Molly loved holidays. She loved Christmas more then ever, though, because all of her family came back home and had a big meal. Her children were all grown up, with their own children. She felt older as the days wore on, her very bones felt tired as she wandered through her house. Compulsively, she kept everything in her children's rooms clean. She laundered all of their clothes, even though she knew that they could not wear them anymore. Every few months, she would paint their rooms again. She did all of this by hand, because she wanted it to take longer. She wanted to be in her children's rooms. She wanted to feel important again, needed. Arthur was busy at the Ministry, always working, sometimes not coming home for dinner. Molly felt so sad, because she hated to eat alone, so much that she would stop eating if no one was there to eat with her. Her body, plump from hearty celebration and pregnancies, had grown thin and her clothes sagged on her body. Sometimes, she felt lonely and thought to complain, but then she thought of the holidays to come, straightened her shoulders and found something to do. Her life was a simple one without her children at home, and somehow, less fulfilling.
Arthur was always tired with his work. She knew there wasn't anything she could do, but still, she felt like she should do something. When he came home, they barely talked anymore, because Arthur ate and then buried his nose in a book and usually fell asleep on their couch. Molly sometimes wished to drag him up the stairs to their bed, but decided to let him sleep. But when she trudged up those worn, wooden stairs at night and looked down at her snoring husband, she couldn't help but feel lonely. And when she crept into bed at night, her dreams were filled with her children.
"I'm a sad song." she sighed to The Cat. (The Cat was Crookshanks, who had died when Hermione was there on vacation and had decided to haunt the house). "And I can't even say I'm old and fat! Isn't it a pity. Christmas will be here soon, though. The days seem terribly long."
"Who are you talking to, Molly?" Arthur asked, coming into the room.
"The Cat." Molly replied softly, not looking at him.
"Oh." Arthur said, blinking. Sometimes he worried about his wife's sanity. "You could always call Ginny if you want to talk to a living being. Or, you could always talk to me. The Cat isn't much of a conversationalist, is he now?"
"How many days until Christmas?" Molly asked, disregarding him.
"Three-hundred and six." Arthur sighed. "It's not particularly soon, but sooner then it was yesterday, I suppose."
Molly smiled. "Charlie's birthday is in sixteen days. What do you think he would like for his birthday?"
Arthur chuckled. "Oh, he might be a little old for birthday presents. Maybe you could just send him a letter or a card. He'll like it, I'm sure."
"I would like a present on my birthday." Molly said looking at him. "The Healer says there is nothing wrong with me, so I think you can stop looking at me like I'm crazy and stop talking to me like I'm a mental patient."
"Sorry, sorry." Arthur said, walking out of the room. "I've work to do anyway."
Arthur walked into the living room and sat on the couch. His wife really was losing her mind, slowly, but surely. He knew what was causing it, too. Their children. Yes, their children were causing his wife such heartache, although they once gave her so much joy and purpose. They hadn't written one letter, and when Ginny called, she called only because she felt it was her duty and her words sounded annoyed to the point of rudeness. His wife would care for their rooms like they still lived in the house and refused to throw anything out. Sometimes, she would just stare forlornly at their pictures on the wall. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, she would shrink down and cry, long, lost sobs. He never comforted her, because once, when he tried to, she wouldn't speak to him for days and refused to eat. She was terribly thin, and he missed her. It was Christmas that brought back his wife. Just Christmas. He missed her when she was gone, but it was not something he could control. Which is also why he kept count of the days until Christmas, because his children would bring her back to him for a few days while they stayed and then she would go again, as soon as she had come.
"Do we have any gingerbread cookies?" she said softly, coming into the room. "Ron used to love gingerbread cookies. He might come and visit. I can feel it in my bones. We should have gingerbread cookies."
"We don't have any gingerbread cookies." Arthur said gently. "You should bake some. I would like some gingerbread cookies if Ron doesn't visit."
"No, no." Molly said quietly. "I'll bake them around Christmas. He will come at Christmas, won't he Arthur? All of them will come at Christmas time. I love Christmas, Arthur."
"So do I, Molly." Arthur said, smiling. "I love it very much."
Their days passed like this. Arthur always looked upon his wife with tender regret and wished she would come back to him a little more often. He owed her so much, and he had to rely on his children to give her joy that he alone could not. He knew that she loved him as much as he loved her, if not more. But sometimes, it was so hard to see her, so thin and feeble, always looking for something that was not there to find. Nothing could save her if the children didn't come. Arthur remembered last year, when he had to go to every single one of their houses and threaten their inheritance if they didn't come willingly. In the end, they had all showed up, a little bitter, but nonetheless, there. Of course, Molly loved for them all to get together for Christmas because she knew that all of them lived very far apart and it was good for them to get together.
Arthur sighed. Bill, Percy, Charlie and Harry Potter all worked in the Ministry. Bill was the treasurer and Percy was very important (although Arthur wasn't quite sure what he did). Charlie was the Care of Magical Creatures regulator and Harry Potter was the Top Auror in the Ministry. Arthur of course, was the Minister of Magic. He saw his children in the lunch room all of the time, and he knew they saw him, but they never said anything to him. Ginny was a housewife, working on writing a cookbook. Hermione was the Nurse at Hogwart's. She had earned herself a new nickname by the students for her strictness of rules: Madame Horny Toad Weasel. Ron was the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher and he was very good at it. And Minerva McGonagall was the Headmaster after the death of Dumbledore a few years earlier.
The months did not fly by, nor did they go slower then they should have. They just went, and sometimes, Molly would talk to Arthur, short, snippets of a conversation. So, they soon reached November, which was very close to Christmas. After a certain conversation, Arthur thought it would be good for the both of them to get out of the house for a while. So, he told Molly that the house was being tented for termites and they were to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Molly nodded and said it was sad that they could not take The Cat (she was awfully fond of that dead thing). So, Arthur packed her a suitcase and he packed himself one as well and they took the four o'clock train to Diagon Alley.
"I've not been around people for a long time." Molly said on the train.
"What about me?" Arthur asked her.
"You don't count." she said, smiling. "You know me."
"Yes, I suppose I do know you." he had said.
Arthur had chosen the Leaky Cauldron because he knew that Harry, Percy, Bill and Charlie had dinner there on occasion. Arthur thought it would be nice for his wife to do a little bit of shopping and then see some of her children before Christmas. Arthur wanted to make sure they were going to make it to Christmas dinner. Their room wasn't very big, but it was the nicest room that they had (Arthur was the Minister of Magic, after all) and it suited Molly fine. He had offered to take her shopping, but she had said that she wanted to go alone and that he should go and find her a book.
"A nice book." she said. "It must be thick. I want it to be about something very nice. Could you buy me a book like that?"
"Yes." Arthur nodded, putting a sack of money in her purse. "I will buy you a very nice book."
"Not two books." she said. "That just spoils the fun."
"Of course not." he smiled as she started to walk away. "I promise."
She disappeared into the crowd and he found himself feeling very happy that she was actually going to do something that did not involve his children. He went to the muggle bookstore just outside the Leaky Cauldron and bought her Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. It was rather thick and it had some pictures in it. He bought a ribbon and tied it around the book, deciding that Molly could use it as a bookmark. He went back into the Leaky Cauldron and back into Diagon Alley to find his wife and found her at the entrance with a small box in her hands. She smiled at him and handed him the box.
"We can hang it on the Christmas tree." she said. "I think the children will like it."
The ornament was rather small, but it was glass. Hand blown glass. It was of a young woman, sitting on a chair with her husband standing over her. Around them were several little children, eight children. The detail was exquisite, every single finger was crafted, every single facial expression, every single stitch on the tiny sweaters. Arthur smiled at her and she took it into her thin hands. He handed her the book and she smiled at it approvingly. They both walked into the Leaky Cauldron, Arthur holding an empty box filled with tissue paper. In the corner, he saw that his sons were talking over something. He turned to his wife and told her to go up the stairs and wait in their room. He didn't want them to reject going to Christmas dinner with her there. He could only imagine the hurt that would go through her eyes.
"You can go and read your book. Won't that be grand?" he asked her, suddenly aware that his sons had spotted them and were staring.
"It's very nice" she said, looking at it. "What are you going to do?"
"I have something to take care of." Arthur said.
"Are you going to go to work again?" she asked quietly.
"No." he said. "I'll meet you up there in a little while, alright?"
"I suppose it is okay." she said, licking her lips and starting up the stairs.
Arthur watched her walk up. It ate away at him to see her so weak, so unlike the woman that he had married. But then, there was nothing he could do about it. This was one of the things that he had to put in the hands of his children. He walked over to them and asked if he could have a seat. Charlie nodded mutely and he sat down. The table was silent, and he felt the tension. Of course he was mad at his children! He loved them all the same, but he was just very upset. He knew from their faces that they weren't planning to come to Christmas dinner. They wouldn't do it for him, and maybe not even for their mother. He sighed.
"I know it's not in your plans this year to come to Christmas Dinner." said Arthur quietly. "But if you won't do it for me, won't you do it for your mother?"
"We have a new house." Percy said. "We would like to spend it in our new house. It's very sentimental, I've worked for years to buy it."
"It's such a hassle to get all of the children's clothes packed and them into a train and go to The Burrow." Harry said. "Ginny is so touchy, she's pregnant again. I don't think I should stress her to travel."
"A new shipment of dragon eggs is due in Rome. I was planning to spend Christmas in Rome with my wife and children. Christmas in Rome is something that we've always wanted to do." Charlie said, staring at the table.
"I don't have time." Bill said. "I'm a single father, Dad. Elise and I have plans to go over to visit Fleur's mother and father. They still grieve for her, even though it's been six years since she died giving birth."
Arthur was silent. They all had legible excuses, they were all perfectly sensible. "Your mother would really like it if you came." he said, almost desperately. "She's been waiting for this all year. Won't you please consider it?"
"We don't have time, Dad." Percy said. "You of all people should realize that."
If only he could tell them how their mother cried at night, cleaned their rooms and was losing her mind slowly! But, he knew that Molly didn't want them to come to her because they felt obliged to. He knew that she didn't want to be thought of as weak and feeble and weepy. She wanted to be remembered by her children as a strong, happy soul. He felt the pit of anger in his stomach and knew that their decision was final. Fred, George and Ron probably had some royal excuse also. He had seen the look of sheer greif in his wife's eyes before, when their first daughter had died, and he knew, that he never wanted to see it again. He sighed and stood up, suddenly realizing that they were indeed grown up and that he and Molly were just old people. Old people that were taken for granted, tossed aside. He stood up and turned his back, and walked away without saying goodbye.
In the room, Molly was sitting on the edge of the bed, fingering the ornament in her hands. "So, what did they say?"
"Who?" Arthur said, closing the door slowly.
"Bill, Percy, Charlie and Harry." Molly said, laughing slightly. "I saw them. I knew you were going to go and talk to them."
"They said that they were very sorry." Arthur said quietly, a knot in his throat as he looked at his wife. "But they cannot come to Christmas dinner. They said they will come next year."
Molly's face clearly fell, although she tried to hide it. She looked down and away from Arthur. "It seems the only way to get them altogether would be for me to die and have a funeral. Would they even come to that? Would they even come to visit my grave?"
"Molly, don't talk like that." Arthur said, walking over to her. "Come on, I'll get you some gingerbread cookies. You love gingerbread cookies, don't you?"
"I'm not hungry." Molly said, standing up. "I just want to sleep. You can go and get something to eat, Arthur. I want to take a nap. Today has made me very tired."
"Alright." Arthur said.
