I felt like writing something utterly depressing.
Also, in the Ron/Hermione note scene, two words are underlined. Imagine them crossed out please.
The clock ticked loudly from the mantle, each second slipping away to an endless beat. Molly sighed as the house around her groaned familiarly, floorboards creaking just slightly.
The Burrow always seemed strange at night, no explosions or fast paced conversation surrounding her. She flinched at the heaviness, the dark sky like velvet beyond the windows. "Molly?" Arthur called softly from the stairwell, his gaze looking oddly heavy in the dim lighting. She was hard pressed to spot out the remaining ginger hairs now, his hair growing more grey every day now. "You should be asleep."
The sky was void of stars, it seemed.
"Did I wake you?" Molly was startled by how hoarse her voice had become.
Arthur tried to smile at her, stepping down the stairs. "When I found a cold side of the bed, yes."
"Sorry."
"It is going to get better, you know." His rough hand took her soft hand, gripping tight. "I don't know how, but it will. You just have to believe."
She half sobbed and half laughed, shrill and painfully. "I believed for a while, we might get through everything alright. I knew there'd be death, but I just believed we would all pull through together." She paused, closing her eyes. "I believed, Arthur. I believed, and nothing turned out the way it was supposed to be."
"How was it supposed to be?" Arthur leaned his forehead against her own, his words trembling in the small space between them. "You've been keeping this bottled up ever since."
"Nobody was supposed to get hurt." She whispered, a trace of a bitter smile pulling at her dry lips. "Nobody was supposed to die. Parents shouldn't bury their own children. I kept expecting his eyes to open up, for him to smile and tell a stupid joke that'd give us all a bleeding heart attack."
Arthur moved away, not letting go of her hands. "One of Ron's school friends dropped something off for us. He said it might help."
Molly watched as he opened a secret compartment in the wall, peeling back the wallpaper just slightly. "I don't believe much will help at this point, dear." He pulled out a package bound with leather straps, holding it carefully in his hands.
"It has a fair weight." He told her as he set it down on the coffee table. He slowly unbound the package, peeling back the thick paper. "Will you come here, please?" Arthur's words sounded desperate to her, and all she could think of was the evening they discovered Ginny was taken to the Chamber of Secrets.
She cringed at the memories, her nightmares of her girl crying in the shadows for someone to help her. Her corpse rotting somewhere. Molly never forgot the way it felt, Dumbledore's words twisting like a dagger in her heart. The rage and fear that dug its way into her bones, making her tremble and wail.
He slowly pulled out a photograph from the package, four boys with arms wrapped around one another tightly.
His chin began to tremble looking at the shock of ginger visible despite the black and white photograph, and the messy mop of black hair. The image was frozen, catching the four erupting into laughter. Fred was winking towards the photographer, pulling George close to his side and grabbing Harry by the collar. Ron was being dragged into the image by George, one arm tossed around his shoulders easily.
"I wonder what was so funny." She spoke quietly, taking the photo in her hands gently. "This was third year for the twins. I forgot how short Ron's robes were on him. Harry glasses, before they got repaired."
Arthur gently flipped the image over. "Look at the back."
The words brothers had been written in a slanted print, George's familiar script.
"There's more." She managed to say, throat feeling tight and uncomfortable as she placed the photograph gently on the table before them.
"Their smiles are different. I never noticed that." Arthur looked betrayed, Fred's defiant smirk and George's mischievous grin peering up at them.
She pulled at a thin journal, tacky and bright pink. Molly had seen diaries like these before when shopping, bold with butterflies and flower decorations. The spine glittered silver, catching at her hands when she handled the book.
Arthur took it from her weak grip. "Is that Ginny's?"
Her lips quirked into a smile. "I don't quite see any of the boys having such a journal in their belongings."
There was no date on the single entry, just four words in a lacy cursive.
I hate these things.
"Ginny," She smiled. "She never liked writing personal things down after that horrible event. Refused to write birthday cards even."
"At least she made sure that it wouldn't hurt her this time."
"I wonder how this was even found. Ginny would have tossed it somewhere and forgotten it the best she could."
"I wonder how anyone even got a hold of that picture."
The glittery pink journal was placed down next to the photo.
"Are you alright?" Arthur asked her quietly, pushing the package towards her slightly.
Molly felt a burning pain in her chest.
"I'm not."
She pulled out the next piece.
A crumbled piece of paper was taken out, folded sloppily several different ways. "I think this was Ron's bookmark." Arthur whispered, slowly unfolding it carefully. It tore slightly as he tried to flatten it out.
Molly took them, confused. "These are just notes. Potion notes."
"No, look at the side."
An entire conversation was written out, jumping from messy writing to a neat print.
Please tell me you aren't actually enjoying this.
Why can't I?
It's Snape, and its potions.
I don't really see your point, Ronald.
Don't use my name like that.
You don't like it?
Hermes.
Alright-I see your point.
I love like you.
I like love you. Now pay attention.
Her cheeks were wet, she realized. "He could never pay attention in that class."
"To give him credit, it was an awful class."
"I did just fine." She gave him a watery smile, bumping her elbow against his arm lightly. "You just kept getting distracted."
Arthur grabbed her hand tightly. "I was sitting next to you. Of course I was distracted."
She couldn't think of the last time Ron really smiled since Hermione went down in battle. The memory of the witch lying on the ground with her leg crushed beneath rock was engraved into her skull, forever immortalized.
The witch used a silver cane now, beautifully engraved with runes and carvings on animals. It looked far too fashionable to be used so desperately. Ron had purchased it with his Hero Fund, a gift from the Ministry.
She sighed.
"We have to keep going."
He pulled out a silver locket, chain tangled up in a crimson hair ribbon of Hermione's. "Is this Hermione's necklace?"
