I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. Believe me if I did, I would not be typing away on a laptop from the Stone Age, wondering how much longer it can possibly last. This is just a little one shot that popped into my head. Enjoy!
It was out of instinct she supposed; the way he would assess a room when he walked in, no matter where it was. She noticed it was something he had picked up over the years. She couldn't blame him though after all he had been through; he fought dark forces on a regular basis, it was only natural of him to be suspicious.
But she found herself wishing he wouldn't do it. Wanted to show him that he was safe in his home, that she would let no harm come to him while she had breath in her lungs. It was just another reminder to her of all that he had suffered and been through. Like the way he would hold back his emotions, be reserved when accepting others affection. She knew it was down to his upbringing with those horrid Muggles; they had shown him no affection, no love, no home. She wasn't normally a violent person but knew if she ever crossed paths with the Dursley's she would show them the business end of a good hex.
She smiled as she watched him laugh at something Ron said. She loved his smile, he didn't show it often enough in her opinion. It showed her the happy boy he should have been, had he lived a happy childhood. She wished Ron had met him sooner, so they could have welcomed him into the family earlier on, had more time with him.
He was a man now, had moved out, got a career and was living the kind of life she always wanted him to have. But when she looked at him she still saw the little boy from the train station asking for directions. She remembered that day so well; remembered wondering why he was alone, why no one was with him. Even then she had the overwhelming urge to protect him, look after him.
There was just something about him that had always called to her. Some would say it was her "mother hen" instincts, her need to look after children. She knew different. For even then, all those years ago, she had loved him just as much as the seven children she bore herself. She didn't even have a second thought about taking him in whenever she could. She had regularly begged Dumbledore to let Harry come home with them over the summer holidays, but he had never let her take him. At the time she had always held that against him and if she was honest, part of her still did. She knew now the reason for it, the blood protection that was needed to keep Harry safe all those years. But that didn't mean she had to like it.
Blood protection.
She found that ironic. The one place he had to go to be protected was the one place where protection was never found. Not the kind a child needed anyway; there was never any love at the Dursley's. Sure, the blood protection had stopped Voldermort and his followers from hurting Harry, but that was the only thing it had provided. No happiness or comfort, no warm meals and a cosy bed at night, no hugs or kisses, no presents on special occasions.
She had provided all that, and she always would, for the rest of his life. She had made a promise many years ago that she would try and make up for all he had missed out on. That's why he always got longer hugs, why she always seated him nearest the food dishes at the dinner table, and always put more on his plate without him asking. Why she perhaps babied him more than her other children.
She often found herself feeling jealous of Lily Potter; she had the honour of the title of his mother. But then she felt guilty; feeling jealous when that Mother had been deprived of the chance to watch her son grow when she had been there for all of hers.
She was pulled from her musings when Harry himself walked past her, on his way to return his mug to the kitchen. She stopped him on his way, took the mug from his hands despite his protests and brushed a hand lovingly through his hair. He smiled at her as she shooed him back to his conversation with Ron.
Red hair was the famous Weasley trait; all her children had been blessed with it. Except one. His jet black hair was one of his defining features to other people, made him stand out as a Potter. To her, he was simply her black haired baby, the youngest of her sons. And she was overwhelmed with happiness that they had found him, and more importantly, he had let them find him.
It didn't matter that she hadn't given birth to him, didn't matter that she hadn't met him until he was eleven years old, that he had a different surname and looked nothing like her. Harry was, and always would be, her son. Nothing would ever be able to change that.
Hope you enjoyed it. While I love J K Rowling and all her genius, I just wish we could have seen a little bit more Molly/Harry interaction in the books. Please review!