"Molly," Arthur's voice cuts through her thoughts. She'd been staring out the window for the last half hour, mind on the war - on her children - outside of her home.
"Yes, love?" she asks absentmindedly, scrubbing at a dish in her hand.
"You're worried," he tells her, stating the obvious. "Everyone is. But there is nothing we can do to change that."
"Nothing?" Molly's tone is angry. "We could bring them home!"
"But that wouldn't change anything." he tells her softly.
"They'd be in my sight, at home-"
"That wouldn't stop You Know Who, Molly." he says, pulling the dish out of her hands and setting it down, the rag on top of it.
"I don't see where you're going with this." Molly tells him.
Arthur hits a button on an old recorder, and the song they danced to at their wedding - You've Got Me Under Your Spell - plays. He grabs her hands in his, spinning her around. "It hurts me to see you like this," he tells her. "Let me make you forget for a little while - just one song."
She bites her lip and nods, and a smile lights up his face. He seems years younger, the gawky seventh year asking her out to Hogsmeade and hearing the response of yes.
They dance for one song and for one song, he makes her forget they aren't eighteen and at their wedding.
