A/N: I got the idea for this fic while I was (re)reading OotP. I actually wrote what is now chapter 2 first, and then decided to expand it to cover pretty much the entire book. It is not so much a fic as a series of short fics, each united by the theme of courage, the Gryffindor ideal. I'm going to try to keep the chapters in chronological order according to the book, so the chapter order is subject to change. Check for review replies on the most recently posted chapter (not necessarily the last one) and of course, please r/r. So, without further ado:
As Befits a Gryffindor
Disclaimer: All places and characters are the creations of JK Rowling and the property thereof. Nearly all of the dialogue is lifted from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" by the same. The title of this chapter is taken from the poem "Holy Sonnet No. 10" by John Donne.
Death be not Proud
A mother's work is never done, Molly Weasley thought to herself. It was mid-August already, and that meant that the children would be starting school soon, which in turn meant that days of laundry, packing, and shopping would be in order if they were to be fully prepared for its beginning. Added to her work for the order and the seemingly endless task of fighting 12 Grimauld Place into some semblance of habitability, such an undertaking would crushed for a lesser person. But not for Molly. She had borne and raised seven wonderful children, most of whom had turned out all right, and if all her years of mothering had taught her anything, it was how to deal with work.
And that was exactly what she was doing as she marched into Ron and Harry's bedroom that morning, with a load of laundry under one arm. Ron and Harry were there, of course, as were Hermione and the twins. If she hadn't had so much on her mind, Molly might have noticed their uncharacteristic silence. "Ginny said the booklists had come at last," she said, noticing the open envelopes on the bed, their Hogwarts seals freshly broken. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your book swhile you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing…" she smiled to herself. "What color would you like?"
"Get him red and gold," George said, his mouth open in a wide smirk, "to match his badge."
"Match his what?" Molly asked, planning the most efficient Diagon Alley shopping run possible, attending to the laundry, and only half attending to the conversation.
"His badge," George said, as if he had uttered some filthy swear word. "His lovely, shiny, new prefects badge."
The laundry and Diagon Alley both fled her mind. "His…but…Ron, you're not…?"
But he was. There, in his hand, gleaming in Gryffindor red and gold, was the badge of a Hogwarts prefect. She screamed for joy. Bill and Charlie had been prefects, of course. As had Percy, though Molly tried not to think about him. The twins had not, but she had hardly expected them to, after all the trouble they had caused, and Ron had seemed doomed to much the same fate, trying to curse fellow students, brewing an illegal potion, going out of bounds in pursuit of a known murderer, and getting involved in all kinds of trouble with Harry and Hermione both. Yet there it was, in his hands, the badge of a Prefect, marked with the lion of Gryffindor, and with the red and gold. She simply could not contain herself. "I don't believe it! I don't believe it! That's everyone in the family!"
"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?" George muttered. Molly knew he was right, of course, and new she was forgetting Ginny as well, but she was too young yet anyway, and 7 out of 9 was almost everyone anyone. She and her husband had also been Prefects in their day, wearing the badge and upholding the honor of house and school. And now, her youngest son was carrying on that same tradition as well. "Wait until your father hears, Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh what a wonderful thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie--!"
She hugged him tightly, swelling with pride. It was truly the only good news she had heard in months, and she wasn't about to let go of it. With the Order now operating in full swing, and with half the family involved, worry had been Molly's constant companion. Add the fight with Percy, the dementor attack, Harry's hearing, and just the climate of the world in general, and it was a wonder she got out of bed some mornings. But she could hardly just lie down and mope, now could she? Even if she had been out of school for years, she had been put in Gryffindor House for a reason, and though she was not given to acts of daring and danger like Albus or the aurors, or even her own husband, no one who knew her could call the way she shepherded her flock and kept life going without the bat of an eyelash anything but bravery of the purest kind.
Ron struggled for air under her grip. "Mum…don't…Mum, get a grip…" he muttered, trying to break free to where the air was.
She released him immediately, still full of pride. "Well what will it be?" she asked. "We gave Percy and owl, but you've already got one of course."
"W-what do you mean?" he stuttered, looking at her like she had a fake eye ala Alastor Moody.
"You've got to have a reward for this!" she replied. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"
"We've already bought him some," Fred reminded her, obviously none to thrilled about the whole business.
"Or a new cauldron," she continued, unphased, "Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rath, you always liked Scabbers—"
"Mum, can I have a new broom?" She stopped in her tracks. The boy deserved a reward, but brooms were very very expensive. He must have seen the worry in her face. "Bit a really good one! Just a new one, for a change."
Looking into her son's handsome brown eyes, her pride returned. "Of course you can…Well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later… Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks…A prefect, oh I'm all a dither!" And she left then, practically skipping on the way to her tasks.
Molly's good mood endured for the rest of the day, though good mood hardly did the feeling justice. Bliss would be closer, though still not good enough. A cloud of solid joy seemed to follow her wherever she went. Happily, though, it didn't interfere with her chores, which even with the shopping finished, included making a celebratory dinner.
