A/N: Thank you to those who have favorited or followed my story. I read Harry Potter as an adult, after I had children of my own. I strongly identified with Molly as I read it, in part because I'm a mother myself, but mostly because she reminds me of my Grandma. So, hopefully I do both ladies justice.

A Warm Glass of Milk

With a start, Molly came fully awake. The room was pitch black, but its strangeness pressed in on her immediately. The air was wrong, the give of the mattress was wrong, the smell was wrong. Then there was that faint buzz of Dark magic that could be felt everywhere in the house. The only thing that was familiar was Arthur's warm form beside her in bed. It took a moment, but Molly remembered where she was. The House of Black, 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England, for nearly a month now. The air was stale because no country breeze wafted through open windows. The mattress was musty and hard from a decade of disuse. The smell of damp and mold permeated every corner. And Molly had woken from another nightmare.

It was the same nightmare she'd had since the night of the Third Task of the Tri Wizard Tournament when Harry had returned from some graveyard clutching the dead boy's body and-and-

Molly sat up. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to ease her breathing. Oh, this was all Sirius' fault!

Certainly being in this drab, old house didn't make Molly's dreams any less unpleasant—never mind the fight she'd had with that infernal man not many hours ago. Easing out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur, she found her slippers and dressing gown. A little warm milk is what she needed. Then she would just put these silly fears to rest and that would be that.

Molly couldn't remember the exact details of the nightmare this time, but that didn't matter. It was always the same. A bright, sunny morning at the Burrow, Molly pregnant with Ginny, when Minerva McGonagall would come and the skies would turn instantly dark and forbidding. It was the morning that Minerva had come with the news that Molly's brothers were dead. Only then everything changed. Minerva still walked into the kitchen, but Molly wasn't pregnant any more. Instead, her two youngest—teenagers—were sitting at the table and the old professor would say that Arthur was dead. Or Bill. Or Charlie. Or Percy. Oh!

For more than a fortnight, Molly had been told that every single member of her family from Arthur to Harry to little Ginny had been killed. Once Alastor Moody had been there, dumping Fred and George's bodies on her kitchen floor, lifeless and grinning. Molly shivered just remembering that particular nightmare.

She tried to tell herself that this wasn't like the last time he came to power. The Order of the Phoenix was ahead of the game this time around. There were no mysterious killings or disappearances. His loyal followers didn't number so high as they once had. None of it was comforting. Last time, Molly had two reckless brothers in the fight, both of them dead now for their efforts. This time….

Molly stopped at the base of the stairs and leaned heavily on the post.

This time.

Arthur was involved, and Bill, and Charlie. Molly was no fool, she knew that no matter how she tried to delay the inevitable, it was only a matter of time before the twins joined the Order as well. What if this war stretched on as long as the last one? Would Ron join, too? And Ginny? There was no question of Harry joining. Even if he didn't, the poor boy was already marked for death.

And then there was Percy.

With a sigh, Molly carried on down to the kitchen. She tried to keep busy, she tried to keep the children busy. Work, she told herself, would keep her mind from wandering to all the horrible possibilities. The Order deserved a comfortable home to call its Head Quarters and if there was one thing that Molly Weasley knew how to do it was how to create a home. Create a family. That was something Sirius deserved as well.

Honestly, that man drove her mad. Molly accepted that he wasn't a mass murderer on Dumbledore's word, but Sirius Black certainly looked the part. Long, wild hair, scraggily beard, sunken, haunted eyes. It was the eyes that pulled at Molly's heart the most. Sometimes, when Sirius was with Lupin or Tonks, Molly could see the boy Sirius must have been. Maybe not carefree, but full of mirth and life and arrogance, but then those eyes would tell a different story. One of a man who had wrestled his demons to come out the other side alive, but not victorious.

Molly thought maybe she could, or even should, dredge up a spot of empathy for Sirius if only he didn't frighten her so badly. Oh, not him, but what had become of him. For weren't her own sons full of mirth and life and arrogance? Especially the twins. And weren't they reckless and loyal? And then there was Harry.

