Disclaimer: Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for such a wonderful place to play and such fun friends to play with. I do not own anyone you recognize.
Counting on Arthur
Molly Weasley dried her hands on her apron and looked around the kitchen in satisfaction. Dinner had been eaten and the dishes were now done and put away, thanks to Fred and George who had kissed her cheeks not five minutes earlier and returned to their flat. They always cleaned up now when they came for a meal. Their way of thanking her, she supposed, her chest expanding with pleasure. Coming from those two, especially, surprised her no end.
Bustling into the sitting room, Molly glanced about at the rest of those gathered.
Arthur sat in his battered old arm chair, his head bobbing backwards as he dozed. Love and desire spread through her. He was a little worse for wear after helping her raise the children, his tumultuous career at the Ministry, and their years of financial hardship. It was amazing that after almost thirty years of marriage, the man still had the ability to move her so.
Smiling, she continued her perusal.
Her eyes lit upon Ron, who lay sprawled on one end of the sofa watching Hermione from under his half-mast lids. Hermione sat curled up at the other, her nose in a rather large tome, as usual, and seemingly oblivious to Ron's scrutiny.
Molly knew better. She shook her head and tutted to herself. Ron had not followed in his brothers' footsteps in regards to girls, and she couldn't find it within herself to mind. By the end of Hermione's stay with them between their first and second year at Hogwarts, Molly had had a sneaking suspicion she was looking at one of her future daughters-in-law. She was even more certain now. But she never pushed. If it was meant to be, it would be, and all in due course. She was a great believer in destiny. She was tempted to nudge now though. Watching the two of them struggle with their feelings for each other, each afraid of revealing them, was almost painful. Molly sighed and scanned the rest of the room.
Two somebodys were noticeably absent. She circled the staircase once more to ensure she hadn't missed them. She hadn't. "Where on earth have Ginny and Harry wandered off to?"
"I think they took the rubbish out, Mum," offered Ron, followed by a soft, "Ouch."
Molly looked back at Ron, who now rubbed the length of his thigh and was giving Hermione a confused look. Hermione didn't seem to have moved, she just turned a page. Molly's mother's intuition now kicked into high gear.
Harry and Ginny had finally gotten together.
Of course. Ginny'd had feelings for Harry since she was a little girl. But Harry had never shown an interest in Ginny. Not that way. Had always treated her like a little sister.
The thought of them as a couple was just someplace she hadn't been prepared to go. She hadn't wanted to think about it. In reality, had little reason to think about it. Until now.
All the little clues, the barely-could-be-called-a-clue clues, fell into place. "Right then," she said and hurried, albeit quietly, toward the kitchen door.
She didn't see them through the glass and, without making a sound, she opened the door and stepped onto the small square concrete porch.
There, in the shadowed place between the shafts of light streaming from the door and those from the windows, were Harry and Ginny. They stood a few inches apart, holding hands and kissing.
Molly's heart stopped. She appreciated the innocence of the scene but was not ready to accept the reality. Ginny was her baby girl, after all. And Harry was a normal red-blooded sixteen- soon-to-be seventeen-year-old boy. "What in the world is going on here?" she demanded, though a bit more harshly than she'd intended.
The pair of them startled apart and looked at her, both sets of eyes wide in surprise. Anger glittered in Ginny's eyes and fear flashed through Harry's. The two of them remained linked by pinky fingers.
"Mu-um!" Ginny wailed, stomping her foot, much like she had when she was a very little girl.
"M-M-Mrs. Weasley . . ." Harry took a step backward, releasing Ginny.
Molly pointed into the house. "Inside, right now."
Harry and Ginny scuttled past her. Molly did note that Harry allowed Ginny to go first. At least he was a gentleman. Amazing really, considering what she knew of his childhood.
The children stood in front of the fireplace in the kitchen, next to each other, but not touching and not looking at each other.
