Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Oh there's no place like home
For the holidays, 'cause no matter
How far away you roam,
If you want
To be happy in a
million ways
For the holidays, you can't beat
Home, sweet
home."
-Robert Allen and Al Stillman
Molly's stomach turned violently as the normally welcome smell of a full English fry-up wafted into the room. She fell back against the pillows, all of the energy she'd tried so hard for the last five minutes to muster, draining out of her. Why did she feel so ill? She never got sick, never. Even when she was pregnant with the boys, she had been fine. She could feel herself begin to panic. Was something more sinister at work here? Had she contracted some obscure, incurable disease? Incredible fatigue washed over her, washing away her sense of panic. Without meaning to, she closed her eyes and fell back asleep.
"Molly dear," a distant voice coaxed. She forced open her heavy eyelids and Arthur's outline stepped out of obscurity.
"Oh no Arthur, I over slept. I'm sorry; I don't know what's gotten into me lately." Arthur looked at her, worry written all over his freckled face.
"I'm due at the office but if you need-"
"No," Molly interrupted, pushing herself up and out of the bed. "You go to work; I'll be fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yes Arthur, I'm sure."
"And you promise to take it easy today?" Arthur demanded sternly. Molly nodded; easy was relative. "Good, I'll tell Bill and Charlie to be especially helpful."
Molly felt sick and sluggish the whole day. True to their word, Bill and Charlie were very helpful. They helped her clean up a bit, make lunch, and hang up the Christmas garlands, everything she asked them to do. Even Fred and George, who were always getting into some sort of mischief, were on their best behavior. It was days like this that made her heart swell with pride at her six sons.
She even managed to take a nap with Fred, George, Ron and Percy and woke up feeling a bit better (even better when she saw that all four of them were still asleep). Her excitement was short-lived, however; it was nearly four and she needed to start on dinner. On her way to the kitchen, she found Bill and Charlie asleep on the couch, an unfinished game of exploding snap spread out before them on the coffee table. It was a rare occurrence that all of her children were asleep at the same time when she was not.
Dinner that night was going to be light since everything seemed to make her nauseated. She whipped up a big pot of stew, using a nose-plug charm to keep herself from getting sick. Whatever illness she had contracted, she hoped the children didn't get it. That was the last thing she needed, six little boys with stomach flu.
She set the lid on the pot and wiped her hands on her apron. She heard muffled whispering from the nursery. It sounded like Percy. She tiptoed to the door and looked in. Percy had Ron in his lap, a fluffy teddy bear set in front of the two of them. "You're going to be mine," Percy whispered to the baby, his eyes oddly bright. "Bill and Charlie have each other and Fred and George too but you and I are going to be a pair. I'll never be mean to you or take your toys and I'll never tell you that you're stupid or boring, never ever!" Molly's heart melted. "You can always come to me and I'll listen to you. Not like stupid Charlie who thinks everything I say is stupid! He's a meany-head anyway . . . You'll never think I'm stupid will you Ron?" the baby gurgled happily in reply and Molly saw Percy's wan face spread into a grin a mile wide. "Do you want to know a secret?" Percy waited, as if expecting baby Ron to reply in earnest. "You're my favorite brother and this is going to be my favorite Christmas because now I'll have someone! Each of us has someone now Ron, forever, and ever, and ever."
Molly didn't want Percy to know that she had heard so she quickly tiptoed back to the kitchen. As heart warming as Percy's words had been, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the little boy. He wasn't like her other sons. He always wanted to strictly follow the rules, and had always been more interested in books than Quidditch. She knew that Bill and Charlie loved their younger brother but she couldn't blame them for not understanding him fully. He was hard to relate to, hard to gauge. Maybe Percy was right. Maybe now he and Ron could have the relationship that Bill and Charlie had; maybe unexpected number six had come along for a reason. She gave the stew a few stirs, still musing. Six was a good, round number. She could be happy with six.
