When news reached her of the attack, she could not breathe.
She had been dreading this day, for yes, she knew with war casualties were unavoidable.
She arrived at St Mungo's though she wasn't sure how.
She didn't remember having moved since that silvery lynx had brought her the news.
Everything was hazy.
She made her way up to his room.
Tears free falling.
She saw his brothers, and his father sitting down outside.
White and worn.
Dumbledore had fallen.
The cause had been unequivocally damaged.
She did not care.
She could not care.
In that moment she was not a warrior, not a member of the Order, not even a witch.
She was a woman.
A woman in pain, nervously awaiting news on the rest of her life.
Molly was speaking.
She was to be prepared.
He would survive, but he was heavily scarred.
She gulped.
She faltered for a moment, afraid of what lay behind the door.
She need not have worried.
For when she saw him, she saw no scars.