He walked out of the room, not fully closing the door. He stood outside of the room for a few minutes. Finally, he looked through the crack of the door and saw his wife, huddled under the window, sitting on the cold ground, sobbing her heart out. Her tiny body shook and she hugged her knees, making her seem so much smaller. Arthur sighed and looked away. He shut the door quietly and leaned against the hallway wall. He ran his hands through his hair and sank down, sitting on the ground. There was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing, besides put a leash on all of his children and drag them back home. But, somehow, he thought, that wouldn't work very well. He was losing his wife, and his children were already lost to him. This was his life, and he feared that his wife might outlive him and she would be left all alone. He didn't want that for her, to die of a broken heart. Arthur had never, in his life, ever felt so helpless and vulnerable.
"Dad?" A foot nudged him. "Dad, why are you on the floor?"
Arthur looked up to see Charlie, hovering over him. "Your mother wanted to be alone. I just told her that all of you couldn't make it Christmas dinner."
"Well, is she alright? I just came up to say hello." Charlie asked.
Arthur stood up slowly. He pointed to the door. "Open the door slowly and see for yourself."
Charlie opened the door slowly and shock filled his eyes. He made a move to walk into the room and comfort her, but Arthur grabbed his arm. "Don't. There is nothing anyone can do for her when she's like this."
"It's happened before?" Charlie asked.
Arthur nodded silently. "Your mother preferred that you didn't see her like this. Hermione is supposed to ask you about the anatomy of a certain bite that a student has later today. If you would be so kind as to tell her about your poor mother. But, don't tell anyone else. Are you going to come to come to Christmas Dinner now?"
"I don't suppose I have a choice." Charlie said with a small smile. "It'll be a lot harder to convince those hardheaded brothers of mine to come to Christmas Dinner, but I'll do my best. As for Hermione, well, she's always been fond of Mum."
"That's good." Arthur smiled.
Charlie gave him a retreating smile as Arthur entered the room again. Molly was now sitting under the window, not bothering to hide the fact that she was crying. Arthur crossed the room slowly, the silence between them becoming louder and louder with every step he took. He slumped down beside her sighed deeply. "I don't want you to touch me." she said. Arthur said nothing at all, because at that moment there was a knock on the door. He called for them to come in and in stepped Hermione Granger, still in her Madame Horny Toad Weasel uniform. At the sight of Molly, she let out a cry, rushed to her and they held each other, both crying as hard as they could. Arthur stood up and walked over to the other side of the bed, to look out at the window while they sobbed.
"I was just chopping onions." Molly was sobbing. "It was just onions!"
"I know. I know." Hermione sobbed back. "I'll make sure Ron and Harry and Ginny find their way back home. I promise I'll do all that I can, even if I have to threaten my position at Hogwart's!"
"It was just onions ..." Molly said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Hermione was saying something that concerned her children. "I'm not crying for any other reason!"
Onions, thought Arthur. We don't even have any onions.
---
Hermione Weasley (aka: Madame Horny Toad Weasel) returned to Hogwart's within three hours of her miniature excursion to the Leaky Cauldron. When Ron had asked her what was wrong with her, she told him to get Harry and Ginny down to the school within the hour. He had replied that there was no way he could do that, and she had replied that if he wanted to keep her from ripping his stupid little head off he would do it, and he would it do it extremely fast. Hermione went into the Infirmary and dried her eyes, made her way up to The Headmaster's office and explained what was going on. McGonagall had rubbed her eyes and muttered something about the arrogance of the men and women these days. Ron had been called out of class to the Headmaster's office and that is where he now stood, looking very flustered.
"Are they here yet?" Hermione asked him. "Well, are they?"
"Harry is on his way -- on the train right now with Ginny." Ron said, his guide dog, coincidently named Dog nudging his feet. "Now, if you would just tell me what in bloody hell your problem is --"
"Don't you curse in my face, you ignorant fool!" Hermione yelled.
"What did I do now?" Ron yelled back. "I haven't done anything arrogant, annoying, stupid, disrespectful in the last twenty-six hours, four minutes and three seconds for you to be mad at me for!"
"You are so daft." Hermione scoffed, turning away from her.
"Don't turn your back on me! I can hear you because you're always so dramatic when it comes to expressing your emotions! You can't give me the cold shoulder without me knowing what I'm getting your cold shoulder for!" Ron yelled angrily in the direction of her voice. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for whatever it is I did and I promise I'll never, as long as I may live, do it again."
"Can you believe him?" she asked McGonagall, who was looking quite amused while feeding Fawkes. "Four children and three teaching positions later and he's still as ignorant as he was before we got married!"
The sound of the grinding, rising stairwell filled the room and all three of them turned their heads to see a very pregnant Ginny and Harry walking (Ginny was limping of course) into the office. McGonagall stopped feeding Fawkes and sat down at her desk, waiting for the next set of arguments.
"What's this about?" Ginny asked Ron. "You had me scared, saying that it was an emergency and that your life was at stake if we didn't come."
"It is at stake." Ron said, sighing. "Ask Hermione what this little party is about, because I was just told to get all of you here, or suffer the penalty of death."
"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked her, taking the smallest step away from his angry wife.
"This is about Christmas Dinner." Hermione said, straightening her spine.
"Good God!" Ron cried, throwing his hands up.
"You dragged me, a six month pregnant woman with twins, from my very comfortable feather bed onto a train with a bunch of sweaty teenagers to talk about Christmas Dinner?" Ginny yelled.
"Yes, I did." Hermione said, the tone in her voice not humbling the slightest bit. "I understand that you and Harry do not plan to go to Mrs. Weasley's house for Christmas Dinner. And I simply must insist that you do go, no, I demand you to reconsider, no, to meet my demand."
Harry widened his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny beat him to it. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have two small children at home, and two on the way? Do you know what it would mean if I had to pack all of their clothes, their toothbrushes, buy presents for all of my brothers and their children, of whom I don't even know their names of even if they exist? Do you realize how sentimental Christmas is for Harry and I to spend at our house? Hermione Weasley, have you lost your mind? I'm not going to Christmas Dinner there!"
"You went last year." Hermione said, a tone of anger in her voice.
"My father came to our house and threatened our inheritance! He threatened to give the burrow to the Malfoy family, of all people! He forced us to come: practically put a leash around our necks and dragged us out of the house!" Ginny said angrily. "Don't you tell me that I have to meet your insane demands. I am a mother and I have other things to do then visit my aging parents for three days!"
"Hermione, they're busy." Ron said. "And come to think of it, so are we. You have that tutoring thing over Christmas vacation and I have the Triwizard Tournament Coaching in Bulgaria. I promised my team that I'd be there for them."
"Please try to understand." Harry said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "There is always next year that we can go. By then, things may have settled down. This holiday season is a little hectic for us."
"We have to get back." Ginny said. "I love you Hermione, but let's face it, we don't have time to go to Christmas Dinner."
"How can you take your own mother for granted?" Hermione asked, tears forming in her eyes as her voice grew softer. "How can you just toss the thought of how much this may mean to her as if it were nothing? How can you just stand there and say no?"
"We have things to do." Ginny said, smiling. "I love my mother, but my children need me at home."
Ginny and Harry left the office, leaving Hermione standing there, feeling defeated and failed. She turned to Ron with her eyes glistening with tears that had not yet fallen. "Don't look at me like that." Ron said gently. "I can feel the tears in your eyes. You know that I have so many things to do. It's busy enough already. I promise you we'll go next year, Hermione."
He started to walk out of the office when Hermione called out to him, "I will go. I'll go all by myself. I'll leave tomorrow, no today! I'll stay with your mother. You can come and get me at Christmas Dinner if you even plan to attend. If not, well, you'll know where to find me."
"Hermione, don't you think this is a bit childish?" Ron sighed. "Headmaster is not going to let you walk out on the students who are injured and take care of my mother. Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?"
"I will let her go." McGonagall said, speaking up at last. "The arrogance of Molly's children has bothered me greatly, so, I will let you go Madame Weasley. I will take care of the children in the infirmary, don't you worry, Ron. And, I think I might attend Christmas Dinner at Molly Weasley's house also. It has been a while since I've seen her."
"I will never understand, women. Ever." He muttered loudly as he descended down the stairs.
Hermione rubbed her eyes and went down the infirmary during the class change to pack her bags. She saw something in Molly's eyes when she visited her. Someone who was dying of a broken heart, of a broken mind, of a broken spirit. She had seen it in Neville's mother when she had died in St. Mungo's six years earlier. She had just kept asking for Neville. Neville. Neville. Hermione did not have the heart to tell her that Neville had been killed during the war, so she just told her that Neville was coming soon. Mrs. Longbottom died waiting for her son to come. By God, Hermione was not about to let Mrs. Weasley die the same death, waiting for her children, only wanting them for dinner and a few days visit. Hermione shivered, she was afraid of growing old. Growing old and being forgotten, only wanting her children to comfort her, becoming angry in the comfort of only her blind husband. Hermione took up her suitcase that was filled with a few sets of clothes, her pajamas and other things and started to walk to the entrance of Hogwart's.
"Hermione, this is ridiculous!" Ron yelled, being pulled by his dog. He caught her arm.
"You're ridiculous, Ron!" Hermione said, increasing her pace, charging through the oncoming students during the class change.
"Will you just come back? We can talk this over!" Ron said. "My mother is a little on the loony side, Hermione. What'll she know if we skip one Christmas? What will she care?"
Hermione stopped in her tracks and slammed her suitcase as hard as she could on the ground. The entire rush of students stopped and the hall grew quiet with a deathly silence. "If you want to take your Triwizard Team to Bulgaria, fine! I hope you meet up with Viktor Krum! If you want to stay here during the Holiday Break and eat School Food, fine! But, you will not stand here and tell me that all your mother did for you was nothing! That's nothing but lies! So, you can either come and get me and have Christmas Dinner with her and the rest of your siblings, or you are going the rest of your life regretting it!"
"Okay, fine!" Ron yelled just as loudly. "You can go! I have things to do, Hermione, besides listening to you yell at me about how under appreciative I am!"
Hermione grabbed her suitcase and angrily pushed through the herd of stopped students. The Great Hall door opened and she rushed through it, off to the Hogwart's Express. She'd given it her best shot, but it was no use. Her best friends wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't even consider it. She bit through the cold November air and rushed towards the train. She threw her suitcase at the worker and ran onto the train. She took a seat near the door, crossed her arms and fumed. There was no one else on the train except Charlie who had been waiting for her. He had no such luck with Bill, Percy, Fred or George, even after he told them that Molly was likely to die any day. Charlie couldn't take his Christmas Vacation until a few days before Christmas because he was in the middle of a case involving a blast-ended skrewt that somehow got inside a muggle library.
"How much longer do you think she will live?" Charlie asked her.
"Without children, a mother's life doesn't seem worth living." Hermione replied quietly. "I can't imagine the hell she goes through before and after Christmas."
Charlie was quiet throughout the rest of their train ride. Yes, of course he loved his mother. She was his companion, his protector, his friend, his guardian and most of all, his mother! When Bill didn't play with him, didn't pay attention to him, his mother was the one to always put down whatever she was doing to read him a story. And even though he was a father now, a husband, he realized that his mother should not be forgotten because of that. His wife had been furious when he said that he would not be coming to Romania with him that year, but promised a visit next year. It was all he could do, he needed to be with his mother. Charlie leaned his head back against the cold window and let sleep take him slowly as he listened to Hermione flip through the pages of a book.
"Wake up Charlie." Hermione said shaking his shoulder. "We're here."
