The only thing that comforted Molly after brother's death was that they had died together that twins were never separated. It was the only thing that got through the days and made her able to sleep at night.
She was grieving for twins again, but this time not her brothers but her sons.
She grieved for her son who was dead and the son who lived , but had lost half of what made him, him.
She couldn't take comfort that George had lived and she knew if George had died with Fred she wouldn't have been able to take comfort from that this time.
Fred should be alive and George shouldn't have to feel like a great chunk of him was missing, he shouldn't have to feel empty.
And her heart shouldn't be broken into tiny pieces, she shouldn't have to stare into thin air all day and be wide awake all night.
The war shouldn't have happened, children shouldn't have had to fight and through all the things she knew that shouldn't have happened but did she blamed Albus Dumbledore.
It was that blame and hate that got through the days and the sleepless night.
The man she had once respected and believed in was the now the person she hated most of all.
If he had stopped Voldemort before he got powerful her son wouldn't have died, her brothers wouldn't have died.
But Albus didn't, he wasn't prepared to do what was needed to protect the wizarding world from a monster.
Yet Harry did, he didn't want to do it nor did he enjoy doing it but he did it.
Everything she had lost, everything others had lost in her mind was the fault one man and that was Albus Dumbledore.