Their silence told the story. Whenever they were alone not a single word was whispered. They had lost something so precious that it seemed as if that which was lost was the only thing keeping them together. No, they couldn't think that way. How could one little thing be the be-all and end-all? But, that's the point. It wasn't a little thing. Once, maybe, but now its absence was enough to tear them apart.
Every morning was the same. When she awoke he was already in the shed, pottering with his bike, feeding the chickens; anything to take his mind off of it. She would put on her make-up, and a mask of forged happiness. She would greet her children with forced smiles and cook breakfast, as if it never happened.
When he joined them, the smell of bacon the most enticing thing at that moment, he would kiss and hug her, wish her good morning. They would chat lightly, about plans for the day. The children were going out around the village to see their friends and maybe play a few games of Quidditch. Just what she needed! More silence!
It wasn't fair. Not on him, not on the kids, definitely not on her, but it happened. There was nothing to be done now. Just bottle her sadness, her anger. Just get drunk every night when the children were out or asleep. Try to forget everything.
Alcoholic was not a word she liked. Her aunt was an alcoholic. She had suffered a great tragedy and turned bitter. Now all the kids hated her and said they only wanted to keep in her good books for the inheritance, though now they had money, poor Aunt Muriel was all alone.
She wouldn't turn out like Aunt Muriel, surely. Not when there was so much still to live for. Ha, that's a joke. Even with two children and two as-good-as-adopted children living under her roof and three more children but a floo away, she would never feel the same happiness.
He didn't feel the same way, she was sure. How could he? He just took his mind off of it with that stupid bike that somehow, she wasn't sure how but she was sure, had started everything that led to today.
'I'm also going out today, honey' He said so sweetly. 'I've got a few errands to run. You're welcome to join me.' An empty proposal for the children's sakes.
'No, thank you, dear.' She said just as sweetly. 'I have some chores to do, too.'
Strictly speaking, they weren't so much as chores as major life decisions.
Maybe she would finally decide whether or not to leave. Not forever! At least that was not the plan. No, she just needed to wrap her head around the whole situation. 'Take a break' as Witch Weekly had an article on not too long ago.
She would visit Aunt Muriel, maybe stay with her. George was busy with his shop. Bill, Charlie and Percy were fine starting their own families. Ron had Hermione and Ginny had Harry. She wasn't needed anymore. Maybe she should turn bitter like Muriel after all. Why not?
Who knew that Fred was the glue that held the Weasleys together? And he's gone, she thought. Gone forever! And it was all her fault.