The stop closest to The Burrow wasn't all that close the burrow after all. In fact, it was a five-mile journey. But Arthur, being the Minister of Magic, had installed a portkey near the train stop that was only five steps away. Charlie stood on the porch with Hermione, listening to the familiar sounds of his childhood. He could hear the garden gnomes chattering away in his backyard, the familiar rustle of the frozen tree branches. He could hear the familiar wind of the meadow they lived in and he could almost hear his younger brothers, in all of their glory, gloating and playing and running about inside the house. He sighed and knocked on the door heavily. At first, he heard no sound behind the old wooden door, so Hermione took her fist and banged hard against the door, enough to wake the scarecrows, thought Charlie. Then, they both heard the slow footsteps of someone that seemed very old. Charlie sighed as the door opened and his mother's face peered out. Once she caught site of who was at her door, she flung the door open and spread her arms wide.
"Oh, Charlie! Hermione! What a wonderful surprise!" she said, hugging both of them at the same time. "Come in! Come in! It's so cold outside! Would you like some tea? How about some hot chocolate? I have coffee too!"
"Hello, Mum." Charlie said, following her into the kitchen.
"Hermione, dear, you can put your things in the living room for now. By the looks of it, you'll be here a while. Oh, but I don't mind! I don't mind at all! It's very wonderful you've decided to stay here! It gets so lonely here sometimes." Molly said, rushing to get a kettle boiling.
Charlie had a cup of black coffee while Hermione sipped on a cup of hot chocolate. Molly kept babbling on about things, suddenly appearing very happy and energetic. Molly was drinking a glass of milk. After they were all done, and Molly at the sink, still chattering away happily about many things at one time, Charlie leaned over and whispered to Hermione, "I know it is a lot to ask of you, Hermione. But, Mum hasn't even written her will yet. I know she won't write it straight out, so you have to write it for her and get her to sign it."
"You want me to trick her?" Hermione hissed.
"What if Mum outlives Dad?" Charlie asked her. "Then, the only person that will get everything she owns is Malfoy because he owns this meadow."
"I'll find a way." Hermione assured him.
"What are you two whispering about?" Molly asked walking over, a smile on her thin face.
"Nothing at all, Mum." Charlie said. "But, I have to go now. I've got to get back to the Ministry."
"Oh, all right. But, you will come back for Christmas Dinner, won't you?" she smiled.
"Yes. Of course I will." he said.
Hermione stayed in Ginny's old room, marveling of how clean and kept it looked. It was as if Ginny still lived there. There was no dust, and all of her old robes and dresses were ironed and washed, as if she were to wake up the next morning and wear them. Molly and Hermione's days were slow and easing, one day oozing into the next gracefully. Hermione wondered why Molly's own children didn't appreciate this. Usually, Hermione would follow Molly around the house, listening to her chatter anxiously. Hermione would cook them a small lunch, but Molly insisted she cook dinner for Arthur. The three of them ate together, and sometimes Arthur came home late and they had to wait. Hermione felt so amazed as she saw how deep Molly's love and commitment was to her husband and her children.
Sometimes, they would go up to the attic and look at photo albums, at old faded, moving pictures that waved at them when they turned the page. Molly found much bliss in this, although Hermione would much rather be doing something else. At times, Charlie would drop in just to say hello and have a cup of coffee, but then would go back to the Ministry. Molly was happy that Hermione was there, of course she was! But if her other children would contact her, well, that would be very much better. She assumed all of her children were coming to Christmas Dinner, because Charlie and Hermione were here and surely they wouldn't be able to resist coming if Charlie and Hermione were there. Molly rubbed her hands together as she stood on the porch, breathing in the cold December air. She heard the door open behind her and Hermione step out beside her.
"It's cold, Mrs. Weasley." she said. "We should get inside."
"Do you see the grass, Hermione?" Molly said quietly. "It's frozen. It's cold. But, in spring, it will be green again, this entire meadow will be green. Do you remember those old Quidditch Rings in the backyard? Those, those will always remain rusted. Rusted and old and used. Isn't it a strange life that we all lead?"
Hermione sighed. "Mrs. Weasley, do you see that chair there, next to the window?"
"Yes, I see it. Arthur put it out here seven years ago for me to rock in when he was away on business. I've never sat in it, just thought it looked pretty." Molly said sadly.
"If you were to give it to one of your children, who would it be?" Hermione said, feeling very guilty about tricking Mrs. Weasley.
"Ginny." said Mrs. Weasley quietly. "It's just the sort of chair that I can see Ginny sitting in, holding her small children in. Yes, I would give it to Ginny."
During the next week, Hermione would ask about things in every room and to whom Mrs. Weasley would give them. Molly never gave a thought to why Hermione was asking such strange questions about her possessions, but rather liked the thought of giving things to her children and observing the smallest items in the rooms, like the tiny glass figurines on Ginny's windowsill or the plastic dragons that sat all over Charlie's room. Or, the Quidditch Set that lay in the closet of Bill's room. Or, the large journal of Amusing Inventions that Fred and George kept. And of course, there was the shrine of the Chudley Cannons that was in Ron's room. There were stacks and mountains of books in Percy's room, and there were so many old albums and sentimental things that Molly would smile at. Sometimes, when she couldn't decide who needed the item or whom she wanted to give it to, she would cock her head and ask Hermione what she thought. Hermione never knew what she thought about the item, because usually, it was a just a pot or a pan or a cauldron heater.
"What about these old broken glasses of Percy?" Molly said, smiling at the cracked lenses. "Do you think that he would like them?"
"I don't know." Hermione said, scribbling 'broken glasses of Percy' on the piece of parchment that she had been recording all of the possessions. "How about you give them to Bill?"
"Yes, that is a good idea." said Molly smiling. "Bill did name Percy, after all. Did I tell you that story yet, Hermione?"
"Yes." Hermione said, but when she saw the look on Molly's face, she quickly added, "But I would love to hear it again, please."
Hermione had heard countless stories about Molly's children, some of which fascinated her, some of which bored her to the point of no return. Nonetheless, she listened and marveled at the attention that Molly paid to detail. She could remember the exact knit of the sweater, the exact age, day, month and year. It was then that she decided that old age may not take away the memory, that it may just be the loss of hope that steals it away from people. When Hermione had every single item of importance in the house recorded and whom it would belong to, she handed the parchment to Molly for her to sign. Molly took it to her room and read it over, with Hermione sitting on the front porch, rocking in a cardigan and a scarf, reading a book she had found in the kitchen called Little Women. She sat there for a good deal of time, and got tired of reading the book. She closed it and held it on her lap, looking far into the meadow, wondering how a place could seem so at peace. The door opened and Molly gave Hermione the parchment with her signature.
"Thank you." Molly said. "I know I couldn't have written that on my own."
"I'm sorry I tricked you into writing your own will." Hermione said. "That was wrong of me to do, even though I meant well."
"Don't be sorry." Molly said, smiling. "Life is to short to have regrets."
On December 23rd, Charlie came for lunch and informed his mother that he would be staying until December 27th, for the Christmas holidays. That lunch, they had soup, which Hermione had cooked with inexperienced hands. Charlie could taste the difference, but didn't say anything, afraid of hurting Hermione's feelings. Charlie had pestered all of his brothers and his sister. He had called them every other day, pleading with them to reconsider Christmas Dinner, but was careful not to tell them why. He had even tried to plead with their wives, but nothing was successful. His own wife had been angry with him, even when he had explained. His wife and children were going to Rome without him this Christmas, and he couldn't help but feel bad about it. But, he owed his mother his life, his friendship, things that he could never repay or repent for. Lost minutes that had seeped through the years and had just disappeared.
"When are they coming, Charlie?" Molly said eagerly. "What time should we expect your brothers and sister? When is your family coming?"
"My family is going to Rome." he said, stirring his coffee. "Bill, Percy, Fred and George said that they couldn't come this time. They said they were very sorry."
"Oh." said Molly sadly. "What about you Hermione? When are Ron and Ginny coming?"
"They apologize from the bottom of their hearts, but they couldn't make it this year. They promised to come next year, and I know they're thinking about you." Hermione said, almost apologetically.
"So, it will just be the four of us, then." Molly said, trying to fight her tears. "Just the four of us. Just like a happy little family."
"Mum." Charlie said, embracing her as she started to break down. "It's all right. It's just fine, they'll come next year. I'm sure they will."
Hermione put her hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder as she sobbed. "Your children love you, Mrs. Weasley. They love you very very much."
Arthur walked into the kitchen and glanced at the scene with his sobbing wife. He looked away, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Seeing that there was no dinner prepared, he went over to the sink to wash his hands and cook what he could. Hermione walked over to the telephone, dialing Ginny and Ron, attempting one last time to come. She took the phone out of the room and shut the door, listening to the ring on the other side of the phone. There was silence, except for Molly's sobbing and the grumbling of the cauldron heater for a few minutes. Then, Hermione's loud, angry yells could be heard from the other room. There was a crash, as if she had thrown the telephone against the wall. Hermione came out of the room, face red with anger. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, not knowing what to do, unsure of anything. Wondering even if her own children would do this to her.
"Come, eat." Arthur said, ladling soup into four bowls.
They ate in silence, Molly looking at her soup, spooning some up, and then letting it drip back into the bowl. Charlie ate as if nothing was wrong, putting on a fake smile that seemed to be peeling right off of his face. Arthur ate just like Charlie, false emotions taped onto his face as he smiled at his wife. Hermione ate her soup slowly, not tasting it, just eating it, filling her stomach with it. Halfway through her bowl, she dropped her spoon on the table, covered her face with her right hand and cried. Mrs. Weasley reached over for her free hand and held it. "It's all right, Hermione. You've been wonderful to me. Very wonderful." she said. Hermione nodded through her tears. Arthur, finished with his soup, stood up and took all of the bowls to the sink to be washed as Hermione sat there crying and Bill trudged up the stairs without a retreating glance.
"Would you like some ice cream, Molly?" Arthur asked her. "Ice cream always cheers you up."
"I feel old." she responded. "I feel old and tired. I feel selfish. I'm going to sleep. I'm going to sleep for a long time, don't you bother me, Arthur. I would like to be alone for a little while."
Arthur and Hermione watched her as she slowly crossed the kitchen floor in slow, unsure steps. Hermione called out to her, "Are we still going to have Christmas Dinner, Mrs. Weasley?"
"No, Hermione. There will be no more Christmas Dinners for me." came the soft reply.
"What does she mean?" Hermione said, frantically turning to Arthur. "What does she mean there will be no more Christmas Dinners for her?"
"I don't know." Arthur said, sighing. He sat down and held his hand in his hands. "Oh, dear God. I have to work through this holiday. I have a wizard on Trial tomorrow, all day. I can't leave, I can't possibly put it off. Hermione, you and Charlie have to take care of Molly. Take very good care of her."
"What's going to happen to her?" Hermione asked, finding no explanation for her apparent illness in her head.
"I don't know." Arthur said. "I really don't know."
That night, Hermione slept in Ginny's room, listening to the silence of the house. She heard wispy winter winds passing by and weaving through the tree branches. Charlie slept in his old room, wondering about the lack of dust on all of his toy dragons. Arthur slept on the couch in the Living Room. He was more miserable then he had ever been in his entire life. He stared into the darkness, wanting to cry. But, he told himself, boys don't cry. It was an attitude that he had kept since he was little and was afraid that he had passed on to his children. His wife was letting go of her life. She was sick, her bones were brittle, she was very much underweight. She didn't eat as much as she should, and she couldn't find a reason to live. Arthur sighed deeply and closed his eyes and slept a long, dreamless sleep.
