Author's note: I just love my man Kingsley and I wish I could get a Mom hug. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the canon, world, and characters portrayed below and you can tell I'm not J.K. Rowling because #transrights

Hogwarts: Assignment 8, Muggle Art Task #1 Write about a rainy day/night

Content Warnings: Mentions canon character death and grief; Survivor's guit

Wonder

He'd known there would be plenty of people—by virtue of it being a Weasley family event—but Harry's 18th birthday party felt particularly crowded since a warm, summer rain coming down in sheets had herded everybody into the house.

Kingsley had arrived shortly after the rain, when the party had already been moved inside. Everyone had just settled in when he'd arrived, shaken some hands, wished Harry a happy birthday, and dropped off his gift on a pile of presents. It was a silver letter-opener charmed to incinerate correspondence from people you didn't want to hear from, and he hoped that Harry would get quite a kick out of, since the press hadn't stopped chasing him yet. Merlin knew that Kingsley wished he could still use his, but alas. There were too many people he didn't want to hear from as Minister of Magic.

The Burrow's living room was an absolute zoo—Harry was sitting on the floor with Teddy in his arms as he and Ginny tried to win a chess game against Ron. Hermione and Percy were getting into an emotional debate about some controversy in the world of theoretical astronomy that Kingsley honestly couldn't follow if he tried. George was helpfully sitting on the couch between them and echoing key words or inserting shocks and gasps as he saw fit.

Hagrid was taking up most of the living room on his own, glued to every word that came out of Charlie's mouth about the Romanian dragon sanctuary where he worked. Bill and Fleur were on the nearby sofa pretending to listen, but being overly affectionate. Luna was investigating a shelf of Molly's yarn with wide, curious eyes as she took in all the colours and textures, and Neville stood at her side, taking in Luna. Arthur and Andromeda Tonks were sipping tea and having a conversation that Kingsley would have joined if he'd been confident in his ability to stand by Tonks's mother without falling apart at the seams.

The safest bet, he decided, was to go stand in the kitchen with Molly. She was putting the final touches on Harry's birthday cake which had been iced to look like a Quidditch field, with biscuits standing on either end to mimic the goal posts.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Molly?" he inquired politely, trying not to actively drool at the smells of vanilla, chocolate, cinnamon and buttercream.

"Oh, of course not, love!" Molly replied. It was her usual line and he had the impression that she'd said it instinctively, because she softened and smiled when she turned around and saw that it was him. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Oh, Kingsley! Of course not, dear. I'm just happy that you were able to make it. Arthur says that the Ministry is still an absolute madhouse…"

"It is," Kingsley admitted.

"We weren't sure that you'd be able to find the time," Molly said with a smile.

"I had to scavenge for it, but I did," Kingsley said, which made her laugh. Truth be told, Kingsley didn't technically have time to sit in the Burrow and eat cake. He hadn't even been able to swing by Diagon Alley and pick up the present himself, he'd had to send his assistant which felt cold and detached and awful. That was when he'd decided that, budget meetings and bills in progress be damned, he'd at least deliver the present himself. Most of the remaining Order of the Phoenix was present, and these were the only people whose experience of the war was anything like Kingsley's. He didn't miss their meetings—the point of those meetings having been, of course, to make a world where they didn't need to happen. But he did miss the fellowship of the Order. Since he wasn't an Auror anymore, he was finding himself short on camaraderie.

Molly put an arm on his arm, so maternal even if she couldn't be all that much older than he was.

"You look tired, dear," she said. "When was the last time you had a day off?"

Kingsley chewed his lip. Had any of his days sitting in German cafés after triggering the taboo and running from the Snatchers for his life counted as days off? Because after his exile he'd come back to Britain, fought at Hogwarts, rounded up the remaining Aurors who could be trusted, purged the Ministry, been appointed interim Minister by the Wizenmagot, ran an election, gotten sworn in, released budgets, passed legislature, argued in courts…

"Hmm," Molly said before he could answer. She patted his shoulder. "You should be gentle with yourself, love. You might want to take a weekend off for your health.."

