They pushed open the gate and stepped into their garden with a profound sense of relief.
'I've had a wonderful day, but there really is no place like home' said Molly, taking Arthur's hand.
Slowly they made their way towards the house. The night was very still and calm. Honeysuckle and stocks scented the air, and moths flitted their way to here and there; pale shapes in the moonlight. At the door Arthur stopped and took her hands in his.
'You know what would make this day perfect?' he asked quietly.
She raised her eyes to his, a suggestion of a smile on her lips. 'At my age?'
He laughed. 'Mollywobbles, at any age. But what I really meant was a nice cup of tea!'
'Oh, Arthur! You make the tea, I'll get the table ready. It's still warm enough to sit outside.'
He was back soon enough, floating a tray in front of him and carrying their radio, which he set carefully on the table. It was tuned to a station that played easy listening at this time of night, music that added to an atmosphere, rather than being the cause of it. They knew most of the tunes, and had done so for more years than they cared to admit.
The tea was light and fragrant and they sat in a quiet that spoke volumes about them. They didn't need words that much any more, but eventually Molly did break the companionable silence.
'Thank you, I had such a wonderful time, and everyone was so kind.'
He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 'You're not 100 every day are you? I'm glad you liked it, and it was so wonderful that everybody turned up...including all of you.'
She gave him a quizzical look.
'All of the special people you are to so many people. A wife, a mother, a grandmother and great-grandmother.' He gave a small chuckle. 'And, if I'm not mistaken, we'll be seeing the next generation in a few months time.'
They were silent again, and he recognised that silence. 'I know' he said simply. 'I still miss him, too.'
Molly sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. 'There's one person I've never been.'
Arthur thought for a moment. 'Who?'
'Aunty Molly. I've never been an aunty to my own blood. I still miss them all. I know it's silly, after all this time, but I never saw their children.'
Arthur stood and helped her up from her chair, giving here a hug before leading her in to the house. He would hold her in his arms until she fell asleep.
The radio could stay outside, and would come to no harm. It was playing a muggle song that had been popular with wizards for years now, and the warm, gentle voice drifted across the garden.
Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
AN. This was inspired by my five year old next door neighbour, who was telling all about his Aunty Molly today.