---
"Minister?" Percy said, nudging him. "Minister, the criminal pleads innocent."
"Wha -- Oh, yes." Arthur said, snapping back into reality. "What alibi does he have?"
The man was a murderer. It was plain and simple. He had killed, left his name at the murder sites and then ran. Arthur wasn't even concerned that he was still pleading innocent, his mind was elsewhere. His wife hadn't woken up to cook breakfast, rather slept in. Something she hadn't done in a very long time. Hermione and Charlie were with her, sitting in the room, wrapping empty boxes. Molly, he had told them, loved the sound of wrapping presents and the look of them even more. They had set up the Christmas tree in her room, a pitiful little artificial one. There were very few ornaments on the tree, including the one she had gotten at Diagon Alley. Arthur would like to have been there with her, with them. Was it cloudy outside, he wondered.
"Minister!" Percy said, louder this time. "Please focus at the matter at hand."
"Yes, of course. The matter at hand." Arthur repeated blankly. "Now, where were you when Luna Lovegood was killed?"
"Nowhere." the murderer answered.
"Oh, yes. Could you be a little more specific?" Arthur asked, not bothering to note his arrogance. "Nowhere is a bit difficult to pinpoint."
"I was in a bar, okay?" the murdered yelled gruffly. "Getting drunk."
"Right. Getting drunk." Arthur repeated.
---
Charlie tied the bow on another wrapped empty box and tossed it over with the others. Hermione looked at Mrs. Weasley, who was looking even paler and her breaths were short and ragged. She had a high fever, and her forehead was burning up. Charlie had draped six blankets over her, but still, she shivered. Hermione was constantly taking her temperature, and reporting to Charlie as she chattered on about random facts about fevers and old people that Charlie didn't particularly have an interest in.
"I'm going to the bathroom." she announced, successfully throwing off all six of Charlie's blankets. "Don't follow me. I'm a grown woman, you know."
"Yes, we know." Charlie said, watching her as she made her way into the bathroom door that was right next to their Christmas tree.
They heard the sink start running as Hermione tossed another wrapped box under the tree. She knew that she could stop now that Molly was awake. But. for some reason, she wanted to keep wrapping, as if there were some unknown comfort that it gave her. A feeling that her family might come at Christmas. Security, friendship and love were the things that went through her mind as she wrapped the presents as if they were her own to give, not just empty boxes. Charlie had stopped wrapping, and the water in the bathroom stopped running and instead, they heard Molly coughing. She started to cough harder and harder, more frequently. Charlie knocked on the bathroom door. "Mum? Mum, are you alright?"
There was no answer, except for the raspy coughs.
"Move." Hermione commanded him. She grasped the doorknob and yanked it open. Charlie rushed in to find his mother, sitting on the bathroom floor, holding the edge of the counter. Blood was splattered in the sink and onto the tile and onto the floor where she now sat. She gave him a helpless look and Charlie felt his stomach crash through the floor when he saw the blood that still dripped out of her mouth.
"Oh, God." He rushed to her, and caught her as she fell. "Hermione! Hermione what's wrong with her?"
"Get her to the bed!" Hermione said, a panic rising in her.
Charlie lifted up his mother and turned away when he saw the blood on her dress. "What's wrong with her? What is it?"
Hermione just stared, stunned. "I don't know." she sobbed, breaking down. "Oh my God, I don't know!" She was shaking.
"Listen to me!" Charlie grabbed her shoulders and held her firmly. "Go to the Ministry and get my father. Go find him."
"I can't leave her." Hermione sobbed. "I can't do it."
"Hermione!" Charlie said, shaking her. "Let him hold his wife one last time. Go and find my father. I don't care if you have to fly there, just get him here in time."
Hermione nodded tearfully, grabbed her wand off of the table and apparated to the dark Alley where the entrance was.
The Court was being held in the basement, this much she knew. She went down in the elevator, hands shaking and tears pouring down her cheeks. Ron would be here today, she thought. He would be having lunch with Harry and then watching the Trial. Harry would be standing guard at the entrance to the Trial, making sure that no one got in. Hermione's stomach plunged at the thought of this. The elevator stopped and she ran. She ran past cubicles, paper airplanes flying past her, left and right. She knew that her face would look horrible in the morning, paper cuts all over the place. Hermione saw Harry in front of the door, reading something.
"Hermione, wha--" he said, surprised when she nearly ran into him.
"I need to get in there!" she cried desperately.
"I can't let you in there. The Minister has a Trial he needs to attend to." Harry said.
"Harry! This is much more important than that! Let me in! Let me in!" she said, pushing against him.
Harry easily held her where she was, holding her wrists in his hands. "Hermione, you know I can't. Please, you have to understand. I'll have to call security if you don't stop it!"
"I thought you were security." Hermione commented. "I'm warning you, Harry. Let me in!"
"No." Harry said.
Hermione glanced up at him and then pushed him back with all of her power and watched him fall onto the sleek, shiny floor with a shocked look on his face. She pushed against the giant doors with all of the strength she could muster and ran into the great room. The second she entered, all of the talking stopped and every person in the room stood up and looked at her. Seeing Mr. Weasley only made her think of Molly more. She gave a sob and then covered her mouth with her hands.
"Potter!" Percy boomed. "Get her out of here at once!"
"Hermione, come on." Harry mumbled, completely embarrassed. He grabbed her arm a little too firmly. Hermione kept her eyes locked on Mr. Weasley's.
"Wait." Arthur said, standing up. All of the eyes that had been on Hermione turned to him.
Arthur got up from his chair, walked around the chairs and past the murderer and straight in front of Hermione. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked hard at her. He wondered what on Earth had made her so upset and that it struck him. "Oh, dear God." he breathed. Arthur ran out of the room and disappeared with a wave of his wand. Harry looked at Hermione with anger his eyes. He released her arm.
"What is this about, Hermione?" he asked. "What's going on?"
She didn't answer either, but merely apparated out of his sight.
---
Arthur rushed into the house, his heart beat uncomfortably fast. He heard Hermione come in behind him. "In her room." she said. "Hurry!" Arthur ran up The Burrow stairs, blinded by his tears. He didn't care if he wasn't supposed to cry or that he left the trial. He ran through the hallway, past the open doors of his children's rooms and into the room he had shared with Molly for fifty-three years. Charlie was wiping the blood off of her mouth and looking down at her mournfully. He looked up when he saw his father. The unfallen tears were in his eyes, and his thick, outer shell that all Weasley men had was broken and his true emotions showed. Arthur approached her slowly, sitting beside her on the bed. A feeling of helplessness took her, threatening to take him if he did not resist it.
"My Molly." he said softly. "Where is the one place in the world that you would like to be most in the world?"
She looked at him with misted eyes and was quiet before answering. "On the very bottom step on the front porch. I don't care if it is too cold. That is where I would like to be."
Arthur smiled at her and picked her up. Charlie and Hermione followed him as he descended slowly down the Burrow stairs. The stairs that she would never climb up or down on again. He took her out onto the front porch, where sky was cloudless and the air was crisp and cold. There was no wind, just the silence of a winter day. He sat down with her still on his lap, looking out into the frozen meadow before them. He heard Hermione settle down in the rocking chair that he had bought for Molly seven years ago and Charlie stood, leaning against the closed door. Everything was quiet and all Arthur wanted to think about was the weather. The ridiculous weather. Molly, her eyes were unreadable. She just sat there smiling, looking out onto the field. They sat there for long, counted minutes. Even the smallest cough or word seemed incredibly loud.
"What are you thinking about right now?" Arthur said as her smile grew bigger.
"You." she said happily.
And it was there, at four past five on December 24th that Molly Elaine Eloise Weasley passed away, in the arms of her husband in the one place that she would've liked to be in the entire world. A cold winter breeze swept through the air the moment she left them, like a whisper, like a thought just passing by. Arthur dared not look at his wife, just held her tighter then he ever had and buried his head in her snow-white hair. Hermione started to sob and Charlie put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"She's gone." Hermione sobbed. "Oh, God."
---
The rest of Molly's children found out in the paper that their mother had died. Arthur had not gone to work the next day, Molly's body being transported to St. Mungo's. He sat in the rocking chair on Christmas Day, feeling as lost and lonely as he ever had. What a life she had lead, what a life that had touched his. A life that he never understood to its full extent, but loved, nonetheless. His Molly was gone. Hermione and Bill were still at the house, Charlie cleaning up the blood in the bathroom. Hermione was reading the book that Molly did not finish on the front porch, in the rocking chair. He felt so sad, so angry, so lost. But, this time, there was no Molly to find him again and bring him back to reality. The paper rested on his lap and the headline seemed to blare at him, mocking him, teasing him. "Minister's Wife Passes On." The article just told of how he left the court, of how he did not go to work today, of how many children they had and what each one did. They told nothing of her life, nothing of her greatness.
"Dad." Charlie said, dressed in his black dress robes. "It's time to go. We cannot be late. Hermione is already ready."
Arthur said nothing, just got up and nodded. Hermione stood outside the door and when he closed the door behind him, she took his hand and smiled at him through her tears.
"Don't cry." Arthur said, smiling softly. "You did all that you could."
"No." Hermione said, shaking her head. "There is always more that one could do. But, a very wise woman once told me something. She said that life is too short to have regrets and I do believe that she is right."
Arthur smiled. "She was right."
The funeral was held in the Hogsmeade Cathedral. This time, all of Molly's children and grandchildren showed up, dressed in black. They all came by their own will, to bid their mother a final farewell and then disappearing again. None could meet their father's eyes when he walked in. McGonagall attended the funeral, and so did Seth. Old, old Seth who they had not talked to in well over ten years sat right beside Arthur at Molly's funeral. Her casket was closed, but a still, muggle photograph sat on top a table in front of her casket. She was younger then, with all seven of her living children. Bill only fourteen and Ginny only two. The speaker read the article that was in the paper and the eulogy that was prepared by Hermione. And then, there was silence. Arthur rose from his seat and walked over to his wife's coffin, not knowing what to say, hoping that somehow, if he did say something, she would hear him.
"All eight of our children." he said, quietly. "Laura, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny. All of them are beautiful. Laura is gone already, left us when we were young and foolish. And the rest of them, the rest of them are growing up. You were sad that they didn't come to visit like they used to. We've given them the strength to go out into the world and survive without us." he paused. "I have made so many mistakes. Getting drunk, abandoning my family to name just a few. And every time you brought me back. There is no speech, no words to express my gratitude and love for you. I love you, Molly. I have loved you ever since my Fifth Year. I still love you. I will never stop loving you."
Nine doves sat in a rather large cage behind the coffin. Arthur smiled. Attached to eight of the doves was the Ribbon of each of his child. He had gotten the copy of Laura and Bill's ribbon from the hospital. Two pink, faded Ribbons and six faded blue ribbons tied to their legs. Attached to the Ninth was nothing. The Ninth was the most special of them all because it symbolized the freedom of simplicity and the beauty of being free. Arthur took out his wand and flicked it three times. The metal door of the birdcage flew open and all Nine of the Doves flew out, scattering, flying and then flying out the top window of the cathedral, into the sky. Dear God, Arthur thought. Let them reach her. Let her see them.
