, but then she closes her mouth. She sees his eyes, and she suddenly knows that at this moment, even though he won't say it — even though he hardly knows it himself – he needs her more.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and then before he even realizes what she's doing, she has her arms around his waist, and then … she's not the one who's crying.
He doesn't know how it happens. He doesn't intend for it to happen. Ever. Molly doesn't need this now. It's hard enough for her already, and their kids aren't going to let her have a moment's peace. But his chest is tightening, and his eyes are filling, and he can't control his breathing anymore no matter how hard he tries, and then she's rubbing his back and murmuring, "It's all right. You can let go. I'm here."
And he does. Because she might be here. But Fred isn't. And he never will be again. Molly might be right. They – who've survived two wars, who've survived Voldemort – might not be able to do this. And the thought terrifies him.