Asking For the Moon

The rhythmic clink of Molly's knitting needles had almost lulled her to sleep when she heard the patter of footsteps and an urgent shout. She jostled herself to alertness reluctantly. It had only been a matter of time, she supposed, before one of the kids came looking for her. At least she'd gotten a little time to herself, a rare feat these days.

"Mum? Mum!"

"In here!" Molly called back. Ron scurried into the sitting room, fiery hair tousled, and bounded over to her. She turned to her youngest son with a tired smile. "Yes, Ronnie, dear?"

"Can we go to the World Cup, Mum, please?" the nine-year-old panted, his eyes wide. "Bill says the tickets have just gone on sale."

Molly's smile drooped, and she set down her needles and the half-completed forest green scarf so that she could fully focus on the boy. "I'm sorry, dear," she said, reaching out and stroking his hair into place gently, "but the tickets are too much money."

"But it's Quidditch, Mum!" Ron said, as though Molly didn't know what he was talking about. "The Quidditch World Cup!"

"I know, dear, it would be very fun to go, but we can't, and that's that."

It wasn't as though she and Arthur hadn't thought about it — hadn't stayed up late looking over their budget to see if they could trim any costs, hadn't contemplated selling off some heirlooms to try and offset the price of tickets. In the end, however, they had decided that it just wasn't feasible. Not only were the tickets expensive, but Arthur would have to take time off from work...and they didn't even have a proper tent to use, either. Other families could probably swing the whole thing with very little trouble; for them, Ron may as well have been asking for the moon.

"It could be an early Christmas present," Ron pleaded, his earnest expression all but breaking Molly's heart. "And—and my birthday present, too!"

Molly sighed. "That's a lovely thought, Ronnie, but I'm afraid we just can't afford it this time." She tried to inject a cheery note into her voice as she added, "Maybe next time, hmm?"

Ron scuffed his toe against the floor. "Being poor stinks. We never get to do anything," he mumbled.

In that moment, Molly wished more than anything that she could give him what he wanted. She got to her feet and looked directly into Ron's eyes. "Look, dear, your father and I do the best we can for you kids. While I know that it isn't always much, at least we'll always have each other."

Ron nodded, but his face was still glum. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"In just a few years, you'll be off to Hogwarts and you'll have these feelings again," Molly continued, maneuvering the stocky boy into a hug. "Some of the other children will have much nicer things, or go on really fancy holidays, but you know what? They probably don't have nearly as much fun with their families."

"Alright, Mum, I get it." Ron pulled away, his ears red. "You don't have to go on about it." And with that, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and hurried upstairs.

Molly shook her head and returned to her knitting, lost in thought. Although she and Arthur tried to provide a loving environment for their children, there were times like this when she worried that it just wasn't enough. That it would never be enough. She only hoped that one day, her children would understand the sacrifices she and Arthur had made over the years, and realize that while they may not have given them the moon, they gave them something far better: a strong sense of family.

Word count: 626