Arthur closed his eyes and let the silence envelope him and felt his entire life spin before him. And through his entire life, he saw Molly. She was his wife, his purpose in living. Now that she was gone, he would not find another purpose. He would live his days to the best of his abilities because that's what she would have wanted. When he made those vows before Dumbledore fifty-three years ago, by God, he meant them with every breath he took. Until Death do us Part, he said quietly. But, he thought, maybe it does not end in death. Maybe the happy endings are not when one dies and the other lives. Maybe the happy endings are those stories that don't really have an end, but go on for all eternity. The stories that that didn't seem try, but were. And, he felt, that his story was one of them. No, he corrected himself, smiling.
Their story.
FIN.
Arthur was always tired with his work. She knew there wasn't anything she could do, but still, she felt like she should do something. When he came home, they barely talked anymore, because Arthur ate and then buried his nose in a book and usually fell asleep on their couch. Molly sometimes wished to drag him up the stairs to their bed, but decided to let him sleep. But when she trudged up those worn, wooden stairs at night and looked down at her snoring husband, she couldn't help but feel lonely. And when she crept into bed at night, her dreams were filled with her children.
"I'm a sad song." she sighed to The Cat. (The Cat was Crookshanks, who had died when Hermione was there on vacation and had decided to haunt the house). "And I can't even say I'm old and fat! Isn't it a pity. Christmas will be here soon, though. The days seem terribly long."
"Who are you talking to, Molly?" Arthur asked, coming into the room.
"The Cat." Molly replied softly, not looking at him.
"Oh." Arthur said, blinking. Sometimes he worried about his wife's sanity. "You could always call Ginny if you want to talk to a living being. Or, you could always talk to me. The Cat isn't much of a conversationalist, is he now?"
"How many days until Christmas?" Molly asked, disregarding him.
"Three-hundred and six." Arthur sighed. "It's not particularly soon, but sooner then it was yesterday, I suppose."
Molly smiled. "Charlie's birthday is in sixteen days. What do you think he would like for his birthday?"
Arthur chuckled. "Oh, he might be a little old for birthday presents. Maybe you could just send him a letter or a card. He'll like it, I'm sure."
"I would like a present on my birthday." Molly said looking at him. "The Healer says there is nothing wrong with me, so I think you can stop looking at me like I'm crazy and stop talking to me like I'm a mental patient."
"Sorry, sorry." Arthur said, walking out of the room. "I've work to do anyway."
Arthur walked into the living room and sat on the couch. His wife really was losing her mind, slowly, but surely. He knew what was causing it, too. Their children. Yes, their children were causing his wife such heartache, although they once gave her so much joy and purpose. They hadn't written one letter, and when Ginny called, she called only because she felt it was her duty and her words sounded annoyed to the point of rudeness. His wife would care for their rooms like they still lived in the house and refused to throw anything out. Sometimes, she would just stare forlornly at their pictures on the wall. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, she would shrink down and cry, long, lost sobs. He never comforted her, because once, when he tried to, she wouldn't speak to him for days and refused to eat. She was terribly thin, and he missed her. It was Christmas that brought back his wife. Just Christmas. He missed her when she was gone, but it was not something he could control. Which is also why he kept count of the days until Christmas, because his children would bring her back to him for a few days while they stayed and then she would go again, as soon as she had come.
"Do we have any gingerbread cookies?" she said softly, coming into the room. "Ron used to love gingerbread cookies. He might come and visit. I can feel it in my bones. We should have gingerbread cookies."
"We don't have any gingerbread cookies." Arthur said gently. "You should bake some. I would like some gingerbread cookies if Ron doesn't visit."
"No, no." Molly said quietly. "I'll bake them around Christmas. He will come at Christmas, won't he Arthur? All of them will come at Christmas time. I love Christmas, Arthur."
"So do I, Molly." Arthur said, smiling. "I love it very much."
Their days passed like this. Arthur always looked upon his wife with tender regret and wished she would come back to him a little more often. He owed her so much, and he had to rely on his children to give her joy that he alone could not. He knew that she loved him as much as he loved her, if not more. But sometimes, it was so hard to see her, so thin and feeble, always looking for something that was not there to find. Nothing could save her if the children didn't come. Arthur remembered last year, when he had to go to every single one of their houses and threaten their inheritance if they didn't come willingly. In the end, they had all showed up, a little bitter, but nonetheless, there. Of course, Molly loved for them all to get together for Christmas because she knew that all of them lived very far apart and it was good for them to get together.
Arthur sighed. Bill, Percy, Charlie and Harry Potter all worked in the Ministry. Bill was the treasurer and Percy was very important (although Arthur wasn't quite sure what he did). Charlie was the Care of Magical Creatures regulator and Harry Potter was the Top Auror in the Ministry. Arthur of course, was the Minister of Magic. He saw his children in the lunch room all of the time, and he knew they saw him, but they never said anything to him. Ginny was a housewife, working on writing a cookbook. Hermione was the Nurse at Hogwart's. She had earned herself a new nickname by the students for her strictness of rules: Madame Horny Toad Weasel. Ron was the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher and he was very good at it. And Minerva McGonagall was the Headmaster after the death of Dumbledore a few years earlier.
The months did not fly by, nor did they go slower then they should have. They just went, and sometimes, Molly would talk to Arthur, short, snippets of a conversation. So, they soon reached November, which was very close to Christmas. After a certain conversation, Arthur thought it would be good for the both of them to get out of the house for a while. So, he told Molly that the house was being tented for termites and they were to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Molly nodded and said it was sad that they could not take The Cat (she was awfully fond of that dead thing). So, Arthur packed her a suitcase and he packed himself one as well and they took the four o'clock train to Diagon Alley.
"I've not been around people for a long time." Molly said on the train.
"What about me?" Arthur asked her.
"You don't count." she said, smiling. "You know me."
"Yes, I suppose I do know you." he had said.
Arthur had chosen the Leaky Cauldron because he knew that Harry, Percy, Bill and Charlie had dinner there on occasion. Arthur thought it would be nice for his wife to do a little bit of shopping and then see some of her children before Christmas. Arthur wanted to make sure they were going to make it to Christmas dinner. Their room wasn't very big, but it was the nicest room that they had (Arthur was the Minister of Magic, after all) and it suited Molly fine. He had offered to take her shopping, but she had said that she wanted to go alone and that he should go and find her a book.
"A nice book." she said. "It must be thick. I want it to be about something very nice. Could you buy me a book like that?"
"Yes." Arthur nodded, putting a sack of money in her purse. "I will buy you a very nice book."
"Not two books." she said. "That just spoils the fun."
"Of course not." he smiled as she started to walk away. "I promise."
She disappeared into the crowd and he found himself feeling very happy that she was actually going to do something that did not involve his children. He went to the muggle bookstore just outside the Leaky Cauldron and bought her Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. It was rather thick and it had some pictures in it. He bought a ribbon and tied it around the book, deciding that Molly could use it as a bookmark. He went back into the Leaky Cauldron and back into Diagon Alley to find his wife and found her at the entrance with a small box in her hands. She smiled at him and handed him the box.
"We can hang it on the Christmas tree." she said. "I think the children will like it."
The ornament was rather small, but it was glass. Hand blown glass. It was of a young woman, sitting on a chair with her husband standing over her. Around them were several little children, eight children. The detail was exquisite, every single finger was crafted, every single facial expression, every single stitch on the tiny sweaters. Arthur smiled at her and she took it into her thin hands. He handed her the book and she smiled at it approvingly. They both walked into the Leaky Cauldron, Arthur holding an empty box filled with tissue paper. In the corner, he saw that his sons were talking over something. He turned to his wife and told her to go up the stairs and wait in their room. He didn't want them to reject going to Christmas dinner with her there. He could only imagine the hurt that would go through her eyes.
"You can go and read your book. Won't that be grand?" he asked her, suddenly aware that his sons had spotted them and were staring.
"It's very nice" she said, looking at it. "What are you going to do?"
"I have something to take care of." Arthur said.
"Are you going to go to work again?" she asked quietly.
"No." he said. "I'll meet you up there in a little while, alright?"
"I suppose it is okay." she said, licking her lips and starting up the stairs.
Arthur watched her walk up. It ate away at him to see her so weak, so unlike the woman that he had married. But then, there was nothing he could do about it. This was one of the things that he had to put in the hands of his children. He walked over to them and asked if he could have a seat. Charlie nodded mutely and he sat down. The table was silent, and he felt the tension. Of course he was mad at his children! He loved them all the same, but he was just very upset. He knew from their faces that they weren't planning to come to Christmas dinner. They wouldn't do it for him, and maybe not even for their mother. He sighed.
"I know it's not in your plans this year to come to Christmas Dinner." said Arthur quietly. "But if you won't do it for me, won't you do it for your mother?"
"We have a new house." Percy said. "We would like to spend it in our new house. It's very sentimental, I've worked for years to buy it."
"It's such a hassle to get all of the children's clothes packed and them into a train and go to The Burrow." Harry said. "Ginny is so touchy, she's pregnant again. I don't think I should stress her to travel."
"A new shipment of dragon eggs is due in Rome. I was planning to spend Christmas in Rome with my wife and children. Christmas in Rome is something that we've always wanted to do." Charlie said, staring at the table.
"I don't have time." Bill said. "I'm a single father, Dad. Elise and I have plans to go over to visit Fleur's mother and father. They still grieve for her, even though it's been six years since she died giving birth."
Arthur was silent. They all had legible excuses, they were all perfectly sensible. "Your mother would really like it if you came." he said, almost desperately. "She's been waiting for this all year. Won't you please consider it?"
"We don't have time, Dad." Percy said. "You of all people should realize that."
If only he could tell them how their mother cried at night, cleaned their rooms and was losing her mind slowly! But, he knew that Molly didn't want them to come to her because they felt obliged to. He knew that she didn't want to be thought of as weak and feeble and weepy. She wanted to be remembered by her children as a strong, happy soul. He felt the pit of anger in his stomach and knew that their decision was final. Fred, George and Ron probably had some royal excuse also. He had seen the look of sheer greif in his wife's eyes before, when their first daughter had died, and he knew, that he never wanted to see it again. He sighed and stood up, suddenly realizing that they were indeed grown up and that he and Molly were just old people. Old people that were taken for granted, tossed aside. He stood up and turned his back, and walked away without saying goodbye.
In the room, Molly was sitting on the edge of the bed, fingering the ornament in her hands. "So, what did they say?"
"Who?" Arthur said, closing the door slowly.
"Bill, Percy, Charlie and Harry." Molly said, laughing slightly. "I saw them. I knew you were going to go and talk to them."
"They said that they were very sorry." Arthur said quietly, a knot in his throat as he looked at his wife. "But they cannot come to Christmas dinner. They said they will come next year."
Molly's face clearly fell, although she tried to hide it. She looked down and away from Arthur. "It seems the only way to get them altogether would be for me to die and have a funeral. Would they even come to that? Would they even come to visit my grave?"
"Molly, don't talk like that." Arthur said, walking over to her. "Come on, I'll get you some gingerbread cookies. You love gingerbread cookies, don't you?"
"I'm not hungry." Molly said, standing up. "I just want to sleep. You can go and get something to eat, Arthur. I want to take a nap. Today has made me very tired."
"Alright." Arthur said.
He walked out of the room, not fully closing the door. He stood outside of the room for a few minutes. Finally, he looked through the crack of the door and saw his wife, huddled under the window, sitting on the cold ground, sobbing her heart out. Her tiny body shook and she hugged her knees, making her seem so much smaller. Arthur sighed and looked away. He shut the door quietly and leaned against the hallway wall. He ran his hands through his hair and sank down, sitting on the ground. There was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing, besides put a leash on all of his children and drag them back home. But, somehow, he thought, that wouldn't work very well. He was losing his wife, and his children were already lost to him. This was his life, and he feared that his wife might outlive him and she would be left all alone. He didn't want that for her, to die of a broken heart. Arthur had never, in his life, ever felt so helpless and vulnerable.