Molly took the locket carefully, rubbing her thumb over the engraving of the moon. "No. I've seen Harry play with this sometimes. He always kept it in his pocket. It must have fallen out during the battle." She stumbled over her words.
Within the locket were two things. An image on Luna Lovegood smiling at the camera, her strange glasses perched crooked on her face. Her grin was brilliant. "She's still at Saint Mungo's, isn't she?" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut; remembering the scent of burning flesh, the way the fire swirled around her legs.
Molly swallowed. "They say she'll be out just in time to see her father be kissed for betrayal."
"They can't actually blame the man. He was trying to save his daughter," Arthur spat out, remembering the news of her disappearance. How bleak that day had felt. "Any good father would have done the same."
"I know, dear."
Molly had never killed anything much bigger than a fly before. Despite that, it had felt simply natural to kill Bellatrix. Flinging the final curse at the raving lunatic, watching her hit the ground hard. Her chest freeze, no longer rising and falling. The bitter relief, satisfaction coursing through her veins.
She hadn't felt a moment of guilt afterwards.
The Ministry had given her a medal. Golden and bright, looking dense and hard. Madam Longbottom had grabbed her by the shoulders afterwards, her boney frame clinging to her own desperately.
"Look at this." He handed her a folded up scrap piece of parchment. It was worn to the touch.
I believe in you.
The letters each flashed a differently faded out colour sluggishly, whatever charm placed fading slowly.
"That must have meant the world to him." Molly whispered, eyes blurring as she tried to carefully unknot the chain. "I always thought those two would have been wrong for each other. Luna was always a little-" she paused, fumbling for the right word. "Wild. Harry just seemed like he'd be a good match for our Ginny."
"It never would have worked well, for those two." Arthur smiled. "Remember the one time he asked her out to Hogsmeade?"
She laughed sharply, feeling almost warm at the memory. "I thought I'd get a letter from Ron, telling all about how the twins made him run off to Australia."
She pulled out a round badge, the words sharp. Support Cedric Diggory was frozen across the surface.
Arthur sighed. "I'd forgotten about that."
"What a mess, that whole thing was."
Another photograph was removed from the package. Harry and Luna were running through the rain together, the rain coming down hard around them. Luna raised her hand in the image and waved out at them, stopping to twirl in the storm. She wore Harry's quidditch jersey, fitting her almost like a dress.
Harry was grinning. He looked happy amongst the dense rainfall and slick mud, Luna's hand tight in his own.
Molly smiled at the sheer delight on Luna Lovegood's face. "The two of them got so sick after that rain. I'd forgotten about that until now. Ron wrote home about how they stayed in the hospital wing for almost an entire week together."
The house felt warmer now, feeling less like a stranger. Arthur looked less faded and worn, his eyes brighter. Nothing was right, but things didn't feel as wrong as they had been.
"Just a box left." Arthur held it in his hand, taking in the engraving of a weasel on the wooden lid.
Molly felt her lungs grow heavy. "Fred."
"Pardon?"
"That is Fred's box. For Christmas when he was younger. I never thought he'd have kept it. All this time." She wiped her eyes fiercely.
"Should we open it?" Arthur held it between them.
She brought her hands up gently to the box, running her fingers across the weasel. "Should we not open it?"
Her trembling fingers undid the latch.
Part of her expected something to explode or scream at her, teeth to sprout from the edges of the box and try to attack her.
The article and photograph of the family when they'd gone to Egypt was nestled on the top of the stack. Arthur gave a hard frown at the sight of the Rat that slipped so well into the family. "Only Harry's missing." He sighed.
Her heart clenched.
"Keep going."
A fake wand was pulled out, along with an assorted selection of butterbeer corks. Several photographs were removed, some of family and one photo in particular-
Fred and Harry standing side by side.
"They can't be dead." Molly whispered. "They can't. Heroes don't lose."
Arthur took the one last photo, cradling it in his hands. His cheeks were red and eyes glassy.
"No one expected Voldemort to poison his core the way he had."
Harry survived the maniac by three days. Three days spent in agony, rapidly withering away into nothing.
Nothing could have saved him.
Fred had Harry at his side, with his shoulders thrown back and an honest grin stretching across his face. Harry was grinning brightly upwards at Fred, the older boy leaning against Harry's shoulder.
"He died smiling." Arthur cried into her hair. His body trembled fiercely, grabbing tightly onto her. Her heart broke, her own sobs erupting.
"He was our son." She whispered into his shoulder.
.
The funeral was a mockery.
People flocked the casket endlessly, photographers blinding the crowds with their flash.
At the Weasley's, however, it was different.
Everyone mourned in different ways. No one made it into a show. No one made it into a lie.
Luna danced in the rain by herself, skirt flaring out and revealing endless scars on her flesh. Hermione leaned onto Ron's shoulder, pretending that there wasn't a gap missing from the trio-now-duo.
George sat perfectly still, avoiding every reflection.
Draco arrived for exactly seven seconds. One second for every year he'd known Harry.
Arthur arranged for the burial to take place on the family plot, burying the coffin beside the fresh grave. "Fred'll look out for him." He whispered into the wind, leaning against the shovel.
.
The clock ticked loudly, breaking the silence as Molly worked.
Every piece was a monument, pinned up onto the wall. Each photograph framed and hung with care, the locket hanging from a hook.
Ginny had burned the diary, Ron had reclaimed his notes. (the hair ribbon went missing as well, ending up in Ron's possession as well.)
Molly stepped back from the wall, a gallery looking back at her.
She carefully hung the remaining piece.
A single word outlined in scarlet was placed in the center.
Believe.
Things would be better in the morning.