The boy wanted a father so desperately, and here was a ready made one in the form of his godfather, but Sirius wasn't fit for the role. That was a tad unfair. Sirius loved Harry, and he was willing to care for him, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Sirius was a sullen wraith stuck in the past with only a feeble grasp on the present. Molly had accused Sirius of mistaking Harry for James, and she wouldn't take it back. However cruel her words, they were the truth. She wasn't going to spare Sirius's feelings for Harry's well being.

Arthur, blast him, wanted to take a more hands off approach. He wouldn't go against her in front of others, but he'd let his feelings be known. Sirius and Harry were family, and Molly had no business sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. Well, Harry was Molly's family, too! She'd have her say, even if no one was listening.

Coming up on the kitchens, Molly saw the light leaking out from beneath the door. She supposed it was that terrible House-elf, but she still proceeded with caution. Kreacher was not to be taken lightly. He was devious and spiteful, no matter was Hermione said, the misguided girl.

Easing the door open, wand in hand, Molly saw a familiar head of ginger hair and broad shoulders. Blowing out a relieved breath, she bustled in. "Fred! What are you doing up?"

The boy looked up from his mug. "I'm George. Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother."

"Fred." Molly propped her hands on her hips, glaring at her son. "I might get turned around when we're all in a hurry, but I do know the difference between you and George."

"Alright, alright, you've caught me out."

"Now, why aren't you in bed?"

"I could ask the same of you."

With a sigh, Molly went to put some milk in the caldron. All the cooking had to be done over the fire, which was unfortunate. A range would be much easier, but she supposed neither Walburga Black, nor any of the witches who preceded her, ever had to do their own cooking. Pointing her wand at the dying embers, a low fire sprang to life, and Molly placed the caldron over the flames.

"Where's George?"

Fred shrugged. "Bed. I didn't want to wake him."

Well, Molly could understand that.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Lip curled, eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, Fred gave Molly such a look of disgust that she had to laugh.

"Mum," he complained. "I'm seventeen, not seven."

"Thank you for reminding me," she said mildly. "I had completely forgotten."

"Well, obviously. The way you carry on about me and George and our plans, and Hogwarts, and the Order. You think we're ickle first years or something."

Molly took a moment to reply. It wasn't that she thought Fred and George were still children. No, she was forcibly reminded they were not every time she saw the ginger stubble on their chins or heard the rumble of their voices. Besides, they weren't the first young men she had sent out into the world. It was just that they were so heedless. It wasn't as if Bill and Charlie weren't thrill seekers because they were, and Molly had lamented the fact more than once. The difference was that her eldest sons had a healthy respect for the dangers they were courting. Fred and George, they were like, well, they were like Fabian and Gideon, weren't they?

A band tightened around Molly's heart as she gazed upon her older twin. Fabian and Gideon eventually learned restraint if not true caution, but it had taken a war to knock even a shred of sense into them, and where had that left them? Molly didn't want that for her twin sons.

Before the milk could burn, Molly poured two mugs and sat down across from Fred. He discarded the mug in front of him in favor of the one that Molly passed over. Fred hated warm milk, always had, but he still curled his hands around the warm cup.

"I know you aren't a child any more," Molly said.

"You certainly try to keep us that way."

"I'm sorry that's how it seems, because that's not what I want."

Fred cocked one eyebrow in disbelief.

"Oh, I might have felt that way when Bill was going off to Egypt in such a hurry," Molly conceded with a small smile. "But I've learned a lot since then, like that I can't keep my babies little forever. I know you and George are of age."

"You mean 'adults'."

"Let's not get carried away."

"See!"

Molly patted Fred's wrist. "I was marrying your father when I was little older than you are now, so don't act as if I don't know a thing or two about trying to grow up too quickly. I do. I know what it is to pretend to be a woman when I was still just a girl."

"Well, Mum, I can't say that I have ever known what it is to be a woman or a girl, as I have been a boy my entire life."

"That's what you think."

Molly laughed at the appalled look on Fred's face.

"Muuuum!" Fred complained. "That-that was—Don't do that."

"Honestly, Fred, you can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

"Muuuummm!"

