Disclaimer: I would be pleased to be accused of writing half as well as Jo does.
(A/N) Recently half-inspired by the 'nothing's-gonna-harm-you' scene from Sweeney Todd. The other half is credited to No Other Way by Jack Johnson. I desperately was looking for a way to use one of Jo's brilliantly strong women, and this seemed like the ideal chance to expel my pent-up desire to author some type of Molly-centric story, as I love the character dearly and haven't written anything in a long time (period) that focused on her. To Brooke, Brooke, and Miguel.
She could see it everywhere. In her husband's demeanor when he would return from the office every night, most times after the children had been sleeping for hours and the supper was cold. She could feel it everywhere; nestling into the crevices of her home, something rigorous cleaning and housework could not sweep from under the rugs.
But she saw none there, in the viciously slanted eyes of her daughter, as she gained on Bellatrix. Lines of colorful light burst from the tip of her wand. Immaculate fireworks belying the terror they could contain; hurling death in sardonically bright hues of blues, reds, and greens.
Her mind recalled when Ginny had been so young. Her brown eyes watered and her complexion paled when Bill came to the Burrow after an Order duel, his arm bloodied, his leg broken, and his hand burned. She remembered that night so well; she remembered gathering Ginny into her arms and nestling into the crimson cushions of their aged settee.
"Mum, why is Billy so hurt?" Ginny's almond-shaped eyes poured concern and salty tears.
"Because your big brother is very brave and decided to protect people that don't have magic to protect themselves." She had answered, the understatement stinging her.
Ginny looked up to her mother, "I want to be brave, but I don't want anything like that to happen to me." The young girl rested her head in the crook of the woman's arm, sighing as she became contented. Molly had pulled the russet sleeve of her jumper over her thumb and wiped up the drops of liquid that still littered Ginny's colored cheeks, soaking the wetness into the hand-knitted fabric.
"Neither do I, dear. Neither do I." Ginny had then been convinced that she was unattainable within the grasp of her mother, that nothing could possibly scathe her while she was resting on her mother's breast.
Molly had stroked the vibrant locks of the girl deep into the night, her thoughts far from the living room in front of her. She had kissed her slumbering child on the forehead as subtle heat rolled of the crackling fire and she had carried her up to the twin sized bed, its pink sheets bordered with hand-embroidered daisies.
Ginny shot a glimpse at her mother, but all Molly saw was the frailty of her child. But the worried glimpse contorted to a look of agape surprise. A searing pain rushed through Molly's being as she saw her daughter fall to the dark marble floor of the Great Hall.
The Great Hall where her and Arthur had first met. As a silly, childish, first year she had had hoped desperately to be sorted into Gryffindor, like Gideon and Fabian.
But Bellatrix was gaining…
"Prewett," The Professor had called and she took her place upon the stool. The hat was lowered to her auburn head; it drooped at the top and fell just past the lids of her eyes.
But Ginny winced as she tried to lift herself from the floor, her arm limp behind her. Bellatrix was talking to her. But, Molly couldn't hear what about.
The hat contemplated silently with her thoughts. She had almost been put in Slytherin, and she knew it. Alas, though, the hat had said something else.
But Molly took a step forward as Bellatrix aimed the tip of her wand to the center of the young woman's ivory forehead. Tear prickled her eyes and a gasp formed at the back of her throat and she never wanted to see her child in that position and she stepped closer and she awed at how the fear had yet to appear in her daughter's face and she pointed her wand and…
"GRYFFINDOR!" It had yelled.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Molly screamed.