"Dad?" A foot nudged him. "Dad, why are you on the floor?"
Arthur looked up to see Charlie, hovering over him. "Your mother wanted to be alone. I just told her that all of you couldn't make it Christmas dinner."
"Well, is she alright? I just came up to say hello." Charlie asked.
Arthur stood up slowly. He pointed to the door. "Open the door slowly and see for yourself."
Charlie opened the door slowly and shock filled his eyes. He made a move to walk into the room and comfort her, but Arthur grabbed his arm. "Don't. There is nothing anyone can do for her when she's like this."
"It's happened before?" Charlie asked.
Arthur nodded silently. "Your mother preferred that you didn't see her like this. Hermione is supposed to ask you about the anatomy of a certain bite that a student has later today. If you would be so kind as to tell her about your poor mother. But, don't tell anyone else. Are you going to come to come to Christmas Dinner now?"
"I don't suppose I have a choice." Charlie said with a small smile. "It'll be a lot harder to convince those hardheaded brothers of mine to come to Christmas Dinner, but I'll do my best. As for Hermione, well, she's always been fond of Mum."
"That's good." Arthur smiled.
Charlie gave him a retreating smile as Arthur entered the room again. Molly was now sitting under the window, not bothering to hide the fact that she was crying. Arthur crossed the room slowly, the silence between them becoming louder and louder with every step he took. He slumped down beside her sighed deeply. "I don't want you to touch me." she said. Arthur said nothing at all, because at that moment there was a knock on the door. He called for them to come in and in stepped Hermione Granger, still in her Madame Horny Toad Weasel uniform. At the sight of Molly, she let out a cry, rushed to her and they held each other, both crying as hard as they could. Arthur stood up and walked over to the other side of the bed, to look out at the window while they sobbed.
"I was just chopping onions." Molly was sobbing. "It was just onions!"
"I know. I know." Hermione sobbed back. "I'll make sure Ron and Harry and Ginny find their way back home. I promise I'll do all that I can, even if I have to threaten my position at Hogwart's!"
"It was just onions ..." Molly said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Hermione was saying something that concerned her children. "I'm not crying for any other reason!"
Onions, thought Arthur. We don't even have any onions.
---
Hermione Weasley (aka: Madame Horny Toad Weasel) returned to Hogwart's within three hours of her miniature excursion to the Leaky Cauldron. When Ron had asked her what was wrong with her, she told him to get Harry and Ginny down to the school within the hour. He had replied that there was no way he could do that, and she had replied that if he wanted to keep her from ripping his stupid little head off he would do it, and he would it do it extremely fast. Hermione went into the Infirmary and dried her eyes, made her way up to The Headmaster's office and explained what was going on. McGonagall had rubbed her eyes and muttered something about the arrogance of the men and women these days. Ron had been called out of class to the Headmaster's office and that is where he now stood, looking very flustered.
"Are they here yet?" Hermione asked him. "Well, are they?"
"Harry is on his way -- on the train right now with Ginny." Ron said, his guide dog, coincidently named Dog nudging his feet. "Now, if you would just tell me what in bloody hell your problem is --"
"Don't you curse in my face, you ignorant fool!" Hermione yelled.
"What did I do now?" Ron yelled back. "I haven't done anything arrogant, annoying, stupid, disrespectful in the last twenty-six hours, four minutes and three seconds for you to be mad at me for!"
"You are so daft." Hermione scoffed, turning away from her.
"Don't turn your back on me! I can hear you because you're always so dramatic when it comes to expressing your emotions! You can't give me the cold shoulder without me knowing what I'm getting your cold shoulder for!" Ron yelled angrily in the direction of her voice. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for whatever it is I did and I promise I'll never, as long as I may live, do it again."
"Can you believe him?" she asked McGonagall, who was looking quite amused while feeding Fawkes. "Four children and three teaching positions later and he's still as ignorant as he was before we got married!"
The sound of the grinding, rising stairwell filled the room and all three of them turned their heads to see a very pregnant Ginny and Harry walking (Ginny was limping of course) into the office. McGonagall stopped feeding Fawkes and sat down at her desk, waiting for the next set of arguments.
"What's this about?" Ginny asked Ron. "You had me scared, saying that it was an emergency and that your life was at stake if we didn't come."
"It is at stake." Ron said, sighing. "Ask Hermione what this little party is about, because I was just told to get all of you here, or suffer the penalty of death."
"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked her, taking the smallest step away from his angry wife.
"This is about Christmas Dinner." Hermione said, straightening her spine.
"Good God!" Ron cried, throwing his hands up.
"You dragged me, a six month pregnant woman with twins, from my very comfortable feather bed onto a train with a bunch of sweaty teenagers to talk about Christmas Dinner?" Ginny yelled.
"Yes, I did." Hermione said, the tone in her voice not humbling the slightest bit. "I understand that you and Harry do not plan to go to Mrs. Weasley's house for Christmas Dinner. And I simply must insist that you do go, no, I demand you to reconsider, no, to meet my demand."
Harry widened his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny beat him to it. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have two small children at home, and two on the way? Do you know what it would mean if I had to pack all of their clothes, their toothbrushes, buy presents for all of my brothers and their children, of whom I don't even know their names of even if they exist? Do you realize how sentimental Christmas is for Harry and I to spend at our house? Hermione Weasley, have you lost your mind? I'm not going to Christmas Dinner there!"
"You went last year." Hermione said, a tone of anger in her voice.
"My father came to our house and threatened our inheritance! He threatened to give the burrow to the Malfoy family, of all people! He forced us to come: practically put a leash around our necks and dragged us out of the house!" Ginny said angrily. "Don't you tell me that I have to meet your insane demands. I am a mother and I have other things to do then visit my aging parents for three days!"
"Hermione, they're busy." Ron said. "And come to think of it, so are we. You have that tutoring thing over Christmas vacation and I have the Triwizard Tournament Coaching in Bulgaria. I promised my team that I'd be there for them."
"Please try to understand." Harry said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "There is always next year that we can go. By then, things may have settled down. This holiday season is a little hectic for us."
"We have to get back." Ginny said. "I love you Hermione, but let's face it, we don't have time to go to Christmas Dinner."
"How can you take your own mother for granted?" Hermione asked, tears forming in her eyes as her voice grew softer. "How can you just toss the thought of how much this may mean to her as if it were nothing? How can you just stand there and say no?"
"We have things to do." Ginny said, smiling. "I love my mother, but my children need me at home."
Ginny and Harry left the office, leaving Hermione standing there, feeling defeated and failed. She turned to Ron with her eyes glistening with tears that had not yet fallen. "Don't look at me like that." Ron said gently. "I can feel the tears in your eyes. You know that I have so many things to do. It's busy enough already. I promise you we'll go next year, Hermione."
He started to walk out of the office when Hermione called out to him, "I will go. I'll go all by myself. I'll leave tomorrow, no today! I'll stay with your mother. You can come and get me at Christmas Dinner if you even plan to attend. If not, well, you'll know where to find me."
"Hermione, don't you think this is a bit childish?" Ron sighed. "Headmaster is not going to let you walk out on the students who are injured and take care of my mother. Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?"
"I will let her go." McGonagall said, speaking up at last. "The arrogance of Molly's children has bothered me greatly, so, I will let you go Madame Weasley. I will take care of the children in the infirmary, don't you worry, Ron. And, I think I might attend Christmas Dinner at Molly Weasley's house also. It has been a while since I've seen her."
"I will never understand, women. Ever." He muttered loudly as he descended down the stairs.
Hermione rubbed her eyes and went down the infirmary during the class change to pack her bags. She saw something in Molly's eyes when she visited her. Someone who was dying of a broken heart, of a broken mind, of a broken spirit. She had seen it in Neville's mother when she had died in St. Mungo's six years earlier. She had just kept asking for Neville. Neville. Neville. Hermione did not have the heart to tell her that Neville had been killed during the war, so she just told her that Neville was coming soon. Mrs. Longbottom died waiting for her son to come. By God, Hermione was not about to let Mrs. Weasley die the same death, waiting for her children, only wanting them for dinner and a few days visit. Hermione shivered, she was afraid of growing old. Growing old and being forgotten, only wanting her children to comfort her, becoming angry in the comfort of only her blind husband. Hermione took up her suitcase that was filled with a few sets of clothes, her pajamas and other things and started to walk to the entrance of Hogwart's.
"Hermione, this is ridiculous!" Ron yelled, being pulled by his dog. He caught her arm.
"You're ridiculous, Ron!" Hermione said, increasing her pace, charging through the oncoming students during the class change.
"Will you just come back? We can talk this over!" Ron said. "My mother is a little on the loony side, Hermione. What'll she know if we skip one Christmas? What will she care?"
Hermione stopped in her tracks and slammed her suitcase as hard as she could on the ground. The entire rush of students stopped and the hall grew quiet with a deathly silence. "If you want to take your Triwizard Team to Bulgaria, fine! I hope you meet up with Viktor Krum! If you want to stay here during the Holiday Break and eat School Food, fine! But, you will not stand here and tell me that all your mother did for you was nothing! That's nothing but lies! So, you can either come and get me and have Christmas Dinner with her and the rest of your siblings, or you are going the rest of your life regretting it!"
"Okay, fine!" Ron yelled just as loudly. "You can go! I have things to do, Hermione, besides listening to you yell at me about how under appreciative I am!"
Hermione grabbed her suitcase and angrily pushed through the herd of stopped students. The Great Hall door opened and she rushed through it, off to the Hogwart's Express. She'd given it her best shot, but it was no use. Her best friends wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't even consider it. She bit through the cold November air and rushed towards the train. She threw her suitcase at the worker and ran onto the train. She took a seat near the door, crossed her arms and fumed. There was no one else on the train except Charlie who had been waiting for her. He had no such luck with Bill, Percy, Fred or George, even after he told them that Molly was likely to die any day. Charlie couldn't take his Christmas Vacation until a few days before Christmas because he was in the middle of a case involving a blast-ended skrewt that somehow got inside a muggle library.
"How much longer do you think she will live?" Charlie asked her.
"Without children, a mother's life doesn't seem worth living." Hermione replied quietly. "I can't imagine the hell she goes through before and after Christmas."
Charlie was quiet throughout the rest of their train ride. Yes, of course he loved his mother. She was his companion, his protector, his friend, his guardian and most of all, his mother! When Bill didn't play with him, didn't pay attention to him, his mother was the one to always put down whatever she was doing to read him a story. And even though he was a father now, a husband, he realized that his mother should not be forgotten because of that. His wife had been furious when he said that he would not be coming to Romania with him that year, but promised a visit next year. It was all he could do, he needed to be with his mother. Charlie leaned his head back against the cold window and let sleep take him slowly as he listened to Hermione flip through the pages of a book.
"Wake up Charlie." Hermione said shaking his shoulder. "We're here."
