A/N: Thank you for clicking on this story. I hope you enjoy it! This is my entry for Round 1 on the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
Prompts used: Brush, "Do not regret growing old. It is a privilege denied to many." – Anonymous and Dialogue: "What on earth are you doing?"
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Love Does Not Age
A soft rustle was heard when I turned over the page of the Sunday Prophet. Nothing about Muggles, I thought disappointed, when I glanced over the page. I remembered with glee how last's week edition had contained a two page special about the uses of Muggle technology. This week, however, the two pages were covered with an article elaborating on the latest Quidditch match between the Montrose Magpies and the Chudley Cannons. The Chudley Cannons lost again, I noted. Ron would not be happy with that.
Where was he anyway? I looked up from my paper, realising it had been too silent for too long to be safe. Oh, please don't be outside, I prayed silently. Molly would murder me if his Sunday clothes had gotten dirty. I was supposed to watch him, after all.
We were supposed to visit Aunt Muriel later today, and Molly wanted to make a good impression after that whole fiasco during last Christmas dinner. I grinned a bit, remembering how the twins had set off a Dungbomb under Muriel's chair. Both Molly and Muriel couldn't appreciate the joke though, and I must admit, seeing the kitchen after that happening cooled down my enthusiasm for the prank as well.
With a sigh, I got up from my chair, off to find my youngest son. And where he was, I would very probably find Ginny too. Ever since Fred and George went to Hogwarts, the two of them had been hanging around each other more and more. They would fight a lot, oh definitely fight a lot, but in the end they always made up and continued with whatever game they had been playing.
A glance out of the window confirmed my worst fears – they were indeed outside. Ron's hair was a mess again, and Ginny's white dress had green stains on it. I let out a deep sigh. I knew I needed to go out and scold them for making their clothes dirty, but every time when I would stand in front of them, sentences already formulated in my mind, the words lying on my tongue, they would look up to me with those eyes... And I would just shake my head and laugh, ruffle their hair a bit, and leave the real scolding to Molly.
She was taking long getting ready, I realised. Maybe I should go look at what's going on... That would at least put me off from scolding the kids for some time. Yes, I would go see why Molly was taking so long, I decided after another glance out of the window, where I could now see Ron and Ginny running around.
As I ascended the stairs, I looked at the many pictures covering the walls. Many were filled with smiling red-headed kids' faces, others with chubby babies and a few of Molly and me. There was one picture I particularly liked; Molly in a yellow summer dress, twirling around and then pulling a young man in the picture to kiss him. The poor lad was blushing and sheepishly grinning at the camera, before trying to walk away again, only to be pulled back again by a brightly smiling Molly.
It had been one of our first dates, I remembered with a smile on my face. I had been so nervous I hardly had been able to tie my own laces. I glanced at the boy in the picture and absentmindedly touched my bald patch. Time was catching up with me.
After living so long in this house, I managed to reach the bedroom without making the wooden floor creak. The bedroom door was open – inside, I could see Molly standing in front of the mirror, brushing her curly red hair carefully.
I stood still and silent in the doorway, enjoying this moment of getting to watch her like this. I saw how a frown appeared on her face, and she leaned closer to the mirror. For a few seconds she stared at her reflection, then she put the brush aside and carefully grabbed one strand of hair. With a jerk she pulled that one hair out. After another look in the mirror, she repeated the process.
Why was she doing this? I wondered. Was this a women thing again, pulling out random hairs? I thought they only did that with their eyebrows...
Realisation hit me when I saw her pulling out another hair. The hairs weren't red, I finally noticed. They were grey. A mollified smile appeared on my face. Oh Molly... I shook my head, still smiling.
"Molly dear, what on earth are you doing? Pulling out your hair like that? I think I'm bald enough for the both of us," I suddenly spoke up, startling my poor wife.
"A- Arthur, I was just- just," she started, but fell silent when she found out she didn't know how to finish. It was an unusual situation: Molly Weasley at a loss for words.
I stepped inside the room, walked up behind her and put my arms around my wife. "Molly, you are absolutely beautiful."
For a moment she was silent, then muttered, "I'm getting old Arthur. I'm not as skinny as I used to be, I'm getting wrinkles and my hair is turning grey. I'm getting old."
My head was resting on top of her head, and her back was resting against my chest. "I hope you get old, dear. I hope you get really really old."
In the mirror I could see her rolling her eyes. "That's not what I meant."
"I know honey, I know," I said, holding her closer. "But getting old is not a bad thing; many haven't been able to complain about grey hairs."
She sighed, and in the mirror I could see her eyes sadden. I knew she was thinking of her brothers.
"Molly..." I said, even though I didn't really know what exactly I wanted to say.
"I know, it's no use thinking of things that cannot be changed," she replied. Trying to lighten the mood, she added, "However, my grey hairs can be changed."
I grinned a bit. "Molly dear, I swear, you get more beautiful each day, grey hairs or not."
She was silent for some time, and I wondered anxiously if I had said the wrong thing. Wouldn't be the first time.
"Really?" Molly finally spoke up, sounding a bit insecure.
This was rare, very rare, I thought. Molly hardly showed any insecurity, she always was the woman in charge. But not now.
I lowered my head so it was now resting on her shoulder. "Yes, really."
In the mirror I saw a small smile appear on her face, and I felt how she leaned closer to me. I tightened my arms around her.
"I love you," she said, placing her hands on mine.
"I love you too," I responded. Not automatically, no, never automatically – every time I said those words, they were always true and sincere.
Molly turned her head so she was now looking in my eyes, and placed a soft kiss on my lips. I closed my eyes, enjoying our time alone. She pulled away too soon for my liking.
"Aunt Muriel could wait," I suggested hopefully.
She grinned at me, and when she did that, I could see that cheeky girl in the yellow summer dress again, as she took the lead during our first date. I smiled at her and leaned in again, but we were interrupted by a scream coming from downstairs.
"Mum! Mum, Ron pushed me in a puddle!" Ginny's high-pitched voice tore up our silence.
"That's not true! She fell in it! It was an accident!" I heard Ron yell in the distance.
"Liar! You did it on purpose! MUM!" Ginny cried back.
With a sigh I released Molly from my hug. The mother in charge was back, her hands already placed on her hips, ready to go break up the kids' fight.
"A puddle? What were they-" she started off confused, but stopped as her eyes grew wide. Then she turned to me, glaring, and demanded, "Arthur, were the kids playing outside?"
"Uh... maybe?" I said with what I hoped to be a calming tone.
"You were supposed to watch them! Now their clothes are probably all dirty! Oh Arthur!" she fumed.
After a last glare at me, she turned around and made her way out of the room, and I heard her running down the stairs. I smiled a bit when I heard her scolding the kids.
"Oh Ronald, what did you do? Look at Ginny's dress! And oh, your hair! Both to the bathroom, now!"
"But mum, it was an accid-"
"But it wasn't my fault, mum-"
Both their protests were cut off by a firm "No buts, off to the bathroom you go!"
And when Ron dared to start again, he too fell silent after a threatening "Ronald..."
I smiled when I heard her ushering them into the bathroom. How perfect she was. Yellow summer dress or grey hairs, it didn't matter to me.
She was my Molly, and I loved her.
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