A/N: Hey, all! This was written for Round 11 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. This round was a bit different from normal, and we had our own strategic prompts turned against us. As a result, I had to use the dialogue: "It's Polish, you know. It symbolizes a weak bladder in the face of adversity." (Yeah, I know. I did it to myself.) For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 1,258. My optional prompts were:
5. (word) Coffee, and
6. (dialogue) "On you marks, get set…drink!"
Thanks for reading!
Whistling Wind and Muddy Symbols
Molly Weasley sat at the kitchen table one evening, listening to the wind as it weaved through the rafters above. The roofing on the Burrow was patchwork at best, and nature's elements loved to take advantage of that fact. The sun poured in through the cracks in the summer, and frost clung to them during the winter months. Molly had cast several charms on them over the years since she and Arthur had moved into their small home, but they had all been temporary fixes. She knew she could cast another, but it, too, would simply fade, and tonight Molly didn't think she was up for another temporary fix.
She felt a flutter in her stomach and reflexively reached out to grip her steaming mug. It felt like a race was beginning in her abdomen, or a Quidditch match—the excitement of an announcer commentating on every part of her day.
As she tended to the animals: "Weasley dodges the dashing chicken!" Flutter, flutter.
Cleaning up the house: "And another goal as the parchment makes it into the bin!" Rustle, kick.
Turning on the kettle for her evening cup of decaf: "On you marks, get set…drink!" Punch, flutter.
The internal excitement had been growing more and more urgent over the last few weeks, and Molly sighed. She knew they were running out of time for temporary fixes.
Baby Weasley would be on his way sooner rather than later.
She raised her mug to her lips before huffing into it and taking a deep swallow. The coffee inside was too hot and a bitter black, but the coarseness of the draught settled the lump in her throat.
She ignored the creak of the opening back door Arthur trudged in and kicked off his shoes. A muttered Exaresco reached her ears, and the damp musk that had followed him from the outside rain immediately dissipated. Molly felt a hand on her shoulder and instinctively stretched her neck upward to meet his kiss on the top of her head.
"It's nasty out there," Arthur muttered into her hair, and Molly let out a noncommittal grunt.
"It's nearly October, Arthur."
His hands disappeared from her shoulders as he turned toward the counter to pour his own mug. He nodded as he took the seat across from his wife.
"I've noticed the leaves are already falling from the trees."
"The baby's due in November, Arthur."
Arthur let out a small sigh and reached out to take his wife's hand.
"We still have weeks, love."
"That's only if I make it to full term."
"It'll be fine."
Molly pulled her hand away to scrub at her face. The wind echoed in the small home, drowning out the bout of silence that ensued.
"Our child needs a proper home," she said finally.
"Mol." Arthur paused for a moment in what Molly could only assume to be a silent study of her. "He will."
"There's a leak in the bathroom ceiling."
"I'll fix it tomorrow; I promise."
"The stairs creak."
"It's an old house. You know that's a normal thing."
"There's nowhere for me to put the crib, Arthur!"
It came out as a shout, even though Molly hadn't meant for it to. She took in a shuddered breath before looking up to meet her husband's gaze.
"I just want to do this right."
She could hear the break in her own voice, and she silently cursed it. She had cried too many times over the last several months. Damn hormones.
Arthur's forehead creased before he pushed himself out his chair and moved to kneel at the other end of the table.
"Molly?" It came out as a whisper, and Molly looked him in the eye before taking his outstretched hand.
"I'm going to mend the bathroom ceiling," Arthur promised, tightening his grip in reassurance, "and I'll look at the stairs. I'll fix the leaky faucet and the front burner on the stove."
"I should be able to help you." Molly rubbed at her temple as she said it, and her stomach twisted as she broached the subject. This wouldn't be pleasant. She squeezed his hand before standing to her feet, guiding Arthur upward.
"I've got it; the midwife said not to lift anything heavier than a baby."
"A wand will hardly strain me, Arthur." She wandered toward the counter and leaned against it, narrowly missing an abandoned bowl beside her hip. "We're supposed to be a team, remember?"
Arthur ran a hand through his quickly receding hair before falling back into Molly's seat.
"You shouldn't have to do those things."
"Because I'm a woman?" Molly challenged.
"Because I don't want you to have to!"
Arthur let out a huffed breath and bit his lip. He had always hated snapping at her, though he had never said it aloud. Molly could just tell. Arthur had never handled frustration well, but he rarely gave into his temper like Molly tended to.
"When we married," Arthur started after a moment, and Molly inched her torso closer as she listened. "I vowed to take care of you, and even though it wasn't part of the vows, I promised myself that I'd do as much for you as possible. These things—they're my job, Molly."
It wasn't often that Molly Weasley found herself at a loss for words, but even when she did, it didn't last long.
"You're completely mental."
Silence settled for another moment while Arthur caught up.
"Sorry?"
"I'm you wife, Arthur." Molly pushed herself away from the counter but drew no closer to her husband. "Not your charge. Not your responsibility. Not your property."
"I never meant—"
"Maybe you didn't, but nonetheless, I'm not. You need to take care of our life with me, Arthur, not for me."
There was a beat of silence as Arthur sighed to himself before standing to his feet. He crossed the small space that separated them but stopped short.
"You're right," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry."
Molly smiled, and Arthur seemed to take that as his cue. He took the final step and pulled Molly into his arms.
She held him for a moment before pulling back and raising a brow. "You didn't say where we were going to put the crib." Arthur gave her a sheepish smile, and she grinned.
"I'm going to leave that one up to you."
Molly let out a bark of a laugh before leaning into Arthur's side.
"Perhaps right by our bed, then. At least until he's older and we can afford to build another room."
Arthur nudged her shoulder with his own.
"That sounds perfect."
Arthur winked, and Molly leaned in to kiss him. She stopped short, however upon noticing a smudge on his cheek.
"You've got mud on you," she noted.
Without missing a beat, Arthur smirked. "Oh, that's on purpose."
"Is it?"
Arthur's eyes were already twinkling, and Molly could feel a chuckle building in her chest.
"Of course," he scoffed. "It's Polish, you know. It symbolizes a weak bladder in the face of adversity."
Molly stared for a moment, a long moment, before bursting into laughter.
"What?"
Arthur just smiled and leaned in to kiss her, muddied face and all.
"I don't know," he admitted, "but it sounded good."
Molly shook her head in exasperation before wiping at the smudge.
"I hope one of our children ends up with your sense of humor," she mused.
"Two, if you're lucky."
Molly could tell he was joking, but she leaned in to kiss him once more.
"We can only hope."