So if you squint, this is connected to yesterday's oneshot... :)

2 May 1998 – Duel

"Ouch."

"Hush, Arthur," Molly chided gently as she cleaned the shallow wound on his shoulder. "You'll be just fine in a moment." She put down the antiseptic potion, raised her wand, and pointed it at the gash, which began to knit itself immediately.

They were in an empty boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, and it was midmorning. Arthur had asked Molly to tend to his wounds out of sight of their children.

He winced as she helped him pull his robes back on over the scars he still bore from his snakebite. "Thanks."

She nodded briefly and began putting the medical supplies back in the bag she had brought upstairs with her. "Poppy will want some help in the Great Hall. The wizards from St. Mungo's will be back soon to transport the injured. Why don't you rest here for a bit?"

"I didn't know you could duel like that."

Molly turned at the door. "What?"

"I didn't know you could duel the way you did," Arthur said. "I've never…I've never seen anything like it."

Molly closed her eyes for a moment; she had wanted so badly to avoid this conversation. "I had to, Arthur. You know I did, or…I never would have done that to another living soul…" Her eyes filled with tears, and she hastily wiped away one that fell down her cheek.

Arthur came close, laying his hands on her arms. "It's going to be all right, Molly," he whispered.

She sniffled, looking down at her feet. "He would be laughing, right now," she said. "Making some joke."

"Probably about how he and George got away with a lot more than they should have, when you could do that the whole time," Arthur murmured.

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, drawing a slow breath. Her throat burned painfully as she said, "There's—there's work to do. I should go downstairs…see what—Poppy—needs—" her voice broke at last, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, sinking onto the bed nearest her. And in an instant, Arthur had wrapped her in his arms, and she began to wail into his shoulder. "Arthur…our boy, our Freddie…my baby boy…"

Arthur squeezed her tight, and it was suffocating, but Molly clung to him…she needed to know he was there, was real, because nothing else in the world could ever be real again, not if Fred had been taken away from her…

She was dimly aware that Arthur was crying with her. It was too much, everything was overwhelming, and part of her just didn't want to keep on living when her son could not.

"I wish it was me," she moaned. "I wish it was me, Arthur…I'd give anything to have him back."

"Molly," he whispered. "Don't—don't do that—please…"

"My baby…"

Arthur held her still tighter, and she squeezed back just as hard, crying as she had not done…ever, it seemed. It could have been years before she finally stopped; not because she felt better, but because she had no more tears left. She pulled back, withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping her cheeks.

Arthur's eyes were red, and he had tearstains tracking down his dirty face as well. Molly wiped them away, giving his cheeks gentle kisses as she did.

"How do you feel?" he asked, taking her hand and rubbing it gently.

She closed her eyes and drew a breath, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Wrong."

Arthur nodded. "Me too, Molly." He shut his eyes and silently pulled her into his arms, folding her close, and Molly pressed against him.