The stop closest to The Burrow wasn't all that close the burrow after all. In fact, it was a five-mile journey. But Arthur, being the Minister of Magic, had installed a portkey near the train stop that was only five steps away. Charlie stood on the porch with Hermione, listening to the familiar sounds of his childhood. He could hear the garden gnomes chattering away in his backyard, the familiar rustle of the frozen tree branches. He could hear the familiar wind of the meadow they lived in and he could almost hear his younger brothers, in all of their glory, gloating and playing and running about inside the house. He sighed and knocked on the door heavily. At first, he heard no sound behind the old wooden door, so Hermione took her fist and banged hard against the door, enough to wake the scarecrows, thought Charlie. Then, they both heard the slow footsteps of someone that seemed very old. Charlie sighed as the door opened and his mother's face peered out. Once she caught site of who was at her door, she flung the door open and spread her arms wide.
"Oh, Charlie! Hermione! What a wonderful surprise!" she said, hugging both of them at the same time. "Come in! Come in! It's so cold outside! Would you like some tea? How about some hot chocolate? I have coffee too!"
"Hello, Mum." Charlie said, following her into the kitchen.
"Hermione, dear, you can put your things in the living room for now. By the looks of it, you'll be here a while. Oh, but I don't mind! I don't mind at all! It's very wonderful you've decided to stay here! It gets so lonely here sometimes." Molly said, rushing to get a kettle boiling.
Charlie had a cup of black coffee while Hermione sipped on a cup of hot chocolate. Molly kept babbling on about things, suddenly appearing very happy and energetic. Molly was drinking a glass of milk. After they were all done, and Molly at the sink, still chattering away happily about many things at one time, Charlie leaned over and whispered to Hermione, "I know it is a lot to ask of you, Hermione. But, Mum hasn't even written her will yet. I know she won't write it straight out, so you have to write it for her and get her to sign it."
"You want me to trick her?" Hermione hissed.
"What if Mum outlives Dad?" Charlie asked her. "Then, the only person that will get everything she owns is Malfoy because he owns this meadow."
"I'll find a way." Hermione assured him.
"What are you two whispering about?" Molly asked walking over, a smile on her thin face.
"Nothing at all, Mum." Charlie said. "But, I have to go now. I've got to get back to the Ministry."
"Oh, all right. But, you will come back for Christmas Dinner, won't you?" she smiled.
"Yes. Of course I will." he said.
Hermione stayed in Ginny's old room, marveling of how clean and kept it looked. It was as if Ginny still lived there. There was no dust, and all of her old robes and dresses were ironed and washed, as if she were to wake up the next morning and wear them. Molly and Hermione's days were slow and easing, one day oozing into the next gracefully. Hermione wondered why Molly's own children didn't appreciate this. Usually, Hermione would follow Molly around the house, listening to her chatter anxiously. Hermione would cook them a small lunch, but Molly insisted she cook dinner for Arthur. The three of them ate together, and sometimes Arthur came home late and they had to wait. Hermione felt so amazed as she saw how deep Molly's love and commitment was to her husband and her children.
Sometimes, they would go up to the attic and look at photo albums, at old faded, moving pictures that waved at them when they turned the page. Molly found much bliss in this, although Hermione would much rather be doing something else. At times, Charlie would drop in just to say hello and have a cup of coffee, but then would go back to the Ministry. Molly was happy that Hermione was there, of course she was! But if her other children would contact her, well, that would be very much better. She assumed all of her children were coming to Christmas Dinner, because Charlie and Hermione were here and surely they wouldn't be able to resist coming if Charlie and Hermione were there. Molly rubbed her hands together as she stood on the porch, breathing in the cold December air. She heard the door open behind her and Hermione step out beside her.
"It's cold, Mrs. Weasley." she said. "We should get inside."
"Do you see the grass, Hermione?" Molly said quietly. "It's frozen. It's cold. But, in spring, it will be green again, this entire meadow will be green. Do you remember those old Quidditch Rings in the backyard? Those, those will always remain rusted. Rusted and old and used. Isn't it a strange life that we all lead?"
Hermione sighed. "Mrs. Weasley, do you see that chair there, next to the window?"
"Yes, I see it. Arthur put it out here seven years ago for me to rock in when he was away on business. I've never sat in it, just thought it looked pretty." Molly said sadly.
"If you were to give it to one of your children, who would it be?" Hermione said, feeling very guilty about tricking Mrs. Weasley.
"Ginny." said Mrs. Weasley quietly. "It's just the sort of chair that I can see Ginny sitting in, holding her small children in. Yes, I would give it to Ginny."
During the next week, Hermione would ask about things in every room and to whom Mrs. Weasley would give them. Molly never gave a thought to why Hermione was asking such strange questions about her possessions, but rather liked the thought of giving things to her children and observing the smallest items in the rooms, like the tiny glass figurines on Ginny's windowsill or the plastic dragons that sat all over Charlie's room. Or, the Quidditch Set that lay in the closet of Bill's room. Or, the large journal of Amusing Inventions that Fred and George kept. And of course, there was the shrine of the Chudley Cannons that was in Ron's room. There were stacks and mountains of books in Percy's room, and there were so many old albums and sentimental things that Molly would smile at. Sometimes, when she couldn't decide who needed the item or whom she wanted to give it to, she would cock her head and ask Hermione what she thought. Hermione never knew what she thought about the item, because usually, it was a just a pot or a pan or a cauldron heater.
"What about these old broken glasses of Percy?" Molly said, smiling at the cracked lenses. "Do you think that he would like them?"
"I don't know." Hermione said, scribbling 'broken glasses of Percy' on the piece of parchment that she had been recording all of the possessions. "How about you give them to Bill?"
"Yes, that is a good idea." said Molly smiling. "Bill did name Percy, after all. Did I tell you that story yet, Hermione?"
"Yes." Hermione said, but when she saw the look on Molly's face, she quickly added, "But I would love to hear it again, please."
Hermione had heard countless stories about Molly's children, some of which fascinated her, some of which bored her to the point of no return. Nonetheless, she listened and marveled at the attention that Molly paid to detail. She could remember the exact knit of the sweater, the exact age, day, month and year. It was then that she decided that old age may not take away the memory, that it may just be the loss of hope that steals it away from people. When Hermione had every single item of importance in the house recorded and whom it would belong to, she handed the parchment to Molly for her to sign. Molly took it to her room and read it over, with Hermione sitting on the front porch, rocking in a cardigan and a scarf, reading a book she had found in the kitchen called Little Women. She sat there for a good deal of time, and got tired of reading the book. She closed it and held it on her lap, looking far into the meadow, wondering how a place could seem so at peace. The door opened and Molly gave Hermione the parchment with her signature.
"Thank you." Molly said. "I know I couldn't have written that on my own."
"I'm sorry I tricked you into writing your own will." Hermione said. "That was wrong of me to do, even though I meant well."
"Don't be sorry." Molly said, smiling. "Life is to short to have regrets."
On December 23rd, Charlie came for lunch and informed his mother that he would be staying until December 27th, for the Christmas holidays. That lunch, they had soup, which Hermione had cooked with inexperienced hands. Charlie could taste the difference, but didn't say anything, afraid of hurting Hermione's feelings. Charlie had pestered all of his brothers and his sister. He had called them every other day, pleading with them to reconsider Christmas Dinner, but was careful not to tell them why. He had even tried to plead with their wives, but nothing was successful. His own wife had been angry with him, even when he had explained. His wife and children were going to Rome without him this Christmas, and he couldn't help but feel bad about it. But, he owed his mother his life, his friendship, things that he could never repay or repent for. Lost minutes that had seeped through the years and had just disappeared.
"When are they coming, Charlie?" Molly said eagerly. "What time should we expect your brothers and sister? When is your family coming?"
"My family is going to Rome." he said, stirring his coffee. "Bill, Percy, Fred and George said that they couldn't come this time. They said they were very sorry."
"Oh." said Molly sadly. "What about you Hermione? When are Ron and Ginny coming?"
"They apologize from the bottom of their hearts, but they couldn't make it this year. They promised to come next year, and I know they're thinking about you." Hermione said, almost apologetically.
"So, it will just be the four of us, then." Molly said, trying to fight her tears. "Just the four of us. Just like a happy little family."
"Mum." Charlie said, embracing her as she started to break down. "It's all right. It's just fine, they'll come next year. I'm sure they will."
Hermione put her hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder as she sobbed. "Your children love you, Mrs. Weasley. They love you very very much."
Arthur walked into the kitchen and glanced at the scene with his sobbing wife. He looked away, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Seeing that there was no dinner prepared, he went over to the sink to wash his hands and cook what he could. Hermione walked over to the telephone, dialing Ginny and Ron, attempting one last time to come. She took the phone out of the room and shut the door, listening to the ring on the other side of the phone. There was silence, except for Molly's sobbing and the grumbling of the cauldron heater for a few minutes. Then, Hermione's loud, angry yells could be heard from the other room. There was a crash, as if she had thrown the telephone against the wall. Hermione came out of the room, face red with anger. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, not knowing what to do, unsure of anything. Wondering even if her own children would do this to her.
"Come, eat." Arthur said, ladling soup into four bowls.
They ate in silence, Molly looking at her soup, spooning some up, and then letting it drip back into the bowl. Charlie ate as if nothing was wrong, putting on a fake smile that seemed to be peeling right off of his face. Arthur ate just like Charlie, false emotions taped onto his face as he smiled at his wife. Hermione ate her soup slowly, not tasting it, just eating it, filling her stomach with it. Halfway through her bowl, she dropped her spoon on the table, covered her face with her right hand and cried. Mrs. Weasley reached over for her free hand and held it. "It's all right, Hermione. You've been wonderful to me. Very wonderful." she said. Hermione nodded through her tears. Arthur, finished with his soup, stood up and took all of the bowls to the sink to be washed as Hermione sat there crying and Bill trudged up the stairs without a retreating glance.
"Would you like some ice cream, Molly?" Arthur asked her. "Ice cream always cheers you up."
"I feel old." she responded. "I feel old and tired. I feel selfish. I'm going to sleep. I'm going to sleep for a long time, don't you bother me, Arthur. I would like to be alone for a little while."
Arthur and Hermione watched her as she slowly crossed the kitchen floor in slow, unsure steps. Hermione called out to her, "Are we still going to have Christmas Dinner, Mrs. Weasley?"
"No, Hermione. There will be no more Christmas Dinners for me." came the soft reply.
"What does she mean?" Hermione said, frantically turning to Arthur. "What does she mean there will be no more Christmas Dinners for her?"
"I don't know." Arthur said, sighing. He sat down and held his hand in his hands. "Oh, dear God. I have to work through this holiday. I have a wizard on Trial tomorrow, all day. I can't leave, I can't possibly put it off. Hermione, you and Charlie have to take care of Molly. Take very good care of her."
"What's going to happen to her?" Hermione asked, finding no explanation for her apparent illness in her head.
"I don't know." Arthur said. "I really don't know."
That night, Hermione slept in Ginny's room, listening to the silence of the house. She heard wispy winter winds passing by and weaving through the tree branches. Charlie slept in his old room, wondering about the lack of dust on all of his toy dragons. Arthur slept on the couch in the Living Room. He was more miserable then he had ever been in his entire life. He stared into the darkness, wanting to cry. But, he told himself, boys don't cry. It was an attitude that he had kept since he was little and was afraid that he had passed on to his children. His wife was letting go of her life. She was sick, her bones were brittle, she was very much underweight. She didn't eat as much as she should, and she couldn't find a reason to live. Arthur sighed deeply and closed his eyes and slept a long, dreamless sleep.
---
"Minister?" Percy said, nudging him. "Minister, the criminal pleads innocent."
"Wha -- Oh, yes." Arthur said, snapping back into reality. "What alibi does he have?"