"Oh, calm down." Molly patted his wrist again. "I don't want to keep you and George little boys forever, but I would like to keep you safe for as long as I can."

"Safe is overrated."

"I'm not surprised to hear you say it." Molly pulled her hands into her lap, looking away. "Please forgive me if I don't agree."

Silence stretched for about thirty seconds, the longest Fred could ever remain quiet. It was different with George, who had a softer nature. He could stay silent for long stretches quite happily. Not Fred. He was bombastic. So full of energy that it burst out of him. He liked life in the limelight, and he was forever seeking to remain just right there.

"Eh, Bill came back around after you sent us to bed," Fred said, scratching the back of his head.

"Did he?"

Fred hung his head. "Yeah. Gave us a right bollocking."

"Fred. Language."

The tips of Fred's ears turned pink. "Well, if you'd been there, you'd know what I was talking about."

"And what did your elder brother say?"

Molly had a feeling that she knew, and she had a feeling that this was the reason Fred was up in the middle of the night without George. Of all her children, Bill and Charlie remembered the first war the best. By the end of it, things had grown so grim that there was no way to hide the realities of it from her older children. Then Fabian and Gideon had been killed. Arthur hadn't been home when Minerva came with the news. It had been Bill—just ten-years-old—who had to deal with the fallout of that awful morning. That had left a mark on him, Molly knew, because she didn't see the same mark on Charlie. They had both been quick to join the Order, but Bill had rearranged his entire life to come fight You-Know-Who.

Focusing again on the boy before her, Molly could see that Fred didn't want to admit to whatever Bill had said, but he wasn't the type to keep it to himself either. She would simply wait him out. She'd have to pull it out of George, but Fred would spill on his own accord. Funnily enough, it was the opposite when it came to trouble. George would admit to wrongdoing as if his soul depended on it, whereas Fred would keep mum until he was ratted out and had no choice.

"You know Bill," Fred complained, and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "He does that thing you do. The whole guilt trip thing."

"I can't help it if you have something to feel guilty over, Fred," Molly replied, suppressing a snigger.

"It's appalling, really," Fred complained. "He's such a big head. I know he thinks he's cool, but he's a swot like Percy." Fred looked at Molly, his face stricken. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Molly nodded her head, her neck only moving a fraction. "That's alright, carry on."

"He just… you know." Fred shrugged, looking at his hands. "He said you were scared, or some drivel like that, because we reminded you of-of Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon." He did look at her this time.

Oh, Bill. And Freddie, too. Molly wondered how long he'd been stewing over that. George, she was sure, probably felt shamed right off, but not Fred. He was always defiant, until his conscience got the better of him. He would deny and argue, sometimes even brood, though she was sure he would never admit to that. In the end, Fred always came around.

Reaching out to cup his cheek, Molly smiled softly. "You do remind me of your uncles."

"We don't mean to hurt you."

"Who said you hurt me? Oh darling, you and George are…Well, there's nothing for it, raising you has been exasperating, and a pure joy."

"Um, cheers?"

"Seeing my brothers in you two… it made the loss bearable. Watching you become your own people, that has been a gift because you and George are not Fabian and Gideon. And I do worry. This-this business you want to start. Being an entrepreneur is so risky, but a joke shop? Is there really a need for that?"

"Mum, dark time are coming, why wouldn't there be a need for a joke shop?"

Molly sat back, regarding her son for a moment. In all of his boastings and arguments, she had never heard Fred admit that the coming war was going to be any less than a grand adventure. There was a speck of truth in the second part of his statement as well. They would need levity, in fact it would be a scarce commodity in the months and years to come.

"Where will the money come from?" Molly pressed. "Your dad and I won't be able to help you out."

Fred's knuckles went white around his mug. "Ah, don't worry about that, Mum, George and I will manage."

He was hiding something. She knew it just like she knew the sky was blue. Molly began to puff up.

"Fredrick Gideon—"

"Just-just trust us, Mum. George and I, we have a plan, a legal one!"