After a wonderful evening of good food and good conversation, she started for bed. Yet, though she was exhausted from a long day's work, she knew she wasn't done yet. "Well, I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in," she said, yawning. "Arthru, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? 'Night, Harry dear."
She started up the stairs, still in the best mood she'd been in in months. If she had to clear out a boggart, she thought, now was the perfect time. She walked into the drawing room, closing the door behind her. She felt invincible, unflappable, and prepared for whatever it might confront her with. She raised her wand, trying to think what it might be, but unable to think even the slightest ill thought.
But the boggart could. The writing desk shook violently. Molly raised her wand. The desk burst open and out it fell. She couldn't believe it, couldn't believe it had known, couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it. How many times had she seen it all these months, just on the edge of her waking thoughts, and then over and over in her nightmares.
There was Ron, dead, in the middle of the floor. The same Ron she had sent to Hogwarts with Harry five summers ago. The same Ron she had scolded the summer after for rescuing his friend from those awful Muggles. The same Ron she had spent half the family savings buying a broom for that same day. Dead, motionless on the floor. She backed into a corner, her hand shaking. It was too much, just too much. She started to sob.
"Hello?" she heard a voice call from the landing, but just couldn't stop sobbing long enough answer. Harry, like another son to her, opened the door and stopped dead. She could see the horror in his eyes. I have to beat this, she thought, for him, for the children.
"R-r-riddikulus!" She cried, brandishing her wand. The body of her youngest son disappeared, only to be replaced by the body of her eldest, Bill, already a man and living his own life, but still the baby she remembered. It was getting worse.
"R-riddikulus!" She shouted again. Now Arthur lay before her, his face bloody, his eyes devoid of life. How many nights had she seen this very picture in her minds eye while her husband, the father of her children, stood invisible in the Department of Mysteries, ready to give his life to save them all from the Dark Lord's plans.
"No!" she cried weakly, the horror of it all sapping her strength. "No…riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULLUS!"
One by one, they lay before her. The twins. Never successes academically, never ambition like their older brothers, but still wonderful people, the light of her life. Percy. Her middle son, now estranged from the family. He had slammed his door in her face rather than talk to her, and now it looked as if they might never make peace. Harry. Ron's best friend, long Ginny's fancy, the Boy Who Lived, so abused, so misunderstood, her seventh son. She finally dropped her wand, crying uncontrollably.
"Mrs. Weasley just get out of here!" the living Harry shouted from the door. But she couldn't move. "Let somebody else—"
Footsteps on the stairs. "What's going on?" came the voice of Remus Lupin, ever calm, ever ready to help. He ran in, followed by Sirius. "Riddikulus!" he shouted, transforming the corpse into the shining full moon before reducing it to nothingness.
Molly broke down entirely. Remus walked over to her, trying to comfort her. "Molly, Molly don't. It was just a boggart, just a stupid boggart." But she couldn't stop crying, she couldn't forget what she had seen.
"I see them d-d-dead all the time," she confessed between sobs, revealing all the fear she had carried as a private burden for all these months. "All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it…"
She began to master herself, remembering her responsibilities: to the Order, to her children, to her husband. Oh God, she thought, Arthur! "D-d-don't tell Arthur," she begged them, trying hurriedly to make herself presentable and failing miserably. "I d-d-don't want him to know…being silly." She added this last part more for her own benefit than for anyone elses.
Remus offered her his handkerchief, which she gladly took, blowing her nose. She saw Harry, the living Harry, as if for the first time. "Harry I'm so sorry. What most you think of me? Not even able to get rid of a boggart…"
"Don't be stupid," he said, obviously trying to sound reassuring, and doing about as well as Molly was staying composed.
Fresh tears were welling up. "I'm just s-s-so worried. Half the f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-P-Percy's not talking to us…What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"
"Molly, that's enough," Remus said suddenly, his voice both steady and steadying. "This isn't like last time. The Order are better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to—" she flinched and made a frightened noise at the sound of that terrible name. Remus continued. "Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it—Look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…" she was much calmer now, felt her strength returning.
"And don't worry about Percy," said Sirius, speaking for the first time. "He'll come round. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology."
"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," said Remus, again a source of great comfort, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"
Molly looked at the two men, the two great friends, the two who had been through so much, prison, flight, oppression, poverty. "Being silly…" she said again, this time meaning it. Just fancy, that's all it had been. How could she be so emotional over an illusion, after all the real hardships that these two men had faced? No, now is not the time for tears, she thought, as she walked to bed. Tears won't help the Order. Tears won't protect my husband. Tears won't save my children. Now is the time for courage, and I don't intend to disappoint. I am, after all, a Gryffindor.
She lay down to sleep, untroubled by nightmares.
a/n: apologies for any major errors in editing. It's really late, but I'll try and fix anything I catch later.