1 December 2000 – Dreaming

Arthur had noticed, after thirty or so years of marriage, that he could always tell exactly what Molly was thinking and feeling just by what her hands were doing. If her fingers were tightly interlocked, it usually meant that he or one of the children had done something that had gotten her so angry, she was restraining herself from throttling them on the spot. If she was drumming or tapping her fingers against something—her arm, a table, or anything nearby—it meant that she was hearing something that displeased her. But, if one of her hands was absently stroking the other, she was calm and happy. If her fingers twisted around a strand of hair, she was focused, but pleased with the way her task was going.

Arthur had seen Molly's hands cook, clean, and garden. In thirty-odd years, they had held beautiful babies, and squeezed the life out of his own, and wiped tears away. They had dueled, and protected, and been wrung in misery. In the last twelve days, Arthur had paid a lot of attention to Molly's hands, because they—like Molly—had not been their usual, lively selves. About two weeks ago, Molly had begun feeling ill, and it had turned out to be a relapse of dragon pox. At first, it had appeared that things were normal, but after just a few days on the potions the Healers had given her, she had developed a high fever, which led to her immediate hospitalization.

After a long period of ups and downs, when Molly would seem as though she were improving, and then take a sudden turn for the worse, she was finally getting better. Right now, Arthur held one of her hands, sitting at her bedside as the Healer examined her. She was smiling vaguely, only semi-conscious (thanks to the many pain and sleeping potions she'd been given) as she lay against a pile of pillows in St. Mungo's critical care ward.

"We'll be back to move you out of this ward in just a little while, Mrs. Weasley," promised Healer Buford. He looked at Arthur. "She's quite all right to have visitors once she's upstairs."

"Fantastic, thank you," Arthur said, rising and shaking his hand. The Healer nodded and left, and Arthur sat down, taking Molly's hand again. She turned and gazed at him calmly. "And how are you?" he asked, grinning at her.

"I…am wonderful," said Molly serenely. She looked to the end of her bed, where a lovely bouquet of yellow and pink flowers sat with a small, plush toy kitten. "Where did all of that come from?"

"Bill, Fleur, and Victoire," said Arthur. "Fleur says Victoire misses her granny very much."

"Granny. That's me," Molly giggled, and Arthur had to bite his lip to stop from laughing.

"You're very silly right now," he informed her, and she nodded. "I think you've enjoyed those sleeping potions."

"Mhmm," she mumbled. "I feel much better."

"Well, your fever's broken," said Arthur, smoothing her hair back. "That's got to feel nice." Molly nodded sleepily again. "You gave us all a turn, though."

Molly opened her eyes, looking very sad. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to."

He couldn't help but smile. "It's not your fault in the slightest," he said softly, leaning forward to kiss her temple. "Everyone was just happy to hear that you're all right. I've gotten owls from just about all of them. Ginny begged me this morning to bring her along with me, she can't wait to see you."

"Mm, not till I'm moved," Molly said firmly, raising her finger just as Healer Buford had done. She beamed suddenly, as though a wonderful thought had just occurred to her. "Will she bring Ronnie? And…Har…Hair-mione…?"

Arthur snorted. "I'm sure she can bring Ron, Harry, and Hermione, dear."

"That's it," Molly sang, sighing softly. She looked at the flowers at the end of her bed again and frowned. "Where did those come from?" Arthur stifled his laughter with a cough, and she furrowed her brow. "I asked that, didn't I? I'm sorry…I'm all wrong today…"

Arthur lifted her hand and kissed it gently. "You're wonderful, as usual." He laughed. "Do you remember what you were like after Ginny was born? You didn't believe you had a girl for an hour and a half."

She chuckled. "I thought you'd lost our baby in the nursery."

"Well, you still don't know that," Arthur reasoned.

Molly shook her head. "She's our girl, all right. Looks like you."

"Nonsense, she's gorgeous," he said, and Molly chuckled dryly. "And she's got your temper."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Molly said in an injured voice, though she winked, and Arthur smiled at her.

"You're going to wear yourself out. You need sleep," he reminded her gently.

"I like talking about our children," Molly answered. "How many are there again?"

"Now you're just joking around," said Arthur, and she grinned. "Percy and George will be by as soon as they're done with work this evening, and Charlie comes home on Friday, all the way through till the New Year. Happy?"

"Extremely," Molly beamed. Then she sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing her neck with her free hand.

"Still sore?" Arthur asked. One symptom of dragon pox in adults, he had learned, was persistent stiffness and aches.

"I am N.E.W.T.-standard, thank you, sir," Molly answered smartly, and Arthur laughed, taking her hand again.

"I mean it, Molly, you should rest. Don't you want to see that wonderful family of ours?"

Molly sighed, smiling. "I just had to be sure all heads were counted. Like when we used to take them on outings, and we had to count." She moved one hand to drum her fingers lightly over her heart; Arthur had not often seen this gesture, but he had a pretty good idea of what it meant. She closed her eyes again, apparently starting to doze off. He sighed and gently stroked her arm, producing from his pocket a copy of the Daily Prophet and unfolding it on his knee.

After a couple of minutes, however, Molly spoke again. "I forgot one, Arthur."

His heart tightened. "What, dear?" he asked, though he was certain he knew the answer. "Freddie?"

"He came to see me, too, though, so no need to worry." Molly laced their fingers together, not opening her eyes. "I dreamed about him coming to visit me…last night? Well, sometime." She finally looked up and met his gaze evenly; she did not look as though she were going to cry.

Arthur smiled tightly. "What did you dream, Mollywobbles?"

"It was just a moment…but it was like he was there," she said softly, reaching her free hand to touch the blankets at her hip. "He was looking after me."

Arthur swallowed hard. "You know, I think he was." He gently put a hand to Molly's cheek. She was starting to fall asleep again, and he was not entirely convinced that she knew what she was saying. "Give me your other hand, Molly." She frowned confusedly, but turned slightly onto her side, and offered him her other hand. He pressed her palms together between his, and she smiled. It was the start of a silly clapping game that they had invented one sweltering afternoon at Hogwarts, when they were meant to be studying for their O.W.L.s.

"I can still beat you at this, dragon pox and all," Molly told him stoutly, though she seemed to be unable to keep her eyes open any longer.

Arthur bent and kissed her thumbs, held securely in his own hands. "I'll take you up on that for a New Year's Eve match. Deal?"

Molly gave a soft snore; she was already soundly sleeping.