The look on his face was earnest pleading. He was asking for her trust, but also for her confidence. Molly wanted to give her son what he wanted, and it pained her that she had reservations. She could trust him if he said that their plans were lawful, but it was hard to find the confidence. A joke shop was just so frivolous, and there was already Zonko's. She didn't want to see their dreams dashed, but then what was the alternative? To play it safe so they never knew hurt? That wasn't a well-lived life. Certainly that wasn't what she, Molly, had done by running off to marry Arthur at the first chance she got.

Deflating, Molly clenched her hands. "I'll try."

"Well, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

He had no idea. It was the hardest thing in the world.

"But Fred, the war, the Order…"

"Don't ask us not to join."

Molly sighed. "Just don't be in a hurry."

He looked ready to protest, but Molly held her hand up to stop his arguments before they formed.

"There will be plenty of time to fight D-death Eaters." She worried her nail, staring at the table. "Finish school, at least, before joining the Order."

"Would it really be the worst thing to have a whole hoard of hero sons?"

"Yes. Fabian and Gideon are heroes. Moody is a hero. I think having hero sons sounds like the worst thing that could possibly happen."

"So, what? You would rather have a bunch of-of cowards, like Percy?"

"Fred," Molly admonished sharply, and he squirmed under her stern glare. "Percy might be misguided, but he's no coward. None of you are. And, might I remind you, Percy is your brother no matter what he's done… or said."

"The prat has some way of showing it," Fred muttered.

Molly knew she should rebuke Fred again, but the truth was she was a bit angry with Percy herself. Of all her children, Percy might actually be the most prideful and stubborn and it wasn't going to serve him well. A fall was coming for her third son, one worse than he'd already experienced with that Barty Crouch business. Molly wasn't going to be able to cushion Percy's drop, and not because she didn't want to. He'd chosen his own path and he would have to steer his own way back home—not that she liked it one bit.

"Now then," Molly continued. "We aren't talking about Percy, we are talking about you and George, and your lamentable habit of rushing into trouble."

"Trouble is best met head on."

Molly sighed. She got up, went around the table, and ran a hand through Fred's hair. She did it again, then bent to kiss his cheek. "Not always, dear."

"Well, it can't be ignored."

No, it couldn't, raising six sons and Ginny had long since taught Molly that. She also knew the value of picking her battles, but he wasn't going to allow that. You-Know-Who was going to bring the battle to them whether they were willing or not, so best to be prepared she supposed. That wasn't going to ease Molly's nightmares any time in the near future.

"What am I going to do with you?" Molly complained.

It was a common refrain in the seventeen years of Fred and George's lives. Fred and George turned Ron's teddy into a spider. Fred and George glued all of Percy's books shut. Fred and George were up the tree and wouldn't come down. Fred and George. What was she to do with them, but Molly knew.

Kissing his cheek, Molly smiled softly, "I love you."

"Love you, too," Fred mumbled, his face turning scarlet.

"Oi!"

Molly looked up to see George standing in the doorway. His eyes were half shut and he was stretching his arms above his head. She wasn't surprised to see him. Fred couldn't be alone long before George would show up.

"Don't be long, boys," Molly said.

She walked to the door, reaching up to pat George's cheek.

"Sorry for being a prat earlier," he said without hesitation.

"I know, dear. Don't stay up too late, we have a lot to do tomorrow."

George went to join his twin at the table. Two identical ginger heads bent together, conspiring to do who-knew-what. Molly watched them from the shadows for a moment. It was rare to have a moment alone with any of her children, there being so many of them, but even rarer to catch Fred or George alone. She treasured those moments, she just wished she could say that she had changed Fred's mind about the joke shop or the Order, but she knew she hadn't. So, why didn't she feel regret? Well, it was the age-old conundrum of mothers everywhere. Molly might want her children safe, but she was proud of each of them for doing what they felt was right, for following their dreams wherever they might lead. That's what she raised them to do, after all, so she had no one to blame but herself.

Trudging back to the staircase, Molly resigned herself to her nightmares. War was coming and she would meet it head-on. Meanwhile, she would pray that her dreams remained just that.

A/N2: I want to recognize Keeptheotherone. I borrowed the idea of Bill telling the twins off after their outburst in Order of the Phoenix from her collection of one-shots and outtakes, One Big Happy Weasley Family.