A/N: This is one of five advent ficlets I've written, each featuring a different pairing. Check out my profile for more.
Yuletide Yarns
Molly's Sixth Year, Arthur's Seventh...
Molly is sitting in an armchair in the Common Room, trying to find a place to put her fidgety hands. Her eyes glance over the boys' staircase every few seconds. The longer it takes for him to walk down, the more she fidgets.
But then there he is and she immediately notices the how lovely the blue sweater matches his eyes. A little blush creeps up her face and only inflames as Arthur smiles at her.
"Thanks for the gift, Molly."
"I know it's a bit lopsided. I only just started. Oh, one cuff's longer than the other..."
"I love it," he says honestly.
"Oh. Well, good. Happy Christmas." And then they stand there in an awkward silence, both shifting their eyes to avoid being caught staring and neither daring to say anything.
"Well, I suppose I'll go down for breakfast," Molly finally says with a bit of a sigh in her voice. She turns to leave but then his hand is around hers and making her heart flutter with the warmness of it.
"Ah, Molly, do you want to sit together?" he asks, suddenly not shy at all and looking at her directly with those kind eyes. She nods her yes. "And then, later, do you want to go to Hogsmeade?"
"Is it a date?" There's some challenge to her words. His ears turn red and she wants to laugh.
"Do you want it to be a date?"
From the way she smiles at him so sweet and doesn't let go of his hand throughout the whole breakfast, she hopes he realizes that the answer is a yes.
Molly's Seventh Year...
When she steps through the Floo, he knows something's wrong. She's not meant to be over until Christmas Day. She stumbles out with her hands flying to her stomach, and Arthur runs over from the couch to grab her and make sure she's okay. His hands rest on hers on her stomach and the usual goofy grin grows on his face, disappearing when she flings herself into his arms.
He can tell she's crying, and it takes a lot for Molly Prewett to cry so he knows. "You told them?"
"Yeah."
He's tense, clutching her tight because he knows it cannot be good news. He doesn't ask for specifics; there's no point, at least, not until she's calmed down. He steers her to the couch and lets her continue her sniffles into his shoulder.
"It's okay. We can raise the baby together. We'll get married. I'll buy us a place. Everything will work." Already he can see the picture in his mind.
"Oh, Arthur," she says, shaking her head. "No, we can't. What will I do about school? How will you buy a house on the salary you get? I'm not even of age!"
"It will work. I love you. It has to." His hand snakes around to lay on her stomach where he can feel the slightest bulge that's a new curve on her body. "I love you both."
"Arthur..." And she's pulling away, still shaking her head because she can't see his romantic vision. He slips down from the couch, kneeling at her knees and pulling something out of his pocket.
"Mollywobbles, will you marry me?" And he opens the box, revealing a gold ring with the smallest of rubies cut so that it shines in the firelight like her hair. Scraped at a pawn shop, it was all he could afford.
"Arthur..." One shaking hand reaches out towards the ring, pausing right before touching it. He slips the ring on her left hand.
"It's a perfect fit," he says quietly.
"I only made you a sweater." Her lips are trembling again.
"All I want is you."
"Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, Arthur."
One Year Later...
The key gets stuck turning and the door must be hit several times before it finally nudges open, and then his son's wails assault his ears and make him wince, hating that he must work overtime to scrape a measly salary during the war and hating You-Know-Who for destorying everything, especially today.
He shoves the door closed and then stares as he sees Molly, his Mollywobbles and the only woman he's ever loved, throwing things into a battered trunk. She looks up at him with puffy, red eyes, and he just wants to die, even more so for the news he's brought home.
"Mols--"
"I can't do this anymore, Arthur. Look, look around. I can't raise Bill here!" Arthur nods. He sees the cramped one-room flat, he feels the cold air from the lack of heat, he sees her patched robes that were once expensive and he knows he can't provide for his wife and son like they deserve.
The trunk lid slams down and he winces. "I'm going to my brother's." He tries to shake the fog off his mind and figure out why that can't happen. Molly's already got Bill on her hip, still red-faced and bawling, and the trunk floating behind her.
"Wait."
"What?" She's too tired to snap at him and she only sounds weary.
"You should sit..."
"Arthur, I'm leaving."
"You...you can't.
"Watch me."
"Mols, Molly, your brothers are dead."
He hates that he has to say it, and he hates the rest of the night, for that Christmas is miserable and full of Molly crying and hitting him and yelling that she wishes she never married him, but they cling together, their little miserable family, because they're all they've got.
Set during Book 5... [definitely not cannon accurate
The package had arrived earlier that day, but with Arthur being in St. Mungo's and a brood to fed and take care of, it had completely slipped Molly's mind. She picks it up from the table in the den. Somehow, it looks familiar, but she cannot place it until she sees the handwriting.
Percy's handwriting.
She nearly drops the package from the shock of him sending the family anything. But then she looks closer and sees that's not the case at all. The reason it looks so familiar is because...
She rips it open with unusual hurry and out falls a light blue sweater with a P embroidered on it. He sent it back, unopened and not even caring.
She's spent from crying over Arthur's attack so she just can't feel anything but deep sadness. She lovingly strokes the sweater. It's the same color of the very first one she knitted for him when he was just a baby still rolling around in nappies. He was always so quiet, so serious. He was a bit like Arthur in that way, but he lacked the romanticism of his father. Percy never quite fit in with the rest of the family.
She didn't think he minded playing alone, and now she blames herself for letting the whole family exclude him so much. She didn't give him as much attention because, well, he never seemed the sort to run off doing dangerous things, nor was he the type to create havoc, nor was he the only girl whom she could dote on.
She should have though. When he became Head Boy he was so proud, and she was too, but they didn't make a big deal of it because, well, it was expected.
"I've made too many mistakes with you, Percy." Her heart aches as she looks back down at the sweater.
"You're not to blame, Mum." Molly looks up to see her eldest walking towards her, a grim twist to his mouth. "We all are."
"Oh, Bill." He stoops down to kiss her cheek, telling her Tonks is in the kitchen with news, and leaves. Molly follows him with one last glance back at the sweater.
She will always send Percy a sweater, every Christmas, every year. Breadcrumbs, left to help him find his way back home.
Several years later...
The thick snow makes it slow going, but she's in no rush. She pulls her shawl tighter around her to ward off the early morning chill as the sun just barely peeks over the horizon, sending out the faint purples of sunrise.
She kneels beside an odd lump of slow and tenderly brushes it off, revealing a headstone.
Arthur Weasley
loving father and husband
She doesn't cry. She spent months crying after his death and now she only feels a dull ache in her chest. He died in their very own backyard, fiddling around in his shed. His heart just gave out; they said it was connected with the snake bite he received seven years ago. But she knew he died happy, tinkering with his toys.
She kisses her fingers and lays them gently on the stone. "Merry Christmas, Arthur."
She stays like that for some time, reminiscing in her own mind about all the Christmases they've shared, both good and bad, until someone lays a hand on her shoulder.
"Mum, the kids want to open presents now." It's Harry, who's been her son in heart for years. He helps her onto her feet, and they trudge back through the snow.
"I just wish Arthur would have gotten to see this. All his kids and grandchildren together for Christmas."
"He is watching, right now. Just like my parents are, just like Fred is."
"Thank you, Harry."
He nods, then playfully shoves her through the back door. "Now, go on. I'm itching to open a curiously lumpy package from you. I've no idea what it could be." He grins at her. It feels good to laugh.