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War Cardigan
(Battle Never Looked So Motherly)

The Burrow, home to so many generations of Weasleys, sat with an air of unnatural quiet. After being home to so many children shouting, running, laughing, fighting, and crying, the quiet felt wrong to Molly Weasley. Growing up, her own brothers Gideon and Fabian had kept their home loud and raucous. Her babies were all grown up, even her youngest, Ginny. Though only sixteen, the young woman had proven to be far more mature than most her age.

Molly was sitting in the family room, which through the years had often been packed full of redheads with grins and freckles, but recently had felt more and more deserted. The family Matriarch could admit that she still heard the shrill giggles and happy shouts when she was alone in the dark of night. The haunted feel of the home left her lonelier than she could ever remember being in her life, and it left her much time to reminisce and think of days gone by.

She did not sleep much, not since Mad-Eye had died. Not since the Headmaster had died. If Molly was honest with herself, she had slept less and less since she received a letter from Minerva McGonagall about her youngest boy fighting (and beating!) a troll during the Halloween Feast of his First Year. Young Ronald had caused her much stress, but she could not be more proud of the man he had become. He had overcome his fears of his brothers overshadowing him, and he was shining brightly in his own extraordinary way.

Then there was Harry Potter, Ron's "brother from another mother," as Fred had put it during their Third Year. Harry had caused her anxiety, anger, fear, and pride, sometimes all at once, but he had grown into such a strong, fearless man that Molly would not trade those moments for all the gold in Gringotts. She was just thankful that Hermione had always been there, picking up the pieces or gently guiding them with her iron will. Those two had been so good for Ronald, Molly promised herself that whatever may happen, they would always have a place in her home.

A familiar sound caught her attention, not for its importance but for its recent infrequency. Arthur had wrested it away from her and restored it to its rightful place just days before, stating that since eight of the nine hands pointed to "Mortal Peril", looking at it could do nothing but depress her. She looked up from her knitting in time to see Ronald's hand on the family clock move from "Missing," where it had been for months, to "School." Molly paused for a moment to notice that someone, most likely one of the twins, had pasted pictures of Hermione and Harry to Ron's hand on the clock. Reminding herself to thank the twins later for their inclusion of the two, Molly told herself that the only way Ron's hand, which had been confused by various hiding charms Ron was under to stay away from Snatchers, would read "School" was if he had gone to Hogwarts. And if he was at Hogwarts. . .

Arthur entered the home from where he had been checking the wards in the yard. Molly knew from the way he looked at her that something had happened. She knew that nothing would be the same come morning. Molly finished the last few loops with her knitting needles and stood, holding out her new cardigan to check the sizing before slipping it on. She walked into the kitchen and took the kettle off the enchanted stove, as no one would need it in the near future. Placing their uneaten dinner in the cooling box and turning off the lights in the home, Molly took her husband's arm and disappeared into the darkest of nights without a word.

Several hours later…

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"