Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns almost everything. I own Hettie, Megan and Mr. Prewett. Auld Lang Syne in its original version belongs to Robert Burns; the tune is a traditional folk melody. Enjoy and REVIEW!!

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

and days of auld lang syne?"

Molly had never been one to dwell on her sadness. She tried to keep moving when bad things came along. But this . . . she let out a loud sniff, quickly trying to stifle it so Arthur wouldn't wake up. "Molly, are you alright?" he asked in the darkness, turning over on his side and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"I'm f-f-f-fine," she squeezed out before dissolving in tears. Arthur scooted across the bed and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I c-c-can't believe sh-sh-she's gone," Molly sobbed, burying her face in his night shirt. It had only been a week, a week since all of the happiness Charlie's birth had brought came crashing down around them.

"I know, I know," Arthur whispered, kissing her on the top of her head.

"I don't know what to d-d-d-do anymore. I just miss her so much. I don't know who I am with her gone."

There had been no warning, no hospital waiting rooms, no tests. Molly's mother had been alive one minute and dead the next. Hettie had gone into the woods behind their house to collect pine cones for a wreath and a graphorn that had wandered down from the nearby mountain had attacked her. She hadn't had time to even reach for her wand and by the time Mr. Prewett heard her cries for help it was too late. It had all come as a terrible shock to the family, still basking in the happiness of another addition. Molly had given birth to Charlie three days before Hettie's death, which had occurred only ten days before Christmas. Now, a week later, Molly was faced with making Christmas plans as the family matriarch.

It didn't help that Arthur was pulling doubles at work so they could build an addition to the house and that Charlie, unlike Bill who had been a fairly content and quiet baby, cried incessantly. She had had no idea before Charlie's birth that two children would be so much harder than one. She had envisioned cozy family dinners, Bill playing happily with his little brother. Instead, she was constantly tired, driven insane by Charlie's wails and Bill's seemingly endless supplications. She felt like she was being pulled in a million different directions and while she knew Arthur did as much as he could, she still envied him his job, his escape. She was in no mood for Christmas that year, no mood at all.

Charlie began to cry in the bassinet next to them and Molly closed her eyes, bracing herself. "I'll get him, I'll get him," Arthur murmured in her ear. She felt tears come into her eyes again. It was simply too hard. She couldn't face Christmas that year. She couldn't face Charlie and Bill or Arthur. She couldn't face Gideon and Fabian or her father. She couldn't face the Weasleys. She buried her face in the pillow and closed her eyes. She heard Arthur hum Charlie a lullaby softly. She heard his footsteps as he carried the infant to the kitchen to get a bottle. She had never given Bill a bottle. Her stomach knotted up with guilt. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get to sleep. Arthur returned twenty minutes later, Charlie asleep in his arms. He lay the baby in his bed and climbed in next to Molly, balancing a cup in his hand.

"Drink this; it will help you sleep." Molly was too tired to argue or even to ask what exactly the drink contained so she drank up and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she woke up the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. How long had she slept? Arthur walked in a moment later, buttoning his cloak around his neck. "Good Morning dear," he greeted, leaning over to give her a kiss. "Your brothers have taken Bill and Charlie for the day. I thought you could do with a lie in. I'm going to be home around half four and am going to bring the Christmas tree. We'll decorate today and Megan will be round tomorrow to help you bake. I love you," he kissed her again before grabbing his work bag and heading back to the kitchen to floo.

She sat up. She had a whole day to herself. She rested her head on the headboard and let out a long sigh. Her stomach growled loudly and she looked at the clock on the wall. She had slept in till ten, four hours later than usual. She got up and padded to the kitchen. Arthur had left the pot on along with a plate of toast and eggs. He was a good husband, a very good husband. She sat down with her toast and cup of tea. What was she going to do with herself? She couldn't stew; she would go crazy. If she didn't keep moving she was afraid she would lose the ability.

