Hey all! Thanks again for all the reviews, and sorry for not updating. My computer crashed, but here it is!

Part Four: Waiting For The Morning

Molly Weasley sat at her own kitchen table, knitting away at yet another jumper for her family. She was doing them by herself this time; no magic at all. Her hands moved quickly and smoothly, manipulating the fabric into the shape of a jumper as time passed by. Every few moments, her eyes would look back up to the clock on her kitchen wall, the clock that did not tell time. And every time she looked, nothing had changed, and she would go back to her knitting.

How late it was at night, she didn't know. Late enough that the crickets had long stopped their calls, and late enough that she could feel the exhaustion pumping through her veins. Her eyes were red with weariness, and yet, she continued to weave, sitting at the table. She knew that if she stopped, she would collapse in tears and would not be able to recover.

They had all gone. Even her baby daughter, who was no longer a baby but almost eighteen. Gone to fight that horrible, never-ending war. Her husband, her four sons and her one daughter. Leaving her behind in the home that they had all once shared, a home that had once been filled with laughter and children and jokes and happiness. A home filled with love.

Now, the Burrow was what? It was no longer home, she knew- there was no home without her family. A house, and a rickety old one at that, standing alone in the countryside. No more laughter, no more mirth and smiles; only tears and pain.

There was a creak upon the floorboards above her, and she knew that her son was awake. She looked up, as if she could see up two floors and into the room that her son was occupying. She waited a moment and forever, but no call came down the stairs beckoning her up to him. Another creak followed the first, and she knew that he had returned to bed. Always sleeping. Her heart ached for her little boy.

The clock continued to tick, though it still did not measure any form of time. She returned to her almost completed jumper, as she wove it together and finally finished it, adding it to the pile that waited on the table, as if hoping that someone would come home to wear them. Molly couldn't help but think the same.

A kettle whistled on the stove, and she got up, leaving her handiwork behind. She selected a teabag from her canister, choosing one from a package that Ron had given her years ago, pride beaming in his eyes as he handed her a sloppily wrapped gift from underneath the Christmas tree. Dropping it into the teapot, the mulberry scent permeated throughout the room and she poured some of the purple liquid into her waiting mug.

Molly brought it back to the table, feeling numb. Numb all over. There was no other way to describe the feeling that had overcome her, right then, just now. She couldn't feel her fingers, her feet were rocks beneath her, and all of her emotions just faded away. She drank some of the tea, and the clock ticked on.

First, she thought of Arthur. Her dear, sweet Arthur. She remembered their first meeting, on the train to Hogwarts: he in his tattered black robes, she in her silk ones. His smiling eyes and the way he pushed his glasses up onto his nose was so endearing and cute. Dancing in the rain in their sixth year; sneaking out in their seventh. She thought of their wedding and their honeymoon and the day their first son was born. Molly loved her husband more than words could describe.

And then there were the children, which were right behind him in her heart. Charlie, fierce and loyal, brave and cunning. Bill, rebellious but kind-hearted. Ron, quiet, but a hero in his own way. The twins, intelligent and mischievous; Ginny, her beautiful red-haired daughter. And her lost one, the one was gone forever. A tear dropped from above and rippled in the liquid below.

Percy. Her brilliant, rule-abiding boy. Prefect, Head Boy, aide to the Minister, Junior Assistant and finally, Deputy Minister of Magic. Her silly, stubborn son. Gone forever, killed by the forces of evil, lost in the fight against all that was wrong and bad in the world.

And then there was Harry and Hermione, the two young people that were to her like her own children; that were out there fighting with all they had for the wizarding world. There was the clumsy but lovely Nymphadora, and the serious, devoted Remus. Everyone that she loved was out there, fighting without her, save for one person.

Bill was upstairs, sleeping the nights and days away, as always. He rarely left the house anymore; leaving only when forced by his mother to go to St. Mungo's for his appointments. His long hair had been chopped off, and he was thin, so thin. Molly cried a bit every night for her heart-broken son. Bill had been like this since Fleur and their infant daughter had been killed by Death Eaters several months ago, and she could see that it had left him numb, dead inside. Molly's eyes burned with hot tears. She drank some more tea.

Her family was being torn apart, ripped to pieces, and there was nothing she could do about it. But if she could… if she could, she'd bring Fleur and Aimee back to life; she would rescue Nymphadora from the confines of her mental prison; she would bring Harry and Ginny back together; she would save her third-born son. But, quite frankly, there was no bit of magic, light or dark, that could help her.

Molly drained the last bit of her tea, and suddenly, the hands of the clock began to spin. Her eyes widened in awe and excitement, and she rose to her legs so quickly that the chair fell over behind her. She turned to the door, and started to sob as one by one, battered and exhausted, her husband, her four darling children and her two surrogate offspring entered. Running forwards in utter happiness, Molly Weasley collapsed in tears into her Arthur's waiting arms. She couldn't change the past, but she could help with the future. Until the war was over, she would be forever waiting for the morning to come.