Character Appreciation: Shell Cottage
Showtime, Fantine's Death: mother
Buttons: ArthurMolly
Word Count: 558
Molly feels a flutter of excitement as she and Arthur arrive at Shell Cottage. Bill is waiting for them outside, and he's as restless as she's ever seen him. He paces anxiously, wringing her hands together.
Arthur chuckles. "I remember that feeling," he assures their son, resting a hand on Bill's shoulder. "Terrifying, isn't it?"
Bill nods mutely. His lips quirk into a small smile, and he clears his throat. "Mum, Dad," he manages. "Glad you could be here for this."
Molly pulls her son close, kissing his forehead. "We wouldn't miss this for the world, dear," she reassures him.
From within the cottage, she hears a pained scream and winces. She remembers exactly how it feels to give birth. "Poor dear," she murmurs, shaking her head. "Shouldn't you be in there comforting her?"
Bill grimaces, offering her an almost hesitant shrug of his shoulders. "Dunno. She kept screaming for me to get out. Said I did this to her."
"Your mum said the same thing to me," Arthur muses.
"Yes, but you had the good sense not to listen." Molly fixes her gaze upon her son. "Go to her. This isn't something for her to do alone."
Bill looks almost sheepish now. A dark pink creeps into his cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He clears his throat awkwardly before hurrying inside, muttering something inaudible under his breath.
"Nerves," Arthur chuckles, a grin pulling at his thin lips. "Never did get easier."
Molly laughs, wrapping an arm around her husband. "I remember. You were as much of a mess when I had Ginny as you were when Bill was born."
He kisses her nose, holding her close. It seems so surreal. Arthur has been by her side for so long. He's been there with her to meet each new child in their lives. Now, they're ready to meet their first grandchild.
She doesn't even realize that she's crying until Arthur brushes away her tears. "I know," he says. "I can't wait either."
…
Molly doesn't know how long they wait. Knowing that her first grandchild will be here any moment makes time seem to drag on. Even a second feels like an eternity.
Finally, after it feels as though years have passed, the midwife comes out, wiping the sweat from her lined forehead. "It's a girl," she announces proudly. "Beautiful, healthy girl."
They're lead inside to the bedroom. Fleur looks exhausted. Her silver-blonde is plastered to her forehead by sweat, and her eyes are heavy. Though her smile is tired, it is still radiant as she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms.
It feels as though there's no oxygen left in the room; Molly forgets how to breathe when she sees the squirming newborn in Fleur's arms. A tear trickles down her cheek. She wants nothing more than to hold the child, but she knows how important this moment is. This is all about Fleur and…
"What's her name?" Molly asks.
"Victoire," Fleur says, her voice raspy and raw.
"Victoire," Molly echoes. "A perfect name for a perfect little girl."
It still feels like a dream, like there's no way that Victoire is truly here. And yet there is no denying it. The beautiful newborn is there, as clear as day.
Molly doesn't think things could get any better.