The intermittent crackle from the fire dying against the wood in the fireplace and occasional drone of Arthur's light snores filled the tiny bedroom above the dingy pub in Bourton-on-the-Water. The room was equipped with a full sized, four poster bed with intricately carved designs into the posts and headboard. There was a square table where a single gas lamp, a water pitcher, and a bowl for washing rested, and this was pushed on the far wall beneath a small, circular window. There were ornate gold frames with paintings that depicted various scenes from the English countryside filling open spaces on the wall. Directly in front of the bed was a small fireplace, and a tall, wingback armchair printed with a brown and red paisley print.
The cushions were thin, the frame of the seat hard and stiff as Molly settled in. Her mind was uncannily alert and with a multitude of thoughts presenting themselves to her in the early hours of morning. Bending her legs beneath her, she drew the knit afghan she stole from the bed tightly around her shoulders. The rough wool was warm and welcoming against the slight chill in the air. She glanced down at the granny square patterned blanket, her mind wandering back to when it was nothing more than a photograph in Witch Weekly.
The moment Arthur proposed to her, Molly knew she wanted to give them something special for their first home. And given her skill with smart stitch yarn and spellcasting, a knit blanket seemed like the perfect thing to offer him. This particular pattern, squares outlined in black with bursts of diamond shaped flowers of every colour imaginable, had taken her nearly a month. Simple, single colored patterns took a matter of days. But she knew what she made for them had to be something special. Because he was special. And what they shared was even more so.
She smiled softly to herself, bringing a tentative hand to her lower abdomen. This wasn't how she saw her life panning out at twenty, but she'd never admit it out loud to anyone. Not even Arthur.
(Arthur, who was barreling ahead into husbandry and fatherhood as though he spent a lifetime preparing for it. Arthur, with his helpful books on what to expect, how to care for a child, and the like. Arthur, with his incessant need to make her feel loved, to reveal in the prospect of turning her into Mrs. Molly Weasley.)
It wasn't an unwelcome revelation, Molly decided, but certainly an unexpected one. She had had dreams outside of motherhood, outside of being Arthur's wife.
And he told her that she could still have those things. That he would do whatever he could for her to continue her Healer training. That he wasn't trapping her by marrying her so soon, but he was trying to do the right thing given her current condition. This last admission left her doubting it all; almost like it was too good to be true. Even with all those years of dating, years where they proclaimed their feelings for one another, she wondered if she left him no choice now. The question of would he choose differently if she hadn't fallen pregnant, began haunting her.
But Arthur, eternally being optimistic and steadfast must have sensed this thread of doubt creeping up inside of her. For he took it upon himself to lavish her with attention and sweet sentiments all weekend long. He kept muttering sweet words of reassurance at every meal they shared ("I'm so happy to be here with you..with the both of you..."), while they strolled throughout the village ("Isn't this nice? No pressure that would've come with all the planning...just us...doing however we please..."), and in between making love to her ("I love you, Molly Weasley...gods I love you...").
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't hear Arthur stirring. Only when the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet while he was padding towards her did she look up.
"All right, Molls?" He murmured sleepily, stifling a yawn and rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands. His hair, catching the flickering glow from the dying fire, stuck up at odd angles in the back.
Her smile deepened when she noticed this, and she nodded. He stroked the side of her face with the back of his knuckles, his hand moving to her shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. "Come back to bed," He pleaded softly.
Leaning towards his hand, she mumbled with a sigh, "I'm not tired."
Her mind kept reeling with what they'd just done. How they ran off to this sleepy, little village and found a holy man willing to join as husband and wife with Muggle strangers for witnesses. Arthur had been so tickled at this part of it. She teased him about whether or not he was more excited about being surrounded by Muggles than by being her husband. Of course he denied it fervently, showing her just how enthusiastic he was to be married to her by whisking her away to this room he rented for the weekend.
"Hmm…" Arthur's amused humming brought her back and he bent forward so their faces were centimeters apart. "...we don't have to sleep."
He waited a beat for her to register his meaning. Then a cheeky grin spread across his face, prompting her to laugh sharply, her face growing hot while she looked down between them.
"You naughty boy," She mused, her mouth contorting into a shy, half smile now. "Haven't you had enough of me?"
"No," He answered sweetly, tipping her chin with his forefinger so that her face glanced up to find his.
Her stomach tightened with desire as she took in the hungry look in his brilliant blue eyes, intently staring and slightly squinting without the aid of his glasses. Before he could ask her the same question in return, she shrugged out of the wooly blanket, her arms coming around his neck to join their lips in a soft, firm kiss.
Arthur returned her kiss with a languid, burning passion that reverberated off of him and into her. Chills erupted over her bare arms, and when their mouths broke apart she whispered throatily, "Then you best take me to bed."
His hand ran from the crook of her neck down her arm until it met hers, and he pulled her to her feet. Bringing the back of her hand to his lips, he murmured softly once more, "I love you, Molly Weasley."
She didn't think she'd ever tire of hearing these words that exorcised the lingering doubt haunting her.