Just Right
Molly checked her gold watch. One hour to go, and still so much to do. She glanced out the kitchen window where she could see the marquee hovering in the garden, ready for the ceremony. The guests would start showing up soon, and each of them would have to be escorted through the wards by a family member. Which reminded her, where were Fred and George? Was Ron dressed yet? Honestly, those boys acted as if weddings just put themselves on.
Catching a glimpse of periwinkle, Molly called out, "Hermione dear!"
The bushy haired girl appeared in the kitchen looking lovely in the soft blue color. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley," she said, adjusting her beaded bag on her shoulder.
"Would you make sure everybody has their boutonniere please?"
"Oh, um, of course."
"Thank you, dear, that's such a help."
Hermione picked up the tray of white rosebuds wrapped with a twining ivy leaf. Fleur's mother had done all of the flowers, even bringing an array of magically preserved cuttings from her own garden. The marquee was bursting with white roses, gladiolas, lilies, ranunculus, and gardenias. The bridal bouquet was a delicate creation that Apolline had shared only with Molly.
"You see," said the willowy woman, "each flower has a special meaning, non? Zee hydrangea means deep emotion, as my Fleur feels for your William. And lily of the valley, meaning zee return of happiness, which is my wish for zem. The sweet william, for William, who is tres gallant. And zis is Fleur, zee stock. A plain name zat means everlasting beauty."
In a short time Apolline would present the thoughtful bouquet to her daughter. Molly had not seen more than a glimpse of the bride as she dashed from the bathroom to Molly's own room that she had given over to the bridal party for the day. Not that it mattered, Molly didn't need to see Fleur to know she would make a beautiful bride.
As Hermione was about to disappear with the tray of flowers, Molly called out to her again. The girl turned, and Molly surveyed the flowers before her. One was much like the next, but finally Molly decided on one that seemed a little more perfect than its companions.
"Let me take this one to Bill," she said and smiled at Hermione.
Going up the stairs, Molly stopped at Ginny's door and tapped on it. "Are you dressed, dear?"
The door opened to reveal her scowling daughter in an exquisite gold creation. Ginny's hair tumbled down her back, half curled, and her feet were bare, but she was ever so lovely. Molly beamed at Ginny, her heart caught in her throat.
"Oh, my darling."
"Stuff it, Mum, this blasted frock itches," Ginny grumbled.
"But Ginny, you're beautiful."
"It itches."
Molly waved her hand. "Here now, do you need help with your hair?"
"No, I've got."
"Well, don't be long."
On the next floor, Molly stopped to check on the twins, but their room was empty. Not that this gave Molly any sort of relief. Not knowing where Fred and George were was always the worse alternative. Just because they weren't in their room didn't mean that they were dressed. They were probably off trying to knick a bit of cake, but they would get a nasty surprise if that were the case.
The next flight of stairs brought Molly to where Bill and Charlie's room was located. As soon as Molly made the landing, she could hear the low rumble of masculine laughter. She stopped, relishing the sound that used to be the everyday harmony of her home, but was now too often absent. She thought the silence might be more bearable if her children were just off to school or work, but that hadn't been the case for some years now. Even when they were all home, the laughter wasn't as free or as often as it ought to be.
The door to the boys's bedroom was ajar, giving Molly a moment to enjoy the sight of her two eldest sons under her roof. Charlie had his back to her, still in his waistcoat with shirtsleeves rolled up to bare tanned and burned arms. His hair was looking shaggy again, and she knew he'd run off to regrow it after the haircut she gave him. Molly supposed there was no time to fix it, and that he would do what he wanted no matter what.
Bill leaned against his windowsill, his long legs stretched out before him, already dressed in his finest robes. He resisted all of Molly's attempts to get him to cut his hair—she'd found no ally in Fleur on that front—but at least he kept it in a tidy ponytail. Molly's breath hitched in her throat when she gazed upon his scarred flesh. It had been a month, but she still wasn't accustomed to Bill's new appearance. She still expected to see that handsome face and the winning smile, but they were both gone now. It shouldn't matter, of course, and it didn't. But what Molly wouldn't give to have her boy back.
That night, when Minerva McGonagall's cat Patronus had called them to Hogwarts, had been one of the worst of Molly's life. Come quick, it's Bill. She hadn't known if her eldest son was alive or dead, but some calamity had befallen him, and in Hogwarts. The very place where he should have been safest, where her youngest children were supposed to be safe. It had been Arthur who had thought to retrieve Fleur, it never even crossed Molly's mind. All she wanted to do was get to Bill as fast as she could, and that girl was just in the way as always.
How wrong Molly had been, she could see that now.
That had been June 30, and here they were on August 1. The wedding was going ahead as scheduled, despite Molly's arguments to the contrary. Bill was still recovering from his injuries, he was still learning about his new wolfish tendencies (though thankfully he was not a werewolf), he was still grappling with what had happened to him, surely it made more sense to delay the wedding. They could marry in six months, a lovely winter wedding during the holidays. But of course, with all the haste of youth, Bill and Fleur had pressed on. They'd even fought in a battle not a week ago, something else Molly had argued against.
Then again, she supposed that both Bill and Fleur had something to prove. Her son had been projecting his good health and fine spirits rather forcefully over the last month, but Molly knew better. All she had to do was count the number of nights he'd elected to turn in by nine o'clock to know the truth of it. Bill was nothing if not a night owl. Fleur still had to prove that she loved Bill no matter what and that, Molly knew, was her own fault. She had doubted the girl, and her opinion had carried weight with the rest of the family.