Pulling the door shut, Molly turned to them, hands on hips and stared at them across the kitchen table for several long seconds. Ginny glared back. Harry fidgeted a bit, but held her gaze when she looked at him. "Now . . . what in the name of Merlin is going on?"
Harry turned to Ginny, his right brow arcing, as if asking Ginny . . . as if asking why she hadn't told her parents about them. Ginny hesitated in meeting his eyes as color bloomed on her cheeks and her lips pursed. She turned back toward Molly. "Harry and I are seeing each other. Have been for weeks now," she announced. Almost defiantly, but not quite.
Harry rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Smart boy.
Dismay and sadness flittered through Molly.
But they'd been at school. Were in different years even. Same House though, a little voice reminded her, same common room. And Ron and Hermione were there. Surely Ron would have protested his best mate and his little sister. . . .
The image of Ron rubbing his leg only minutes ago flashed through Molly's mind. So Ron and Hermione knew and, at the very least, had looked the other way. Though Hermione's apparent actions would indicate her approval and possible complicity.
But Ginny was too young for a boyfriend. And Harry . . . Harry was like another son, like a brother. Though not to Ginny. Never to Ginny, Molly realized and sighed. "I'm not really sure how I feel about this turn of events."
"It doesn't matter how you feel. It matters how we feel. I love Harry and he loves me, and there's nothing you can do to change it." Ginny's voice was strident, challenging.
As the only girl and with six older brothers, Ginny had had to learn to be heard. To stick up for herself. To carve her place in a family full of testosterone and competition, one-upmanship and pranking. Destiny had deprived Molly of the feminine girly-girl she'd imagined. Instead, she'd gotten a daughter who reminded her way too much of herself at the same age. Independent. Stubborn. Passionate. That's what worried Molly the most.
Her own intimate relationship with Arthur had begun quickly and without years of unrequited girlhood notions spurring her on.
"Mrs. Weasley . . . ?"
Molly blinked and refocused on the children. "What is it, Harry dear?"
"I do love your daughter. I know it's taken me a while to figure it out and I'm sorry I hurt her. But I respect you and Mr. Weasley too much and appreciate everything you've done for me over the years to―"
"Harry. What are you saying?" Ginny cried. "You can't be serious?"
It was Harry's turn to redden. He took Ginny's hands, though she immediately pulled them back and rested her fists on her hips, and glared daggers at him instead of at her mother.
"I thought your parents knew about us, Ginny," he said with a hint of reproach. "I don't want to do anything they don't approve of, that they aren't happy about. Your mum and dad are the closest thing I have to parents of my own . . . I can't let them down."
Molly's heart broke for the boy. Not enough to give him carte blanche with her one and only daughter. But enough to give him a break. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate the sentiment and you know I love you like one of my own. It's just that Ginny's my only daughter and my bab―"
"I may be your baby, Mum, but I am not still a baby. I'm fifteen, almost sixteen. I'm old enough to date, to go out, to kiss boys, to—"
Molly held up and hand. "Ginny, please, don't say such things."
"They're just facts, Mum. Except for Ron, all the other boys were snogging by my age. Even Percy. And you know how Fred and George are. I'm sure they'd already lost their—"
"Ginny."
"It's true and you know it." She stomped her foot again. "There will not be a double standard in this house."
Now Molly refrained from rolling her eyes. Thank goodness Ginny didn't know about her and Arthur. "You will not talk to me that way, young lady." Molly pointed upwards. "Go to your room."
Ginny bowed her head, her hair sliding forward and hiding her face as she fought against herself to get in the last word. Then, with a final glare at Harry and a huff of breath, she stormed off. There was no mistaking her course as she stomped up the stairs and shut her door, just short of an outright slam.
Molly sighed inwardly and returned her gaze to Harry. Wisely, he remained silent as he met her eyes without shame or any guilt that she could detect.
If they'd been seeing each other for weeks and were still kissing so chastely, then perhaps she'd over-reacted.
