Waiting, Wanting
by The Eighth Weasley
Molly stared at her daughter, and at the pale young man standing at her side. He looked nervous, apprehensive, and scared, and yet had not lost the arrogant and elegant quality that marked him as a Malfoy. Molly closed her eyes briefly, hoping when she opened them again that Lucius would no longer be standing there, that it would just be Draco.
She opened her eyes again, and saw a pale, nervous young man, with white-blond hair, grey eyes, and a pointed chin.
How had it come to this? she wondered, noticing how Ginny squeezed Draco's hand back in response to what was probably a nervous shudder. How had the war brought such two people together? For that matter, why did it take trauma and tragedy for two feuding families to be allowed back together?
Lucius was dead, Narcissa too, and Draco was the last of the Malfoy line. If Molly said no, or indicated displeasure, she rather suspected that Ginny, even if she initially ran off with Draco, would come back, would rather keep the Weasley family together than pull another Percy. Molly pushed down a sob at that thought. Now was not the time for anger or mourning. That would wait. She had her life to grieve for Percy.
Meanwhile, in front of her stood two young lovers, apparently deeply devoted to each other ("mushy" was what Ron had said, when interrogated about it over hot chocolate and toast that morning), blinking wide-eyed, swallowing, and wishing for approval.
"Mum?" said Ginny. She glanced at Draco.
"Mrs. Weasley?" Draco's voice cracked.
It was the crack that did it, Molly decided later. A cracking, youthful voice, full of hope and desire and wonder, pleading, begging, wanting, but, in the end, just a young man in love.
Molly moved forward and embraced Draco as a son. Merlin knew he needed a proper mother.
--fin--