Well, Molly couldn't wrap her grown son in flannel, nor could she mend his injuries, but she could give him the wedding he deserved. She'd thrown herself into the final details of the nuptials, preparing puddings and organizing table charts. The Burrow had to be spotless for the influx of guests, including the Delacours who were much more gracious than Molly would have expected. She'd even managed to trundle down to Ottery St. Catchpole to buy Fleur a lovely (and dearly expensive) tea set in addition to the crockery she had planned to gift the couple. It had been a sort of peace offering, Molly supposed.
Putting an end to her wool gathering, Molly pulled herself up to her full height and knocked on the door. Bill's blue eyes flickered to her, sparkling with delight. Charlie turned, his cheeks growing rosy, and he ran a hand threw his hair sheepishly.
"I know what you did, Charles," Molly chastised, shaking her finger. "Would it hurt you to look presentable for your brother's wedding? You are the best man after all."
"I'm the one with the roguish good looks now, Mum," he said with that devil-a-bit smile. "I've got to look the part."
"Who needs good looks when you're about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world?" Bill shot back, one corner of his mouth tugging into a grin.
"Boys!" Molly smacked Charlie on the arm.
"Mum, if I can't find humor in looking like something the wolf dragged in, then what's the point?"
Molly felt her face go hot as she glowered at her eldest son. More than once he'd tried to poke fun at what had happened to him, but Molly simply wasn't having it. What was funny about having cursed wounds from a werewolf Molly would never understand.
"Charlie," she said, still looking at Bill. "Hermione has your boutonniere, do be a dear and go find her."
"I think your trying to get rid of me," Charlie complained good-naturedly.
"That's because I am," Molly replied.
"Oi, and here I thought you missed me."
"Of course I did, but we'll talk later. I want to know if you have met any likely women up on that dragon reserve of yours, but for now, run along. And be nice. Hermione's not the kind of girl who's used to unrepentant flirts like you."
Charlie clutched his chest with both hands. "You wound me!"
Molly lifted her eyebrows expectantly. Charlie chuckled, kissed her cheek and was gone.
"Now then," Molly said turning to Bill. "I have yours." She held up the boutonniere for emphasis.
"You know he's likely to hide from you for the rest of his trip home after all that chatter about likely women."
Bill stood, straightening his robes.
"Oh, don't worry about that, I know just how to handle Charlie."
Molly smoothed his lapel. He was so tall, but Bill never went through that gangly phase like Percy and Ron. He'd gone from being a handsome little boy to being a handsome young man in the cast of a wand. Girls had been mad for him, of course, and Molly reckoned that continued when he went off to Egypt. Bill was ever independent and resourceful. He had a good head on his shoulders, besides being quite bright. In retrospect, Molly couldn't understand why Fleur had threatened her so.
She arranged the rose on his chest just so before using a Temporary Sticking Charm on it. Stepping back, she surveyed her handiwork and smiled. Perfect.
"Have you see Fleur?" Bill asked, leaning against the windowsill again.
Molly shook her head. "She's been locked up in my room all day with her mother and sister."
"Do you still harbor reservations?"
"Would it matter if I did?"
Bill grinned. Only the one side curved into a smile, the other side immobile, but his eyes flashed in a mischievous manner. "Not in the slightest, but it would be nice if you actually liked my wife."
"Well, consider that my wedding gift to you," Molly replied tartly.
Bill chuckled. "And all it took was one werewolf mauling."
"Bill—"
"All right, sorry." Bill shrugged. "I've heard about Fleur's outburst at my bedside from a number of people, but not you."
For a long moment, mother and son stared at one another. Molly was reminded once again that her son was an adult. He would never disrespect her, but Molly knew Bill was angry about the way she treated Fleur over the last year, and even more so for what she allowed Ginny to get away with. What was Molly to say? That it was never easy to let Bill go? Well, it wasn't. He was her first—the first to learn Father Christmas wasn't real, the first to go off to Hogwarts, the first to leave the nest, and yes, the first to marry. All of those rights of passage that Bill was so eager to meet were stumbling blocks for Molly that she never knew how to negotiate until it was Charlie's turn.
Someday, Charlie would bring home a girl he was mad about and Molly would graciously accept her into the family in a way she had not with Fleur. It wasn't fair, but there it was all the same. All Molly could do now was try to make a better job of it from here, and she supposed that started by apologizing to Bill.
"You know what she said," Molly began, folding her hands before her. "About your scars showing that you were brave."
Molly looked Bill fully in the face.
"It's not easy to get used to," he said, and motioned to his face.
What to say to that? Lie, and dismiss his worries? Tell the truth and affirm them?
"I'm getting there," Molly allowed.
"That makes one of us."
Molly took Bill's hands, the right bore scratches, but the left was still bandaged. "It wasn't what Fleur said, or even her protectiveness of you that made an impression on me."
"Then what was it?"
"Her fierceness," Molly said without hesitation. "I knew this was a girl who loved you enough to die for you, just as I would."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Those words should have been said lightly—a jest to deflect the oppression of emotion. After all, wasn't the thought of dying for another the height of melodrama? Yet, beyond this one sunshiny day, their world held darkness and uncertainty. Even with a wedding to put on, Molly could sense the uneasiness in every wizard she met as they awaited You-Know-Who's next move. Dumbledore was dead, witches and wizards disappeared without a trace, and You-Know-Who had only shown his face in pursuit of a boy who had only become of age the previous day.
"You made a good choice, love," Molly said softly, gazing up at her son. "Fleur is-is a strong young woman, and so terribly clever. She'll make a good mate for you."
His eyes skittered away shyly. "I don't think there was any choice in the matter."
"Well." Molly smiled softly, fondly. "I do know how that feels."
With her wand, Molly tapped the rosebud on Bill's chest and watched it unfurl.
"There now, that's just right."