Alright, so this popped into my head yesterday morning. The 4th of August is a special day to me, and I intended to write this down immediately. I had to catch a train, though, that's why I'm posting it today. ;)
Dedicated to my mother, who I visited yesterday for the first time in years and who hopefully always knew that I love her.
A Bond Unbroken
The house has become quiet. Even the Ghoul seems to understand that this is not the time for his usual entertainment.
Arthur scans the living room, and he can't remember it ever having been so empty despite the people who are gathered here. His gaze falls upon Charlie who is slumped in the old armchair, appearantly asleep, though the movement behind his eyelids are proof enough that it's not a peaceful sleep at all. From time to time the young man clenches his fist and mumbles incoherent words, and Arthur tries desperately not to hear them.
Percy is lying on the sofa, one arm hanging down loosely, his fingertips are barely touching the floor. He has still got his glasses on, and Arthur gently takes them off him and places them onto the table. He looks at his son again, and he is surprised just how much the sight of him fills him with warmth, even tonight. No matter what happened in the past, Arthur has never been a man to hold grudges for long. He has forgiven his son a long time ago. He only hopes Percy will eventually forgive himself. Right now, he doubts it.
Bill and Fleur have long gone, and Arthur wishes that Bill had stayed. If there is anyone in the family who could maybe deal with this, it would be his eldest. But then he remembers the vacant expression in Bill's eyes when he held his wife's hand so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, and the way Bill wouldn't allow himself to cry while wiping away Ginny's tears, and he thinks that maybe being with Fleur alone is the only way Bill can possibly get through this without breaking apart.
On the other side of the sofa, George is sitting with his face buried in his hands, and for a short moment Arthur thinks he's sleeping as well. But from time to time, the boy shifts slightly, and the pain to see his son like this if almost too much for Arthur to take. George hasn't said anything all night, and when Arthur approaches him, kneels down and gently lays his hand onto his shoulder, he flinches but doesn't even look up.
"You should go to sleep, son", he says and immediately thinks that maybe for George, sleeping could make it even worse. As long as you're awake, you can at least try to not think of anything. You can't control your dreams.
George doesn't reply, but just shakes his head, and Arthur sighs. There are so many things he'd like to say but he knows that none could ever fix this. This is just too much. Instead, he gets up again.
"I'll go to bed. Molly might already be asleep." He squeezes George's shoulder quickly.
With one last look back at his children, Arthur leaves the room and heads for the bedroom.
Of course is wife is not asleep. He should have known that. She is sitting on the double bed, sniffing and wiping her face, and Arthur doesn't recognize immediately what she is holding in her hand. He comes closer, and he has expected to see her with a photograph or one of Fred's old pyjamas. But this...
"What is that?" he asks and points at what looks like a toy. He can't remember if the kids ever had a -
"Rubber mouse", chokes Molly. "The damn fake wands." And she begins to cry again.
Arthur recognizes it now, of course.
He sits down next to his wife, and for a moment he doesn't know what to say or do. It scares him. They have been married for so many years and no matter what, somehow they've always understood each other without words. And now all he wants to do is to comfort her, but he doesn't have a clue what he could probably say. There are no words to make this alright, not this time. So he simply puts his arm around her and hopes that it's the right thing to do.
Appearantly it is. Molly leans into him, and he can feel her shaking against his side. They sit like this for what seems like eternity.
"How could this happen?", Molly finally whispers, and Arthur sighs quietly. He's been asking himself the same question over and over again. "Arthur, how could this happen? Why him?" He can hear the plea in her voice, he knows that she is desperately searching for an answer that he hasn't found yet.
"I don't know, love. I really don't know."
Another five minutes pass without either of them speaking. Arthur strokes his wife's hair, the curls are soft underneath his fingers, and he inhales her scent as if he was a teenager again and had just realized he'd fallen unconditionally in love with Molly Prewett. Somehow, he still remembers the very first time he saw her. He also recalls the day he's told her that he'd be hers, and she'd be his, in good times and in bad.
They've had many good times, he thinks, despite the occasional bad times that they had to get through.
Molly has started to cry again, it's only a soft noise, but he knows it too well by now. There have been too many times he's had to hear her weep, and he hates it that he can't do anything to prevent it.
"Where did we go wrong?", she mumbles, and he holds her more tightly than before. "How could we let this happen to him? He should n-n-never have joined the st-st-stupid Order." The last words come out in sobs, and she turns her head and looks at him with tear-filled eyes.
"Molly", Arthur begins, "It's not our fault. There's nothing we could have done. You know Fred, you know our children. Us Weasleys aren't made to stay behind while others are fighting. We don't do that."
"Well, we should have. Just this time." Molly's voice is shaking. "With all that this war had already cost us, we shouldn't have..." But she doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, she buried her face in his shirt, and he gently rubs her back and tries to find something – anything – to say to her to take away the pain.
It's vain, of course. This pain is too overwhelming, and everytime he realizes again that his son – his boy, for Godric's sake – will never come back, the sheer thought just takes his breath away.
"I know it hurts like Hell", he manages to say, "but we'll make it through this, Molly. I don't know how, and how long it'll take, but I promise you we'll make it through this together."
Molly mumbles something which Arthur doesn't hear properly at first. It's only when he listens very closely that her words reach his ears.
"I don't remember when I last told him that I loved him."
The words are quiet, almost unintelligible, but they hit Arthur with such force that he chokes.
"Molly, you..."
"I don't remember, Arthur. I've yelled at him so often, told him off for so many things, but when did I tell him that I loved him? What if he never knew... never knew..." And she's crying for real now, he can feel her tears drench his shirt, and she takes shuddering gasps in between sobs.
He's lost for words.
"He's my boy... my baby... and I miss him. I miss him so much, Arthur."
"Me too, Molly. Me too." And he can't hold back the tears now, although he tries furiously to blink them away.
"And I wish I could tell him now just how much I love him. He needs to know, Arthur, he needs to know, I should have told him, but I didn't, and now it's too late, it's too late..."
"He always knew that you love him, Mum."
The voice has come from the bedroom door, and Arthur and Molly both look up simultaneously. They stare at the figure leaning against the door frame, and Arthur needs a moment to realize that it's the first time he's heard George speak since the end of the battle.
His son is looking at his parents through tear-stained eyes, his face as pale as it has been all day. He's still wearing the torn jeans which are covered in dust and spots of dried blood. And yet Arthur sees that something has changed. George's eyes aren't vacant anymore. There's something in them, grief, of course, pain, despair, but also something else.
"Mum, Dad... he knew you loved them. He always did. You're our parents."
He says it matter-of-factly, and yet there is a softness in his voice that Arthur has never heard from his son before. And suddenly he knows what he saw in his eyes.
Love.
The kind of love that exists only between a child and its parents, incomparable to the kind of love between siblings, between friends, between lovers even. A bond - invisible, and yet so strong and never broken.
And as George slowly approaches the bed and sits down next to his mother, Molly turns to him and holds him tight. Arthur hears her quiet sobs and George's whispered words, and he thinks that maybe there is the slightest chance that they'll get through the next day in one piece after all.
He thinks that Dumbledore was right. It is indeed both the most wonderful and the most terrifying thing – Love.
He just doesn't know how he will possibly be able to bury someone he loves so much without falling apart.
Whatever they grown up to be, they are still our children, and the one most important of all the things we can give to them is unconditional love.
Not a love that depends on anything at all except that they are our children.
(Rosaleen Dickson)