Two years later:

Molly stared at the clock in front of her, the same one that had always been there. The one she looked at every night before bed to see if her children were working or at home. Most nights she would wake up in nightmares, rush down to the clock, and half expect everyone's hands to be at "Mortal Peril." But they were always at home.

Arthur was working late that night, and she knew he wouldn't show until the next hour at least; nevertheless, she felt a sense of nervousness and dizziness, anticipating something to happen to the hand. She expected it to whirl to "Lost" or "Mortal Peril," or maybe even fall to the ground, the way she found Fred's when she returned home from the war. George's hand had stayed at "Lost" for a while afterwards.

Molly felt inexplicably lonely. She was used to a bustling house filled with children or visitors or whatnot. But everyone was busy. Bill and Fleur were raising their first child, Victorie. Charlie was still hunting dragons in Romania, although Bill whispered to her that he had found a dashing fellow by the name of Borrick. Percy was talking to her again, and he, out of all the children, made attempts to visit her in an act of desperate reconciliation, as if he thought that Molly hadn't forgiven him yet. George, of course, was working in his surprisingly successful joke shop. Ron had gotten a respectable position as an Auror, although she had an inkling of a feeling that he quite wanted to join George as an owner of Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes.

And Ginny – her last child to leave. She graduated Hogwarts Head Girl, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and with a plethora of awards she didn't even know existed. Barnaby's Award for Unparalleled Proficiency in One Spell? Placard's Award for Distinguished Female Charm Casters? Ginny had been recruited onto the Holyhead Harpies immediately after she finished school, and had been traveling with them ever since (her hand was the only one which was always at work); Molly hadn't seen her for a year. Secretly, out of all her children, she missed Ginny the most.

And then there was Harry. Truth to be told, she tried hard not to think about Harry too much. Part of her felt as if the war was his fault; it was his fault that he hadn't gotten to Voldemort sooner and Fred had died. She knew this was crazy; he could not have possibly done so. She loved Harry like her own child, but he could not replace the void in her heart that had been torn open by Fred's death. She also could not comprehend why Harry kept Kreacher as a house elf – the loathsome creature that had sided with the death eaters. She wondered most nights if Kreacher had helped the person who had killed Fred. She wondered if anyone had actually killed Fred or if it was just a freak accident. Occasionally anger built up in her heart and she vowed revenge on every death eater in existence.

She stared at the clock for another few minutes before deciding to write a letter to Ginny. The Holyhead Harpies had played a match that morning which they won by a landslide. Ginny apparently had scored 80 points in the game. The next match was scheduled for October 25th, two months away, but Molly assumed that Ginny would want to continue traveling with her team; after all, there were press tours and whatnot she had to attend. There were rumors flying around everywhere that the captain of the Holyhead Harpies was being handed down to Ginny: she couldn't possibly miss the press tours.

She contemplated for a bit and then began writing.

Dear Ginny,

How are things? I just saw your game in the Daily Prophet. Congratulations! I'm sure you'll be made captain in no time.

She picked up her pen and found she couldn't write anymore, so she ended the extremely short letter with:

Tell me about everything! Visit your mum if you have the chance!

Love,

Molly Weasley

She stared at the unsatisfactory letter for a bit and then called down Errol, who was at this point extremely old and so erratic that she doubted he would survive the journey to Ginny. Ron had offered to buy her a new owl, but she refused. Errol was simply a constant thing in the household, a reminder of days gone by; and stupidly enough, she was rather attached to the owl – her children might have left her, but Errol was there.

Just a sad thought from a sad, lonely woman.

Errol flew down and almost crashed into the clock. He stuck out a leg with his head dangerously flopping to the side, and Molly feared he might snap in half. He took off in a haphazard way and flew out the open window.

Molly watched him veer right and out of sight.

It was but a few minutes later that Errol crashed back into the house. Molly rushed over. The letter was no longer on his leg.

"Bloody owl. Gone and lost the letter I suppose." She set him on the counter and started smoothing down his feathers when she heard her clock whir. And again. Without looking at it, she ran to the front door and opened it. Arthur was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on his face. Promotion? Probably a new muggle toy – one of those computers or celery phones.

He stepped into the doorway and hugged Molly.

"Look who's home!" he said.