She loved Harry as much as she loved her own children. Had appreciated his amazed and heartfelt thanks for the Christmas and birthday gifts he received from them. Her heart had cracked more than once over the years as she watched him soak up the atmosphere at the Burrow; whether it was happy times or times filled with animosity between one or more of the children. Or even between herself and Arthur. Harry had watched with wonder and delight or worry, but most of all with longing. Longing, Molly suspected, to belong to a family. A normal family who loved him and included him. She smiled. "I'll speak with Mr. Weasley."
"Thank you," Harry said with a nod, but revealed nothing of his thoughts.
"Go on then."
"Good night, Mrs. Weasley."
"Good night, Harry dear."
He ambled around the fireplace and out of sight.
"Oi, what was that all about?" Molly heard Ron ask as he met Harry at the foot of the staircase and they headed up.
"Ginny and me," Harry replied.
The rest of their conversation and their footsteps faded as they ascended the stairs.
Molly suddenly felt very old. She plopped into a kitchen chair and thought about her baby.
Ginny had been a most unexpected but pleasant surprise. After Ron, Molly and Arthur had decided that six boys over the course of ten years were enough children. A daughter hadn't seemed meant to be, much to her sadness.
She'd discovered she was pregnant when Ron was still less than a year old, and she'd been downright dismayed. She'd made her decision not to have more children. They'd used contraception. She still couldn't figure out how it happened.
When Ginny was born, Molly had never been so happy and had never believed so firmly in destiny.
And now . . . her beautiful baby girl was a baby no more. It was time to face facts. Accept reality.
Molly dropped her head into her hands and pictured Ginny.
Just a year shy of coming of age. Smart, funny, a talented Quidditch player. Opinionated and stubborn. Tempestuous. Beautiful. And not just through a mother's eyes. Molly had seen the way boys looked at her daughter, how young men looked at her daughter. With interest and desire.
Ginny was slim and well rounded in all the right places and in all the right ways. Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness or mischief most of the time, and her hair—though there was no denying she was a Weasley—was long and soft and smelled girly. Flowery scented shampoo was one of Ginny's few concessions to femininity.
Quiet footsteps sounded, coming closer, but Molly did not look up. She knew who it was even before he spoke.
"Molly?" Arthur asked softly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. The warmth spread from that spot throughout her body. "Are you all right, dear?"
She looked up at him then and offered him a tired smile. Her dear Arthur, with whom she'd been through so much. "It's Ginny. And Harry. They're in love, according to Ginny."
"Ah. . . ." He sat down next to her.
"You don't sound surprised."
One side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "I'm not really." He took her hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it. "What's the problem?"
His touch still made her shiver. "She's so young."
"No younger than any of the boys. Except Ron."
"That was her argument, too."
"I heard," he said with a soft smile, a twinkle still in his eyes. Molly's heart fluttered.
"But the boys never claimed to be in love. It was just flirtation, snogging. Maybe sex, I don't know. I like to think we taught our boys better."
"Have you ever stopped to think that if our boys have indeed shagged someone, and you can't deny it's highly probable that Bill and Charlie have, that that someone was somebody's daughter?"
"I know. . . ." Molly was quiet for a moment and then said, "But this is different. It's . . . Ginny. My baby. My daughter."
Arthur slid his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him. "I know, Mollywobbles. What's really bothering you?"
"I don't know . . . I just . . . I feel old."
"You can't stop her growing up. And it's Harry. He practically lives here. We can keep an eye on him, on them. I'll have a talk with him then, shall I?"
She nodded. She could always count on Arthur to make her feel better.
Arthur kissed her on the forehead. "Come on, love. Let's go to bed. Perhaps I can make you feel young again."
"Oh, Arthur," she said, heat rushing to her face. "As if there's any doubt."
"Last one in the bed has to—" He leant over and whispered in her ear.
She blushed, feeling the heat rise from her neck to her hairline.
Oh, yes, she could always count on Arthur.
~ Fin ~