A/N: This is written for Round 4 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. My prompt was Scared [forbidden: scared] and I wrote a short one-shot about Molly Weasley so I hope you enjoy!

The Storm

The war was drawing to a climax and Molly Weasley was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of living in fear, tired of the constant worrying about her family. This was the second war she was living through. The first had ended just seventeen years ago and it seemed much too soon for another to Molly.

"I'll be glad if there isn't another war like this for a century," Molly muttered under her breath. She stood in her humble home, called the Burrow, washing dishes that didn't need washing. She seemed to constantly clean things, without magic, when she was anxious.

Rain pattered against a window by the sink and thunder boomed across the sky. Molly flinched at the sound. The storm had come unexpected and the gloomy weather made Molly even more nervous for her family.

Her husband was at work at the Ministry of Magic, though he was due back home within the next half hour. Her daughter Ginny was at Hogwarts. Her sons seemed to be scattered all over the place: Fred and George in Diagon Alley, Bill at Gringotts, Charlie in Romania, and Ron in… Well, that was problem, it seemed to Molly. She didn't know where Ron was.

He had set off with his two best friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, to do some secret mission that Dumbledore had apparently sent them on.

Another clap of thunder startled Molly from her thoughts. She returned to her dishwashing and concentrated on anything and everything other than her family.

When Arthur Weasley arrived at the Burrow, he didn't bother knocking and just walked straight into his home expecting some sort of welcome from his wife. However, when he walked in, there was nobody in sight.

"Molly?" he called out cautiously. He took his wand out from his robes and held it protectively in front of him.

Arthur walked slowly through the house, checking around every corner for his wife and praying he wouldn't find a body instead. The house felt strangely empty and quiet, even with the storm raging just outside.

It was another twenty minutes before Arthur found his wife curled up in a ball in some obscure corner of the house. She was crying, who knew for how long, and she didn't even look up when Arthur approached her.

"Molly, dear, are you okay?" he asked tentatively. She shook her head lightly as she finally looked up at him.

"Our son is out there, God knows where, and we can't protect him," she said softly.

"Ron's a strong boy – strong man, I should say – and he's with Harry and Hermione. He'll be fine," Arthur reassured. These were the same words Arthur thought to himself when he thought about the possible danger his son was in. Molly seemed a little comforted but continued to cry.

"This war… This war will be the ruin of me," said Molly. She looked up at her husband. "We made it through the last one, but I think he's stronger this time. Smarter, too. He'll learn from his past mistakes to-"

"You can't think like that, Molly," said Arthur. He put her hand in his and squeezed. "You'll only worry yourself."

"I'm not worried; I'm terrified. I'm terrified for our family, for everyone. I'm terrified that our children won't make it through this. We're old, Arthur, and we've lived our lives as best as we could expect, but they're so young. I'm not afraid of dying; I'm afraid of them dying."

"I know, I know, Molly," said Arthur. He knew all too well about her boggart incident at Grimmauld Place a couple years ago. She had seen the dead bodies of her family and closest friends. Arthur gripped Molly tighter in some kind of vague hope that it would conquer her fear. "But we will make it through this. And so will everyone else: Ron, Harry, Hermione… All of them."

Molly simply nodded and lay her head on Arthur's shoulder. She knew he knew about her boggart: her fear of death, though not her own. She also knew that Arthur would help her and support her through whatever tribulation came their way.

They sat there for a while, losing track of time, and simply comforted one another. As they lost themselves to their thoughts, the storm raged on outside.

The wind shook trees and the rain pelted the ground. The dark gray clouds swirled around the sky and occasionally lightning burst from them. Loud, booming thunder always came roaring after the lightning.

It seemed to Molly that the weather was absolutely perfect for the war. Dark and gloomy with a small dash of hope. Still, a small dash of hope was a lot more than none at all. Molly made a quick mental note to keep that in mind. Little hope was better than none.

The fear of her family's death was always on Molly's mind. She couldn't bear to lose her family; they meant so much to her.

Once the storm had died down, Molly felt the heaviness previously situated in her heart lift. It was like all her fears had disappeared with the storm. Well, not completely. There was still a little flicker of fear in her mind, like a match waiting to be lit so that it could engulf her mind in flames of frightfulness and worry.

After that night of crying and fretting over her family's safety, Molly got back into her regular routine of cleaning the house and knitting sweaters. After all, her children would need sweaters to keep themselves warm next winter.