Title: Home Is
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Written on 4-17-2005, just 'cause.

Molly's home is warm fire, laughter, the organized chaos of six children with bright smiles. Right now, she thinks she is the most fortunate of all women.

She knows that her children will have to strive against the cold winds of the outside world someday, where she won't be able to watch over them. But that's an unhappy thought, one that can be dealt with another day. For now they're all here, safe, happy, and loved.

This home is a place that she and Arthur have built together. Brick by brick, they've added memories, a few sad and angry, but most of them joyous. Of all the foolish promises they'd made to each other when they were young, the best one, and the only one they'd kept, was to create an atmosphere of love for their children.

She glances down at her hands, calloused and rough. A lot of things had changed since her newlywed days.

Back then, her hands had been soft and smooth. They'd lived in the house with Arthur's cantankerous mother, who pointed out every flaw of Molly's (admittedly shaky) housekeeping. But even then she and Arthur were building their home. She and Arthur had learned early to laugh about his mother, and even to learn from her. And after Percy was born, she'd moved out anyway. Mrs. Weasley is much easier to handle in twice-yearly visits.

The door creaks open, startling Molly slightly. It's Arthur, of course, disheveled as always. Not that she minds; to her, it's only part of his charm. As always, he brightens when he crosses the threshold, and her heart swells with a love too great for words.

"Hullo dear," he says with a swift kiss on her cheek. He pats her belly. "And how are you, little Michael?"

"Ginevra," Molly corrects him. In her womb, the baby shifts, as if she recognizes her name already.

"If you say so," he says with a bit of a grin. Molly can tell that he doesn't believe that it'll be a girl, but she doesn't want to spoil the mood by arguing. They'll know in a few months, anyway.

While Arthur hangs up his coat, Molly looks around at her children. Bill and Charlie sit at the kitchen table, ostensibly doing sums but actually throwing bits of parchment at each other good-naturedly. George is crawling under the table, undoubtedly planning some mischief. Percy stretches out in front of the fire, puzzling through a simple book. She sees him silently mouthing the words as he reads. Ron is sleeping in his crib, oblivious to the faces Fred is making at him. Ginevra stirs slightly beneath her heart.

Arthur catches her eye and smiles. "What is it?"

Our children," Molly replies. He looks around, understanding immediately. That's another thing Molly loves about her husband: he can always tell what she's feeling and share it. He moves over to embrace her and they kiss, long and slow and sweet. Percy, looking at them over the top of his book, scrunches up his nose and they both laugh.

Molly knows that in a moment George will bite Charlie's ankle, and Charlie will yell and stand up abruptly, knocking the bench over, and Ron will wake up and start crying, and Fred will try to stuff a blanket in his mouth to make him stop, and she'll have to wade in and restore order, and the Cooling Charm on her ankles will wear off suddenly and in the midst of all the chaos the roast will probably burn. And so she savors every moment of peace, committing it to memory. This is her greatest accomplishment. This is her home.