"Mum?"

Molly wondered if she had imagined the voice. There was no way he was really here, was there? It must be a figment of her imagination conjured by her feverish brain. Nonetheless, she opened her eyes slowly. There, in the familiar room with faded pictures and old rose-coloured paint, stood someone who had not been there for a very long time. Her son.

"Bill," she whispered softly, unable to say more as her voice choked. "You came back," she added after a laboured breath

Bill kneeled down next to her bed, tears in his eyes. Fleur stood hesitantly at the doorway, her daughters on each side of her.

"I did, mum," Bill said, nodding. Hetook her wrinkled, pale hand in his.

"I'm sorry," Molly told him, struggling to speak. He began to hush her, but she slowly shook her head. "No, let me. I'm sorry, Bill." Flicking her eyes upward, she looked to Fleur. "And you, Fleur. My beautiful, vivacious daughter. I'm sorry for the way I treated you both. Forgive me?"

Fleur approached the bed and ran a hand over Molly's forehead lovingly. "It is alright. You are like my mother. Of course I forgive you."

Dominique and Victoire were standing on either side of the bed, smiling comfortingly at their grandmother.

"We are all here now, Mum," Bill told Molly. "We came back for you."

"And so you must get better grandmama," Dominique added.

"I'm sorry, my dears," Molly said, sighing deeply. The atmosphere of the room suddenly turned grim again.

"What do you mean, Mum?" Bill asked, afraid. He knew what the answer would be, and he was dreading it. This was the moment he had been dreading ever since Charlie Flooed him that Mum was gravely ill had insisted on not going to St Mungo's. She said she had wanted to die at home, he told Bill.

"I wish...I wish I had more time to spend with you...with all of you. But I'm afraid it's too late for that," she replied. To Bill's surprise, she did not sound fearful, just sad.

"No," he said, tears blurring his vision again. "Please don't say that mum. I'll-I'll do anything."

Molly looked at him sorrowfully without replying.

"Please stay with us," Bill repeated.

Suddenly, Molly's expression changed to one of pain. "I...don't...feel...well," she managed to stutter.

Moments later, the Healers and the rest of the Weasleys were rushing into the little room, surrounding Molly.

Bill stood in a corner, leaning against the wall for support, while Fleur tried to comfort him.

There was utter silence in the room, only punctuated by the Healers murmuring spells and Molly's deep, harsh, breathing. The rhythm was broken only minutes later, however, when Bill realised he could no longer hear her breathe.

A Healer turned to him with sad-looking eyes. The air left Bill's lungs even as some of the others in the room began to sob.

Bill let out an anguished howl and fell to his knees.


Notes:

A gift fic for my lovely Tiggs who I love very much and who I probably don't even deserve as a friend because she's so amazing. *hugs*

For the Mother's Day Challenge at The Golden Snitch. Prompt: Molly Weasley.

Also for the British Literature Challenge. Prompts: vivacious, old rose, Ottery St. Catchpole (the Burrow is located in it, so kind of cheated a tiny bit), a tragic reconciliation.

And for the Through the Universe Challenge: Prompt: Feverish