Hi all,

I'm starting this fic in honor of Mother's Day (today), but I will continue to update it periodically. I have a lot of ideas, but new chapters will depend on when I have time to write them down (Before We Fall is getting most of my attention right now). This is just a good way to keep my creative juices flowing :). I am also open to suggestions if you have them.

-Cat

Note on Characters: The characters listed are just a sample of the ones I hope to feature in this series. Honestly, they're just there to make this story a little easier to find.

If some of the characters aren't your thing: Check the chapter headings and navigate yourself to a pair you'd like to read :). I tend to love all HP characters, but I get that some people have their preferences.

Warnings: Not much. Some swear words might work their way in here. But I'm not expecting any violence to happen in these stories.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

I - Remember When

(Molly W. and Ron W.)

Post-Battle of the Department of Mysteries, 1996

The hospital wing was never precisely quiet. It was too big a space, too empty. The vaulted stone ceilings magnified every breath, every rustle, every whisper. Molly supposed that this could be comforting to some. But to her, it seemed to be magnifying even her worry. It had always done so. Her children would tease her mercilessly if they knew. She squeezed the limp hand on the bed a little tighter. They would also be secretly grateful that someone cared that much.

She hoped Harry knew. And she hoped that knowledge brought him comfort. He was different than her boys. Perhaps it was the way he was raised; the child was not used to people worrying about him. It put him on edge, which was hard for Molly to understand. Harry… She and Sirius Black had never seen eye to eye, but Harry had loved him. Molly's heart broke a little for the son she'd adopted as her own. But right now, her son's best friend was out of her hands.

All she could do this night was be with her two youngest. A vigil for her little wounded warriors.

She glanced away from the bed where she sat to check on her daughter. In the opposite bed, Ginny was curled on her side and sleeping deeply. Madame Pomfrey had given her a small dose of dreamless sleep potion while her ankle healed overnight. It was a bad break, but she would be good as new in the morning.

Relieved to see the peaceful expression on Ginny's face, Molly turned back to her son. She stroked Ronald's hair. His arms were pale on the bed sheets. Molly almost wished she could tuck them away, but then she would not be able to hold his hand. So she was faced with the ropey red welts that wrapped tightly around his biceps, forearms, wrists. Oh Ronnie…

He had always thought of himself as a little less than his older brothers. Inadequate. He was not very smart, or physically strong, or ambitious, or funny. But he was a loyal friend. And this made him incredibly brave, Molly knew. She wished he would listen when she told him.

"Thoughts leave deeper scars than almost anything else."

Madame Pomfrey's words were wise, but frightening. She could not shelter her children from bad thoughts. The ones that cut and stabbed and lingered as an infection in the veins. An infection in the heart. And Ron was so sensitive to them. They piled on him: the feelings of not being enough, the poverty, being easily overlooked.

And yet he did not even hesitate to follow Harry into the Department of Mysteries.

"Remember the time…" Her low voice spun up into the hospital wing ceiling. "It was the night after your eleventh birthday. It was raining, the first rain since winter. You came into the kitchen, nearly crying. You were so upset." She smiled gently at Ron's pale face. "You were afraid you wouldn't be sorted into Gryffindor. I made you a cup of tea and told you stories of the times that you were really brave. Like when you shouted at Fred and George for teasing Ginny. Or when you got lost in Diagon Alley and didn't even cry. How you always stood up for what you thought was right, even when no one agreed with you."

In the broad moonbeam that fell over his bed, Molly could count every freckle. "When we went to bed your were smiling again," she whispered. "Look at how much you've grown, Ronnie. So brave, you scare me half to death. A true Gryffindor."

Molly realized something then. Despite his susceptibility, Ron knew the secret to healing bad thoughts, profoundly within himself. It was not a conscious knowledge, but it was there, ingrained into his being. The cure was in relationships, in friendships so strong he would face Death Eaters to defend them. She brushed the wounds that the strangling thoughts had left on his arms. He would even face his own soul, the flaws and fears and hurts. The human errors.

"You are so special, Ronald," she murmured.

Ron's hand twitched in hers and Molly straightened. Blearily, he opened his blue eyes and blinked in the bright silvery moonlight.

"Ron?" Molly said, a little louder.

"Mum?" he groaned back. He squeezed his eyes shut again. "Ow."

"What hurts Ronnie?"

"Head," he mumbled. Then a shockwave of energy seemed to jolt through his body. His eyes shot open and pushed himself onto his elbows. "Harry! Hermione! Ginny! There were bloody Death Eaters-bloody hell-I've got to-"

"Ronald!" Molly said firmly, not because he swore, but because he was frantically trying to get out of bed. She tried to push him back.

"Mum, gerroff!"

"They're fine, Ron!"

He froze.

"Huh? They're okay?"

"Lay back down," she commanded. Dumbly, Ron slumped against his pillows. Molly pulled the sheets back over his long legs and straightened them

"Now don't move," she said firmly. "Hermione will have to stay at St. Mungo's-"

"What?!"

"-but she will recover," Molly finished. "You'll wake everyone in the hospital wing if you're not careful."

"I don't bloody care-"

"You should because your little sister is sleeping." She glared him into silence. His eyes flickered to the other bed and landed on the fan of bright red hair. He relaxed a little.

"She broke her ankle, but Madame Pomfrey's potions are putting it right. She's just here for observation. Neville and Luna have both already been discharged from the hospital wing. And Harry…" she trailed away. Harry's injuries were not physical, but they were very real.

"And Harry?" Ron demanded, in a quieter voice this time.

"Sirius is dead."

What little color left in Ron's face drained away. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Molly explained what she could, a pieced together version of events as told by the students and the order members. Ron was uncharacteristically solemn and listened nearly without comment. When Molly told Ron that the vision Harry had was faked, Ron buried his face in his hands.

"He's going to blame himself." His voice was muffled, but distinct. "Why did Voldemort want him there in the first place?"

"You'll have to ask Harry," Molly replied.

Ron nodded glumly and dropped his hands into his lap. The red welts stood out darkly against the sheets and skin, but Ron barely noticed.

"Sirius was like a father to him… I can't believe he's gone," he whispered. He was silent then, allowing himself some private grief.

Molly could think of no words that were enough to comfort her youngest son. After a long while, she said, "Madame Pomfrey would want to know that you're awake."

"Okay," Ron responded listlessly. But as Molly stood, he said, "Mum?"

"Yes dear?"

"You and dad will watch out for him, yeah?"

Molly did not need to ask who Ron was talking about. Salty tears stung her eyes and she blinked hard to keep them from falling.

"Of course, Ronald." She leaned down and kissed his mussed hair. "I am so proud of you," she murmured.

A pink flush crept up his neck. But he said nothing more. Somehow, the not-silence of the hospital wing no longer bothered Molly. Ron was not okay, but he would be. His scars would heal. And the vaulted emptiness was filled.

To my mom, who taught me to love without a thought of the cost.