Arthur Weasley
Arthur paced around his bedroom, his wife having gone out for a "drink in Diagon Alley" yet again. He knew she was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her about it. He didn't want the truth, though he knew he already had it...
She was at St. Mungo's, no doubt, trying to find out how long she had left... She thought her husband didn't know, and intended to keep it that way. He found out, however, of course he did - he could see it in her eyes and the way she seemed to be deteriorating on the spot. Her clothes didn't fit right; they were baggy in odd places, and her face was sallow and pale. She was sick, and she was dying; there was no other explanation.
When she returned home from her trips to the hospital, she kept quiet and put on a smile that was obviously fake. Arthur knew his wife was just trying to spare him pain, but what she didn't know was that this only doubled his heartache. He wanted his last days with his wife, his Molly, to be joyful, but instead they were filled with secrets and sorrow that they could not share with each other. He had always known losing her would be hard, but he hadn't anticipated that the grief would begin before she had even gone.
The illness didn't take Arthur by surprise - Molly was getting old, and neither of them had very many years left. The fire that erupted in their bedroom, however, was one thing that Arthur had not anticipated. He woke suddenly to an anti-fire charm screaming loudly, Molly already away and cowered in the far corner of the bed, outstretching her wand at the flames but lacking the energy and will to do anything to them. She was breathing heavily and her heart was pounding, something her husband knew would not be good for her frail condition. As the flames roared around them, Arthur pried his eyes from his terrified, sick wife and turned them to the raging fire, drifting ever closer the bed where they sit.
"Aguamenti!" He shouted, water spraying the hungry flames and putting it out. He scurried over to his wife, now breathing quick, shallow breaths, and held her close to him.
"Arthur... I..." Her voice was strained, and he knew it must be hard for her to try words.
"Shh... I know, Molly. I know you're sick. It's okay, though. I'm here. I promise, I'm here." He kissed her forehead, sweat on the surface from the warm fire, but growing colder each moment.
"I... love you... Arthur." She whispered almost inaudibly, her last breath warm against her husband's skin. He held her hand tightly, waiting for another to come - but it did not.
"Molly, no... No, Molly! No!" Tears began to fall rapidly, staining his wife's robes where he lay his head on her breast, desperate for a pulse and pain-stricken when he could not find one.
The funeral had been the worst part. While Ginny had helped plan most of it, picking out flowers and a tombstone for his wife was almost too much to bear. At the service, he hadn't cried a tear; he was too numb inside to do so. The crying had been only for that first night, with his Molly lying dead in his arms, knowing that there was nothing more he could do to save her. Now, he knew it was over. The grief had come - so, now, he wondered, how do I cope?
"How're you feeling today, Dad?" George nudged his father's shoulder to break him from the blank stare he had held for nearly a minute now. Arthur looked towards his son, seeming for a moment that he had forgotten where he was.
"Oh. I'm fine, George." He took an idle sip from his mug of butterbeer, noticing his son's look of question. "Really, I am." George sighed and drank a large gulp and put the mug down.
"It'll be okay, Dad. I promise." Arthur shrugged at this - he really didn't feel like anything would be okay ever again, though he did appreciate his son's efforts to help him cope. "I mean, think about it: you're free to do whatever now. Why don't you go play with all that Muggle junk that Mum always hated?" He offered a smile to his father, but quickly let it fade as he realized Arthur would not return it.
"Hmm." He mumbled, taking this into mind, thinking off all the spark plugs and batteries hidden around the house and piled in his office, including the old Ford Anglia that he had repurposed without his wife's consent. "You're probably right. I should get going, then." He stood to leave. His son almost protested, but decided that his father was a grown man - he didn't need constant supervision.
"Alright, Dad. Have a nice day, okay?" He gave one last smile before his father opened the shop door, heading out to apparate back to the Burrow. "Wait. Dad, I love you. Remember that, will you?"
"I love you too, George." He attempted a smile that failed, offering a pained sort of grimace.
The Burrow seemed cold and empty without Molly around, despite the fact that it looked exactly the same. Arthur tried his best to keep tidy, but it never seemed to be exactly right. It never smelled of warm onion soup in the evening - the kitchen had a layer of dust over it - and the atmosphere seemed lonely and quiet. The fire had burned away the majority of their wedding photos, as well as a few baby pictures, which made Arthur feel even more empty and alone. He hadn't slept there since the night Molly died, instead taking to the couch to escape the atmosphere of death in the bedroom. He hadn't even been up there to repair the damage to the walls and floors, feeling that it would have been too much to even step foot into the room where his wife took her last breaths.
