5 July 1996 – Forbidden

"He's not marrying her," Molly said simply, storming into their bedroom with Arthur on her heels. "He's not. It's ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous, Molly," Arthur told her reasonably. "Bill's in love, it's not up to us—"

"We're his parents, Arthur!"

"Are we really?" he asked; he regretted it at once.

"Don't you get snarky with me, Arthur Weasley," Molly snapped. "Bill is not marrying that—that French girl!"

"Can you make it sound more like a swearword?" Arthur asked, going to their bedroom door and closing it. "Look, it's been difficult enough for the two of them—"

"If you're talking about how difficult it is for her to be beautiful, you're sleeping on the sofa," Molly cut him off. She narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully.

Arthur lifted his eyebrows. "I meant it in the sense that there are people—their age and younger—who are dying," he explained. Molly scowled. "Every single day. I would think that there are quite a few people feeling the exact same pressure as Bill and—"

"And if all of those people insulted a hippogriff, would you want your son to do it, too?" she demanded.

"Molly," said Arthur, "That's not fair. You're not giving Bill any credit—"

"I'm giving him credit as a very young man who doesn't know what he wants!" Molly retorted. "And there's nothing wrong with that at all! He's young, he has time, he doesn't need to be marrying someone who's—what is she? Eight years younger than him? Nine?"

"Seven," Arthur corrected, "Not that that should matter in the slightest."

"I'm sure it matters to her parents," she muttered. She was pacing up and down at the foot of the bed, while he watched her from his place near the door.

"It's not like they're nineteen years old, without proper jobs," said Arthur carefully. "And it sounds like they're set on getting permission before—"

"Do not make this about us!" Molly roared, whirling around. "This is not about us! This is about our son and the fact that he's about to make a massive mistake! He's—"

"He's over twenty-five years old, Molly," Arthur told her, raising his voice as well. "You can't control him forever—"

Molly froze. The color drained from her face.

Arthur sighed heavily. "I didn't mean that, Molly, I don't—you're not controlling—"

Without a word, Molly moved to the bed and picked up a pillow. Then she went to her armchair and got a quilt and presented them both to Arthur. He stared at her.

"Molly, please," he said, and she shook her head.

"We'll talk about it later," she told him quietly, and the hurt in her voice made his stomach turn.

"Mollywobbles—"

"Don't."

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to touch her arm; she pulled away and moved across the room.

"I know. Good night, Arthur."

He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he looked up. Molly had her back to him, sitting on his side of the bed. "Just—think about it, Molly. There's a reason they—they haven't done what we did. They don't want a forbidden marriage, and they know we'll listen to them."

Molly's back stiffened.

"Good night," said Arthur. "I love you."

He left, closing the door behind him, and went to sleep in Fred and George's bedroom.