Disclaimer: If I was JKR, there wouldn't be any need to write this as it never would have happened.
Just some random emo-ness that smacked me in the face in the early hours of the morning. It started off as a drabble, but inspiration suddenly struck and ta-dah.
Yet another thank you to my beloved editor, Death Eater Bella. I owe you a coke! Any other mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Her Reasons
She did it for herself and for Arthur who had lost one of their sons, one of their precious little boys. A boy they had created, a boy they had raised, a boy they had loved. They would miss him terribly. But perhaps what they would miss the most was how they would yell at him, because, though they dared never admit it, behind every harsh reprimand, they were beaming parents who felt a glimmer of pride at his latest escapade. They would never struggle to hide that from him again.
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She did it for Fred, whose life was cut horribly short, the laughter never quite leaving his adorably freckled face. She would never again hear his laughter at one of his debatably hilarious pranks, never again see his eyes light up in love, happiness or mischief, or an odd mixture of all three, never again would she hear the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear. She would never again feel the love swell inside her when he kissed her on the cheek and told her he loved her.
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She did it for George, who had not only lost a brother, but the other half of his soul. It was always meant to be Fred and George, the two of them; two beautiful, mischievous boys stealing toilet seats, two beautiful boys pretending they had no idea why their room was full of smoke, two beautiful boys who were meant to meet two beautiful girls and get married, two beautiful boys who were meant to grow old together, always the two of them. This was not to be however, and George, he was now broken inside.
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She did it for Ginny; her beautiful daughter, not yet old enough to be fighting this war, let alone to be experiencing the pain of having lost an elder brother, and especially not that of having lost the boy she loved. For Molly knew this little girl, no, this young woman, she knew that the fierce look on her daughter's face was masking a terrible pain inside.
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She did it for Andromeda, who had lost her only child; who had lost her husband; who had lost everything she had ever held dear all because of this woman now standing before her. This woman she knew as her sister but would now refer to as her daughter's killer. She didn't deserve all the pain she had dealt with in her life, she didn't deserve being forced to make a choice between her family and the man she loved, she didn't deserve the whispers that followed her wherever she went, about her choices, about how she had 'shamed' her family, she didn't deserve any of it. But she wore it well. Molly knew if she had the chance, Andromeda would go back and do it all again.
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She did it for Nymphadora; fighting for her mother, fighting for her father, fighting for a future for her baby boy who was barley a month old. Her death would not be in vain. This brave, bubbly, colourful young woman she had seen transform from a clumsy little girl into a self-assured, strong-willed, albeit clumsy Auror fighting against some of the very people that made up her family, the Black side of her family. Though Nymphadora never said it aloud, Molly knew a part of the reason she fought so adamantly was not only for her parent's sake, but to prove that she was nothing like them; nothing like her aunts, nothing like her uncles, nothing like any of them. She loved, like so many of them didn't. And it was her undoing.
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She did it for little Teddy who had lost his mother, who had lost his father – he would never know them. But one thing he would know, Molly would ensure, was how bravely his parents died fighting for his future. She couldn't help but notice, even at a time like this, how similar little Teddy already was to Harry. But unlike Harry, Teddy would grow up surrounded by dozens of people who would love him, who would ensure he was safe and happy and that most importantly, that he knew his parents had loved him so much they made the ultimate sacrifice for him. It was all done for him.
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She did it for Charlie, who had lost the only woman he had ever loved. The forlorn look in his tear-filled eyes was not, Molly knew, just due to the loss of his younger brother. It was a look of total and utter defeat. She had watched the two of them grow up together. She'd seen them play with each other, laugh with each other, cry with each other, argue with each, always everything together to the point where they had often rivalled Fred and George. She had watched their casual friendship at the tender age of two blossom into undying friendship at the age of six only to transform into love at the age of fifteen, and she knew it would have happened earlier if the two had been willing swallow their pride and admit it. Molly had seen it all and it had been a wonderful show, though she never would have guessed it would end so tragically. This was never how it should be.
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She did it for Frank and Alice Longbottom, her best friends, mercilessly tortured into insanity simply for information they didn't even possess. So similar was their story to that of Remus and Nymphadora. But Molly did not know who was worse off; Dear Frank and Alice, who were alive, yet knew nothing about their lives, who didn't even recognise their own son? Or Remus and Nymphadora, who had been brought down before getting to know their own son, to live any sort of life with him. No, Molly didn't know which was worse. One thing she did know however was that both lives had been totally and utterly destroyed by this woman.
No.
Molly did know what was worse.
Worse would be allowing this heartless woman to continue living when she had caused so much pain to so many people, all in the name of 'blood purity.'
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She did it for Neville Longbottom. Like little Teddy Lupin, he would never know how truly wonderful his parents were, and for that, Molly was sorry. She was sorry so much had been stolen from him, she was sorry for any pain he had felt over the years, and she knew there was bound to be some. But most of all, she was sorry she took this moment away from him. It should have been his.
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She did it for Sirius, who has spent his entire life fighting. Fighting his family and their archaic notions about blood supremacy. Fighting to prove, just like Andromeda and Nymphadora had been, that he was nothing like the family he ran away from. Fighting for James and Lily, fighting for Harry.
And now, Molly was fighting for him, for Sirius. She was fighting to ensure that his death, caused by this woman he hated to call cousin, would not be in vain. And perhaps most importantly, she was fighting to say that she was sorry for ever having doubted him.
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She did it for Harry, who sacrificed himself for them all, the boy she loved as much as her own children. Dear Harry, who would duck his head in embarrassment when a stranger recognised him on the street, but who would face his foes with a wild, brazen look in his eyes. He had seen more pain and experienced more loss in his short life than most people would in one lifetime. That was wrong.
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And well, she did it just because she could.
She did it because she was there.
She did it for each and every person she loved, who deserved to live and grow in a world free from the terror this woman unleashed upon them all.
She did it to alleviate some of the unbearable pain she was feeling, the pain ripping and tearing through her heart with every breathe she took. But she knew it wouldn't work like that. It would never be that simple.
But she did it anyway.
Fin
Longer than I originally intended; I am apparently incapable of writing a real drabble.
This is my first anti-Bella fic. Ever. I never thought I would or could write one but alas, here we be. I feel dirty.
Reviews, thoughts, comments and/or chocolate would be most appreciated =D
Kiitos!