Those Wrinkled Hands
A/N: I'm the Seeker for the Kestrals, and this is my submission for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Enjoy :)
"You're very pretty, you know," she could feel his smile as well as she could see it.
"You're very handsome," she smiled back, stroking his red hair.
"I am, aren't I?" He reached his skinny arms up to his collar and readjusted it.
Molly laughed, and Arthur loved at the dimples on her rosy cheeks, "Now don't get too ahead of yourself. I don't think your neck would be strong enough to support such a big head," she smoothed his hair out and kissed his forehead. "Good night, love." She tucked the pale blue sheets in around him and he shut his eyes, red lashes glowing gold in the lamplight. She made her way to the door and turned out his light. Looking back she saw he was still illuminated by the light from the hall, and she took this opportunity to look at him.
He hardly looked the same. He was pale, and not the pinkish, porcelain white it had always been. His skin was a gray kind of pale, as if he were decomposing right before her eyes. As she thought about it, he was in some ways. The little freckles that covered his body were now joined by marks of time and bruises. Especially bruises; the man could hardly touch a spoon without his fingers purpling at the touch. His skin was like the wrapper of a candy that had been crumpled and stepped on before being picked up, stretched thin, dyed that horrid gray colour, and been grafted to his skin. She could hardly stand the look of his tiny wrists. Molly had always been a bit large and Arthur always looked a bit smaller by comparison, but it seemed as though now Arthur had less muscle mass than that of an infant. His eyes, oh, his eyes. Once so bright and proud and beautiful, the whites had turned to yellows akin of an aging book, and the lines that adorned the skin around them looked as though they had seen every horror the world could offer. This Arthur Weasley seemed to be so different than the one she married, and that haunted her.
Perhaps what haunted Molly more was what she couldn't see. His mind, once brilliant but tangled, once wise and good, now just seemed empty. When he looked at Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Ginny it was as though he was looking at a wall where a painting once hung. He remembered something, but he couldn't quite place them. Not to mention Victoire, Dominique, Louis, Molly, Lucy, Fred, Roxanne, James, Albus, Lily, Rose, and Hugo. When he looked at them it was as though they weren't there at all. To see that now, from the man who had cried over each of their tiny bodies, was heartbreaking. And she knew that he tried, but it still wasn't the same. The only thing that reminded her he was her Arthur was the way he lit up every time she brought him a photograph of a muggle artifact and the way he looked at her.
Molly looked around the room. She couldn't handle looking at him for much longer. Instead she turned a gaze to his monitors. His heart rate was low, but steady. She didn't have to read the statistic to know his breathing was shallow. She could only frown at what all the low readings meant. She knew their great adventure was coming to a close.
She shut the door behind her, careful not to make any noise. She walked down the hall quickly, covering her mouth to mask her sobs. Hurrying to the bathroom she took her pills, then let herself week over the sink. Their great adventure was coming to a close. How wrong was it that he lived with a bang and is going out with a whimper? How wrong was it that she was left to have a shattered heart, to be the one half left? She wished so desperately she could have her kids with her now, holding each of her hands and whispering soothing words in her ears. She couldn't have them, though. Arthur had said a long time ago he never wanted them to see him like that. It was better for the children to think of their strong, proud father than the wilting man who was halfway to being a skeleton already.
As she hobbled out into the hall she heard the beeping of his heart monitor from his room, slower than it had ever been. She quickened her pace to his room, ignoring the arthritis that nagged at her aging hips. She collapsed into the chair by his bed, and Arthur looked at her.
"How horrid," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"Nothing is horrid," Molly ran her hand over his face. He was still warm. He was still Arthur.
"Some things are horrid. This is quite horrid. This feeling inside of me," he turned to Molly, crystal tears beginning to pool in his eyes. "I know I should be strong but I honestly don't want to lose you."
"You won't lose me, love!" Molly cupped his face. "You can never lose me. You could try, but if you're a bull then I'm the best bull rider in town. We said our own vows, and I promised you eternity. Death only separates us in body. You will always be with me and I will always be with you. You can say I'm talking out my arse right now, but I don't think I've ever said truer words. We're Molly and Arthur, and separation is an obstacle, not a towering wall. One day I'll join you up in heaven or wherever the hell it is we go, and when I'm there you better kiss me hard at the gates. What stands between us is only time, love, and even time will end."
Arthur smiled up at her, the tears that had pooled in his eyes bubbling over like a boiling pot. He sat up and kissed Molly, the most movement he'd made in months. As their lips touched for the last time she held him, for he was too weak to hold himself.
When he pulled away, he had the same look of determination he had all his life, "You tell those grandkids of mine I love them. Each and every one. Then you give each of our kids a big old kiss, courtesy of their dad." Molly was crying now too, realizing she held her same old husband in her arms. "I love you, Molly Weasley."
"I love you, too."
Arthur grinned at a corner, then back at Molly. "He looks the same you know."
"Who?"
"Who do you think?" Arthur grinned and winked. "Goodbye, Molly."
"Bye, love," Arthur faded in her arms and she wept such grotesque tears. She laid him on his bed, clasping his wrinkled hand with one hand and feeling a lump on the top of her left breast with the other. "I'll see you soon."