His workbench was filled with all sorts of gadgets, and several books on Muggle subjects. He sat in the chair, wondering about the days when he was so fascinated with everything, and when the batteries had meant so much to him. Now, all he could see was Molly. She hated this stuff - she thought it was useless junk. She had always made her dislike of Arthur's obsession very clear. He'd usually ignored it, making sure to work on the car or rebuilt the motorcycle when she was not home, but now... It angered him. Every last bit of it made him sick to his stomach. Standing suddenly, the chair toppled to the floor behind his as he summoned a rubbage bin, angrily tossing every spark plug and battery into it until it was full.
When the workbench was clear, he moved to the floors, clearing out every bit of junk that would have made his wife scowl. When he was finished, when every small item was in the bin, he stared deeply at the Ford Anglia that took up the remaining space. He remembered the day he brought it home, the way he and Molly had argued... He swore he'd keep it in the workroom, that it would never leave. Then the boys took it out to rescue Harry... He'd been so proud of himself, proud that all of his charms had worked on the car. And when he and Harry took it to Hogwarts, when he thought it'd been gone for sure, but there it was, here again. He'd spent so many months making sure this thing had worked properly, many arguments with his wife... His wife that was now dead. These moments that he had wasted with her, making her cross, angering her for no good reason...
Arthur vanished the car without another second of hesitation. She would have wanted it, he thought. She hated every bit of this...
The house became more and more empty every day. This was the only thing Arthur could think to do - sell all the things he didn't need, including his old bed; pack away all the portraits and photographs and give them to his children; keep clearing out, cleaning everything that could be cleaned. He couldn't stop. He wanted every painful memory gone, anything Molly didn't like, gone. Everything. Gone.
He kept clearing out until the only things that remained were the couch, a meager supply of food in the cupboards, and the ghoul in the attic that thumped around occasionally. Arthur was done; he had nothing else to do. He'd done absolutely everything in an attempt to clear his mind of his wife, but she was still there, gnawing at the back of his mind. He couldn't sleep, and he could only force himself to eat occasionally. Until he ran out of food completely, he never even left the house.
With two bags full of food, Arthur apparated to his front step and opened the door. He flicked on the lights, revealing his home, absolutely filled with his family and friends.
"Surprise!" Everyone yelled in unison, causing Arthur to drop the groceries he had been holding. The bottle of milk exploded on the floor.
"Reparo!" yelled Harry, stepping forward with his wife and Arthur's daughter. The milk returned to its now-repaired bottle.
"Hey, Dad. george told us you were pretty down... We understand, really. But when we came by a few weeks ago to check it out, when you were at the store, and it was a pretty scary sight..." Refferring to the empty floors and walls, she frowned slightly. "Dad, we want you to be okay. You know that, right? We know it ought to be hard for you. Mum was your everything. But you've got us, too, you know. And we want to help!" She gestured to the walls that were now filled with smiling photographs once again. However, when Arthur stepped forward to get a closer look at one, he realized they were not the same ones that he had recently removed.
"Ginny had the idea. We figured you'd gotten rid of the old ones for a reason - so we just got you new ones! That there's James and Lily Luna." Harry pointed to the photo of a young boy holding a baby girl. Arthur turned to face his large family, all of his children, their wives, their children. They all ran to point to their own photographs, brought here from their homes to show him that they cared, and that they wanted to help him through this. Walking around to see what everyone brought, he thought maybe he could manage to be happy again.
"Oh, Dad, I nearly forgot." Ron reached for Hermione's bag and pulled out a framed photo. "We couldn't keep this one, dad. It's yours. Really." The last wedding photo, one he had given away, desperate to clear out, was right there in front of him. He took it, rubbing the face of his deceased wife with his thumb, feeling the tears forming in his eyes.
"Kids... Family, thank you, thank you so much." He wiped away a tear, setting the picture of his smiling, waving Molly down on the couch. "I know I let myself go... I'm so sorry... Thank you all for helping me out today. I needed this, desperately." The tears were falling freely now, and he did nothing to stop them.
A mob of little feet came rushing to Arthur, surrounding him from the waist down. He nearly tripped over them, but steadied himself at the last moment.
"Grandpa! We got you this!" They held up a brand new book, one obviously of Muggle making. Electricity for Dummies. Arthur grinned, ear to ear, tears still pouring from his eyes.
"Thank you, James, and all of you." He hugged his grandchildren tight, conjuring chairs for everyone to sit in, bringing back all of the things he had rid himself of to try and cope with the loss of his wonderful, loving wife. Ginny made onion soup, just as good as Molly had made, and they all sat to eat and laugh and remember the life that had inspired them all. Arthur realized, then, that forgetting about his wife would not be the solution. The only thing he could do was remember her for what she was - the most wonderful woman he had ever met.