"My health is perfect, Molly," Kingsley said, although he did hope that that cake was as sweet as it smelled—which should put a dent in his arteries.

"I don't doubt it, Minister," she said with a smile. "But it needs to stay that way, remember."

"Of course," Kingsley said. "Who would I be to disagree with you?"

Molly arched an eyebrow and her stare deepened into that piercing, scrutinizing, worried one that had managed to keep seven rowdy children more-or-less under control for over twenty years.

"I'm very serious, Kingsley," Molly said. "I did not vote for you for you to work yourself to the bone and run yourself into the ground."

"Votes are meant to be confidential, Molly," he said.

"Oh, as if I could have voted for anybody else," she said, waving her hand, annoyed. "But next time, just you wait. I'd vote for a niffler wearing a paper bag on its head if it meant you'd get some rest, dear."

Kingsley forced a smile for her, but Molly's gaze didn't relent.

"I find it difficult," he started saying carefully. "To manage my time and the amount of work that there is to do so that I can stop. But I'll learn."

"Why?" Molly said. "Other than the fact that there's obviously a pile of things to do that never ends, why is it difficult?"

Kingsley chewed on his lip.

"I suppose…" He confessed it all to her, under that hard and worried glare. "I suppose I find it unfair to stop when so many others… when Sirius, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Remus, and Tonks and…"

It all got caught up in his throat, then. Tonks. She was always the one who got him—his best friend in the department, the person he'd known best in the Order, who could always make him laugh and called a space a space with such fearless honesty, who'd finally gotten married and had her baby and gotten so close…

Molly's eyes watered a little bit too when she saw him choke up, which Kingsley cursed himself for. He hadn't even made it to Fred on his list, but he'd be first on Molly's.

"Oh, dear," Molly said, reaching out and taking his hand.

Kingsley let out a long breath to try and regulate himself.

"I have trouble stopping because I think of everything they died for. When I shut my inkwell or start putting my things away or close my eyes at night, I wonder… I wonder if I've done enough," Kingsley said. "And I wonder why so many lives had to break down to make things right, I wonder why all that love has to turn into anger about how they died, and I wonder why they held on for so long if I'm not giving it everything I have to make the world they fought for and…"

"Shh," Molly said, easing herself on her tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck. The height difference between them was ridiculous, but Molly just held on softly and Kingsley bent down like a reed in a storm. The rain pitter-pattered on against the kitchen windows. Molly ran her hands in circles against this back and he felt like a little boy.

"Sometimes I'm so frustrated and so overwhelmed I want to cry," Kingsley said, hating himself as he said it. He especially hated how relieved he felt at the confession. "I want there to be someone else to do this. I want there to be someone who's stronger than I am and who doesn't want to stop so badly, who can just do all the work. But I know that won't happen, even if I don't know how to keep it together."

"Can I show you something?" she whispered quietly.

Kingsley nodded and slowly pulled himself away. Molly didn't bring him far, she just brought him to the kitchen door and nodded her head out towards the living room. There, Teddy was back in his grandmother's arms and she was gently bobbing him up and down as Bill charmed the radio's volume up and pulled Fleur to her feet to dance across the living room. Ginny soon bumped her sister-in-law out of the way to dance with her brother, and Fleur laughed before plucking Charlie away from his conversation with Hagrid. Luna drifted towards Harry and got him on his feet too. Soon, most of the Burrow was singing along to whatever hit summer song had just come on and that Kingsley didn't recognize. It hit him as a small wonder. Four months ago, all of these people had been burnt and bruised and crying over closed caskets or broken bodies. Now, they were dancing.

"That's how you stop," Molly said, leaning her head against Kingsley's arm. "You stop when you realize that there's joy to be had in honour of everyone who isn't around to have it."

Kingsley took a deep breath and then put an arm around Molly too.

"Well," Kingsley said, clearing his throat and blinking the tears and fatigue out of his eyes. "Would you care for a dance, Molly?"

Molly smiled and unlaced her apron.

"Of course, Minister," she said with a smile before taking the hand he offered.

WC: 1653