Quidditch League, Falmouth Falcons, Captain: Molly Weasley

Word Count: 1057

"Did you see him?" Molly asks.

Arthur doesn't answer right away. He doesn't have to; Molly can see the unfortunate truth in the way his expression falls. Her husband has never been good at hiding anything from her. "About that, dear," he says, his voice tight as he tries to be strong for her. "I… Well, I did see him."

It's the smallest possible relief, but Molly will cling to it. Her thin lips pull into a small smile, and she dares to hope. It doesn't matter that Arthur is stumbling along now, that he seems hesitant to answer. There is a chance that things are going to be okay. "How is he?" she asks. "Did you speak to him?"

"Percy is…" Arthur trails off, wringing his hands together and clearing his throat. "He seems well."

Seems. The word is not meant to be cruel, but it stings. It is a reminder that Percy has turned his back on them, that he is building his own life without his family in it.

Molly sits down in her favorite battered, poorly-patched armchair, massaging her temples. Tears sting her eyes. She's spent months trying not to cry, always convincing herself that everything will work itself out in the end. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so optimistic.

Still, she can't bring herself to give up hope. Whatever has happened between them, Percy is still her son. She has to keep trying and believing.

"Mollywobbles?"

Her lips twitch at the affectionate nickname, but she can't bring herself to smile. With a heavy sigh, she wipes the tears from her eyes before slumping forward and resting her face in her palms. "What did I do wrong, Arthur?" she asks, her voice cracking pitifully with emotion. "Have I failed him as a mother?"

Arthur kneels before her, tucking his fingers beneath her chin and lifting her head so that their eyes meet. "You are an amazing mother, Molly," he says softly, adjusting his hand and curling his fingers so that he cups her face. "Don't ever doubt that."

Molly takes a deep breath. She knows she's overreacting. All in all, she has to admit she's done well in raising seven children. Maybe she isn't perfect, but she knows she is good.

It doesn't matter. Percy has turned his back on them. Molly and Arthur have tried to reach out to their wayward son, but there has been no change. Some dark, twisted little voice in the back of her mind insists there is no reason to keep holding on, Percy has made his choice and she needs to accept it.

Molly has learned to ignore that whisper in her mind. She can't allow herself to give up on her son. At the end of the day, Percy is still her child, and Molly will do anything for family.

…

"What are you up to, dearest?" Arthur asks, standing in the doorway of their bedroom at Grimmauld Place. He smiles when he sees the familiar silver needles in her hands. "Getting an early start on the Christmas jumpers, I see."

Her lips flatten into a thin, hard line, and she offers him a curt nod. Once, knitting had been such a relaxing thing. There's something so calming about creating something the Muggle way. Today, however, as she starts another row, her mind is far from tranquil.

"Who is that for?"

"Percy." She continues the slow, steady movement, skillfully working the yarn with the needles. "I always make his after Charlie's."

She waits for her husband to tell her she's being silly. Percy hasn't spoken to them in months, and it doesn't seem like that's going to change. Judging from what Arthur has told her, things have only gotten worse. Percy goes out of his way to avoid Arthur in the Ministry; it seems that their son has reduced them to little more than strangers.

"Oh, Molly." Arthur moves closer, guiding her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her. The half-finished jumper falls to the floor.

"I miss him, Arthur," she whispers. "I miss him so much."

The first war is still so fresh in her mind. She remembers getting the news and learning that Fabian and Gideon had been murdered. Now, history is repeating itself, and Molly is painfully aware that there's no promise. Something could happen to her or Arthur—or maybe even Percy, though she doesn't want to think about that—and Molly will never be able to make things right with her son.

Arthur rubs soothing circles into her back, making gentle shushing sounds. Still, Molly sniffles. She's tried to be strong for so long, but it's all too much now.

"You must think I'm so silly," she sighs as she pulls away. Silent tears continue to streak her cheeks, leaving salty trails along her skin. "Why can't I just let go, Arthur?"

"Because you're a good mother," he answers, gently wiping the tears away. "Of course you're going to do everything to let Percy know he's loved."

She looks up at him, lip quivering as a fresh flood of tears threatens to overtake her. She pushes her fingers through his thinning red hair. "Do you think he'll come around?"

Arthur is silent for several moments. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, swallowing dryly. "I'm sure he will," he answers at last, but his tone says what his words do not.

Percy is a stubborn man. He has always been so ambitious, so desperate to take control of his own life. If this had happened with any of the other Weasley children, there would be no doubt in their minds that things would smooth over in the end. With Percy, however, there's no telling.

…

When Percy returns the jumper without even a note of acknowledgment, Molly does not make a scene. She has to be strong for her other children, so she forces a smile.

"Everything okay, Mum?" George asks, his usual humor seemingly wiped away.

"Are you well?" Sirius asks, brows knitting together when he notices her expression. "Perhaps you should lay down, Molly."

"Of course," Molly answers. "Everything is fine."

But when she returns to her bedroom, she lets her mask fall. She closes the door behind her and collapses on the bed, holding Percy's jumper to her chest and crying.

Where has she gone wrong?