The man was a murderer. It was plain and simple. He had killed, left his name at the murder sites and then ran. Arthur wasn't even concerned that he was still pleading innocent, his mind was elsewhere. His wife hadn't woken up to cook breakfast, rather slept in. Something she hadn't done in a very long time. Hermione and Charlie were with her, sitting in the room, wrapping empty boxes. Molly, he had told them, loved the sound of wrapping presents and the look of them even more. They had set up the Christmas tree in her room, a pitiful little artificial one. There were very few ornaments on the tree, including the one she had gotten at Diagon Alley. Arthur would like to have been there with her, with them. Was it cloudy outside, he wondered.
"Minister!" Percy said, louder this time. "Please focus at the matter at hand."
"Yes, of course. The matter at hand." Arthur repeated blankly. "Now, where were you when Luna Lovegood was killed?"
"Nowhere." the murderer answered.
"Oh, yes. Could you be a little more specific?" Arthur asked, not bothering to note his arrogance. "Nowhere is a bit difficult to pinpoint."
"I was in a bar, okay?" the murdered yelled gruffly. "Getting drunk."
"Right. Getting drunk." Arthur repeated.
---
Charlie tied the bow on another wrapped empty box and tossed it over with the others. Hermione looked at Mrs. Weasley, who was looking even paler and her breaths were short and ragged. She had a high fever, and her forehead was burning up. Charlie had draped six blankets over her, but still, she shivered. Hermione was constantly taking her temperature, and reporting to Charlie as she chattered on about random facts about fevers and old people that Charlie didn't particularly have an interest in.
"I'm going to the bathroom." she announced, successfully throwing off all six of Charlie's blankets. "Don't follow me. I'm a grown woman, you know."
"Yes, we know." Charlie said, watching her as she made her way into the bathroom door that was right next to their Christmas tree.
They heard the sink start running as Hermione tossed another wrapped box under the tree. She knew that she could stop now that Molly was awake. But. for some reason, she wanted to keep wrapping, as if there were some unknown comfort that it gave her. A feeling that her family might come at Christmas. Security, friendship and love were the things that went through her mind as she wrapped the presents as if they were her own to give, not just empty boxes. Charlie had stopped wrapping, and the water in the bathroom stopped running and instead, they heard Molly coughing. She started to cough harder and harder, more frequently. Charlie knocked on the bathroom door. "Mum? Mum, are you alright?"
There was no answer, except for the raspy coughs.
"Move." Hermione commanded him. She grasped the doorknob and yanked it open. Charlie rushed in to find his mother, sitting on the bathroom floor, holding the edge of the counter. Blood was splattered in the sink and onto the tile and onto the floor where she now sat. She gave him a helpless look and Charlie felt his stomach crash through the floor when he saw the blood that still dripped out of her mouth.
"Oh, God." He rushed to her, and caught her as she fell. "Hermione! Hermione what's wrong with her?"
"Get her to the bed!" Hermione said, a panic rising in her.
Charlie lifted up his mother and turned away when he saw the blood on her dress. "What's wrong with her? What is it?"
Hermione just stared, stunned. "I don't know." she sobbed, breaking down. "Oh my God, I don't know!" She was shaking.
"Listen to me!" Charlie grabbed her shoulders and held her firmly. "Go to the Ministry and get my father. Go find him."
"I can't leave her." Hermione sobbed. "I can't do it."
"Hermione!" Charlie said, shaking her. "Let him hold his wife one last time. Go and find my father. I don't care if you have to fly there, just get him here in time."
Hermione nodded tearfully, grabbed her wand off of the table and apparated to the dark Alley where the entrance was.
The Court was being held in the basement, this much she knew. She went down in the elevator, hands shaking and tears pouring down her cheeks. Ron would be here today, she thought. He would be having lunch with Harry and then watching the Trial. Harry would be standing guard at the entrance to the Trial, making sure that no one got in. Hermione's stomach plunged at the thought of this. The elevator stopped and she ran. She ran past cubicles, paper airplanes flying past her, left and right. She knew that her face would look horrible in the morning, paper cuts all over the place. Hermione saw Harry in front of the door, reading something.
"Hermione, wha--" he said, surprised when she nearly ran into him.
"I need to get in there!" she cried desperately.
"I can't let you in there. The Minister has a Trial he needs to attend to." Harry said.
"Harry! This is much more important than that! Let me in! Let me in!" she said, pushing against him.
Harry easily held her where she was, holding her wrists in his hands. "Hermione, you know I can't. Please, you have to understand. I'll have to call security if you don't stop it!"
"I thought you were security." Hermione commented. "I'm warning you, Harry. Let me in!"
"No." Harry said.
Hermione glanced up at him and then pushed him back with all of her power and watched him fall onto the sleek, shiny floor with a shocked look on his face. She pushed against the giant doors with all of the strength she could muster and ran into the great room. The second she entered, all of the talking stopped and every person in the room stood up and looked at her. Seeing Mr. Weasley only made her think of Molly more. She gave a sob and then covered her mouth with her hands.
"Potter!" Percy boomed. "Get her out of here at once!"
"Hermione, come on." Harry mumbled, completely embarrassed. He grabbed her arm a little too firmly. Hermione kept her eyes locked on Mr. Weasley's.
"Wait." Arthur said, standing up. All of the eyes that had been on Hermione turned to him.
Arthur got up from his chair, walked around the chairs and past the murderer and straight in front of Hermione. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked hard at her. He wondered what on Earth had made her so upset and that it struck him. "Oh, dear God." he breathed. Arthur ran out of the room and disappeared with a wave of his wand. Harry looked at Hermione with anger his eyes. He released her arm.
"What is this about, Hermione?" he asked. "What's going on?"
She didn't answer either, but merely apparated out of his sight.
---
Arthur rushed into the house, his heart beat uncomfortably fast. He heard Hermione come in behind him. "In her room." she said. "Hurry!" Arthur ran up The Burrow stairs, blinded by his tears. He didn't care if he wasn't supposed to cry or that he left the trial. He ran through the hallway, past the open doors of his children's rooms and into the room he had shared with Molly for fifty-three years. Charlie was wiping the blood off of her mouth and looking down at her mournfully. He looked up when he saw his father. The unfallen tears were in his eyes, and his thick, outer shell that all Weasley men had was broken and his true emotions showed. Arthur approached her slowly, sitting beside her on the bed. A feeling of helplessness took her, threatening to take him if he did not resist it.
"My Molly." he said softly. "Where is the one place in the world that you would like to be most in the world?"
She looked at him with misted eyes and was quiet before answering. "On the very bottom step on the front porch. I don't care if it is too cold. That is where I would like to be."
Arthur smiled at her and picked her up. Charlie and Hermione followed him as he descended slowly down the Burrow stairs. The stairs that she would never climb up or down on again. He took her out onto the front porch, where sky was cloudless and the air was crisp and cold. There was no wind, just the silence of a winter day. He sat down with her still on his lap, looking out into the frozen meadow before them. He heard Hermione settle down in the rocking chair that he had bought for Molly seven years ago and Charlie stood, leaning against the closed door. Everything was quiet and all Arthur wanted to think about was the weather. The ridiculous weather. Molly, her eyes were unreadable. She just sat there smiling, looking out onto the field. They sat there for long, counted minutes. Even the smallest cough or word seemed incredibly loud.
"What are you thinking about right now?" Arthur said as her smile grew bigger.
"You." she said happily.
And it was there, at four past five on December 24th that Molly Elaine Eloise Weasley passed away, in the arms of her husband in the one place that she would've liked to be in the entire world. A cold winter breeze swept through the air the moment she left them, like a whisper, like a thought just passing by. Arthur dared not look at his wife, just held her tighter then he ever had and buried his head in her snow-white hair. Hermione started to sob and Charlie put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"She's gone." Hermione sobbed. "Oh, God."
---
The rest of Molly's children found out in the paper that their mother had died. Arthur had not gone to work the next day, Molly's body being transported to St. Mungo's. He sat in the rocking chair on Christmas Day, feeling as lost and lonely as he ever had. What a life she had lead, what a life that had touched his. A life that he never understood to its full extent, but loved, nonetheless. His Molly was gone. Hermione and Bill were still at the house, Charlie cleaning up the blood in the bathroom. Hermione was reading the book that Molly did not finish on the front porch, in the rocking chair. He felt so sad, so angry, so lost. But, this time, there was no Molly to find him again and bring him back to reality. The paper rested on his lap and the headline seemed to blare at him, mocking him, teasing him. "Minister's Wife Passes On." The article just told of how he left the court, of how he did not go to work today, of how many children they had and what each one did. They told nothing of her life, nothing of her greatness.
"Dad." Charlie said, dressed in his black dress robes. "It's time to go. We cannot be late. Hermione is already ready."
Arthur said nothing, just got up and nodded. Hermione stood outside the door and when he closed the door behind him, she took his hand and smiled at him through her tears.
"Don't cry." Arthur said, smiling softly. "You did all that you could."
"No." Hermione said, shaking her head. "There is always more that one could do. But, a very wise woman once told me something. She said that life is too short to have regrets and I do believe that she is right."
Arthur smiled. "She was right."
The funeral was held in the Hogsmeade Cathedral. This time, all of Molly's children and grandchildren showed up, dressed in black. They all came by their own will, to bid their mother a final farewell and then disappearing again. None could meet their father's eyes when he walked in. McGonagall attended the funeral, and so did Seth. Old, old Seth who they had not talked to in well over ten years sat right beside Arthur at Molly's funeral. Her casket was closed, but a still, muggle photograph sat on top a table in front of her casket. She was younger then, with all seven of her living children. Bill only fourteen and Ginny only two. The speaker read the article that was in the paper and the eulogy that was prepared by Hermione. And then, there was silence. Arthur rose from his seat and walked over to his wife's coffin, not knowing what to say, hoping that somehow, if he did say something, she would hear him.
"All eight of our children." he said, quietly. "Laura, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny. All of them are beautiful. Laura is gone already, left us when we were young and foolish. And the rest of them, the rest of them are growing up. You were sad that they didn't come to visit like they used to. We've given them the strength to go out into the world and survive without us." he paused. "I have made so many mistakes. Getting drunk, abandoning my family to name just a few. And every time you brought me back. There is no speech, no words to express my gratitude and love for you. I love you, Molly. I have loved you ever since my Fifth Year. I still love you. I will never stop loving you."
Nine doves sat in a rather large cage behind the coffin. Arthur smiled. Attached to eight of the doves was the Ribbon of each of his child. He had gotten the copy of Laura and Bill's ribbon from the hospital. Two pink, faded Ribbons and six faded blue ribbons tied to their legs. Attached to the Ninth was nothing. The Ninth was the most special of them all because it symbolized the freedom of simplicity and the beauty of being free. Arthur took out his wand and flicked it three times. The metal door of the birdcage flew open and all Nine of the Doves flew out, scattering, flying and then flying out the top window of the cathedral, into the sky. Dear God, Arthur thought. Let them reach her. Let her see them.
Arthur closed his eyes and let the silence envelope him and felt his entire life spin before him. And through his entire life, he saw Molly. She was his wife, his purpose in living. Now that she was gone, he would not find another purpose. He would live his days to the best of his abilities because that's what she would have wanted. When he made those vows before Dumbledore fifty-three years ago, by God, he meant them with every breath he took. Until Death do us Part, he said quietly. But, he thought, maybe it does not end in death. Maybe the happy endings are not when one dies and the other lives. Maybe the happy endings are those stories that don't really have an end, but go on for all eternity. The stories that that didn't seem try, but were. And, he felt, that his story was one of them. No, he corrected himself, smiling.
Their story.
FIN.