Molly looked around the room. It was messy. She had always liked a clean house, her whole life. During her childhood, her room had always been a model of neatness. She had made her bed everyday without fail at Hogwarts and up until about two weeks ago, her house had always been spotless. She heard her mother's voice in her head, telling her to stop feeling sorry for herself, to get up and clean. The voice in her head had always been her mother's. She felt her heart freeze as she realized that she would only be hearing that voice inside her head from now on.

She shook off her sadness and started the dishes in the sink with a flick of her wand. She went to the bathroom and washed her face, scrubbing her blood shot eyes with warm water and then put on clean robes and pulled her hair into a bun. Emerging from the bedroom, she surveyed the damage keenly. This was a way of forgetting; this was a way she could escape.

By the time Arthur got home, every surface had been scrubbed and polished. She had reorganized all of the closets, put boxes of odds and ends in the attic, arranged all of their books in alphabetical order. Arthur stepped out of the fire, a look of bewilderment on his face. "Molly?"

"I'm in the living room, Arthur," she called from her crouching position. She was in the process of stitching up a busted seam on their sofa. Arthur stepped into the room, a shrunken Christmas Tree peaking out of a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Molly looked up, pushing a stray piece of hair from her sweaty face.

Arthur made an indistinct sound and averted his gaze. Mourning Molly he could deal with. He could rub her back and wipe her tears. He could take the boys off her hands but this, this he didn't know . . .

"Is that the tree?" she asked, tying off the last stitch before pulling off the excess thread and needle. Arthur nodded. "I got the decorations down from the attic. I thought we could start with the entry way and work our way through systematically. What do you think?" Arthur could only nod. They decorated. All the while, Arthur was becoming increasingly disturbed by Molly's forced cheerfulness. Gideon and Fabian came round with Bill and Charlie around seven and were greeted by a full roast dinner. She smiled all through and even slept through the night, or at least as much of it as she could with Charlie waking up every three hours.

In fact, Arthur, as hard as he looked, did not see Molly's veneer of cheerfulness crack once over the next few days. She didn't crack when Bill pulled Charlie's hair while he was sleeping. She didn't crack when Gideon accidently dropped an entire tray of freshly made biscuits on the floor. She didn't even crack when she uncovered an old family photo in a box of Christmas cards. He was beginning to think that somehow, miraculously, she had gotten over it . . .

It was Christmas Eve. A rather subdued Gideon and Fabian were playing with Bill and his train set (complete with real steam). Charlie was, for once, sleeping peacefully. Molly's father was sitting in the easy chair, looking intently . . . sadly into the fire. Arthur's family was planning on coming the next day. Molly was putting the finishing touches on Christmas dinner. Arthur picked up the tray of empty egg nog cups and carried it into the kitchen.

Molly was bent double over the sink, one hand clutching her stomach and the other covering her eyes which were filled with tears. Muffles sobs seemed to fill the room. In a moment, Arthur had his arms around her, the tray sat half-hazardly on the table. "Please don't," Molly shuddered.

"But-"

"I have to hold myself together, I . . ." she dissolved into tears again.

"No one is expecting you to be happy dearest. You've suffered a-"

"But I have to hold myself together or I'll break into a million p-p-p-pieces. They need me Arthur. Dad, Gideon, Fabian, they need me to be alright."

"That's not your responsibility," Arthur explained protectively, hugging her closer.

"But it is," Molly replied, taking a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. "Mum is gone so they need me to fill her place. Arthur, I, I can't break apart. They need me and I-I need them to need me. Please don't tell them I've been crying. It's Christmas Eve, Charlie's first Christmas Eve . . . " she trailed off. Arthur looked on helplessly as she began stirring the sauce on the stove, silent tears still running down her face. Her strength over their years together would never cease to amaze him.

"Alright Mollywobbles but know that I'm hear to pick up the pieces if you need to fall apart." She nodded, giving him a watery smile.

"I know."

A/N: You didn't think everything would be happy in this story did you? Anywho, thanks to the person who reviewed the last chapter. I ABSOLUTLY LOVE REVIEWS!!! Make my day and shoot me one!!!!!

Peace, Love, and Happiness,

Liz