Hello, I have been itching for a new Molly/Hermione...it really is an underrated pairing...so I'm writing one. This WAS going to be a oneshot, but I got going on it and decided it warranted expanding. Enjoy!

It was odd, really, how it had happened. Molly Weasley had been injured grievously in the final battle at Hogwarts, and as a result, had spent the next year, almost to the day, in a coma. Harry and Ginny had decided to move to America together to get away from Harry's fame. Being the stand-in daughter while Ginny was gone, it had fallen to Hermione Granger, per her relationship with Ron, to play nursemaid for Molly when she woke up. Hermione had stepped into that role gladly, but now, six months later, she was beginning to regret doing so. Who would have thought that helping her boyfriend's mum learn to walk again after a year of not being used would result in her becoming a walking cliché.

Yes, Hermione finally admitted to herself today, to a large glass of brandy and nobody else – thank you very much – that in the process of helping Molly Weasley regain her health, she had fallen in love with the older witch. It might have been a simple thing to deal with had Molly not dubbed Hermione her new best friend, in response to her stellar care. Had that been the case, she could have just taken a step back and kept a safe distance from the read-haired woman, but Molly had decided they were friends now, and was constantly asking her over, and arranging for outings together.

An Owl fluttered into Hermione's stark flat. She had her own place now, but as she spent most of her non-waking, non-working ours with Molly, she had not gotten around to doing very much unpacking. Boxes littered the floor, bookshelves were half assembled and leaning on various walls, and she'd been eating off of what plate and drinking from one glass that she'd pulled out of a box in the kitchen six weeks ago when she moved in. Her bedroom was the only part of her flat that looked somewhat put together, and that was only because Molly had showed up one afternoon a few weeks ago and helped her unpack her clothes and linens.

The brown Owl dropped a bit of parchment on her lap, and helped himself to a bit of bacon leftover from her breakfast this morning. She hoped it hadn't been lying there so long as to spoil and make the poor bird sick. It was, after all, nearly nine in the evening now.

Hi, Hermione,

I was wondering if you were free to go on a picnic with me tomorrow afternoon. I already checked with Amos, he says you're off tomorrow. Kinglsey says Ron is pulling a double this weekend, so I thought you might like some company. You mentioned a few days ago that you hadn't been on a picnic in ages, so, as they say, no time like the present! I'll meet you at your flat at eleven tomorrow morning unless I hear from you otherwise.

Molly

Hermione huffed. Molly had a way about making a request sound like an order. The brunette imagined the skill had something to do with raising so many kids. She wasn't going to bother replying. Hermione knew that Molly would be here at eleven the following morning, come hell or high water, so she figured she ought to do a load of laundry and then get some sleep. She would need to have her wits about her if she was going to be in some secluded park, alone with Molly. Her self-control was utter shite when she wasn't well rested.

Molly Weasley flicked her wand, putting together the last of what she and Hermione would need for their picnic today. A large enough blanket to spread out on, hoagies, a six pack of butterbeer, a bit of fruit, and a large muggle candy bar – Snickers - which Hermione had a secret fetish for. If Molly was lucky, Hermione would be inclined to share the chocolate. If not, well, being in a coma had given Molly her slim figure back, and the muggle sweet was probably not good for maintaining the size five figure she could now boast about.

"What are you humming about?" Arthur asked, walking into the kitchen and making for an apple off the kitchen table.

"Was I humming?" Molly asked, startled.

"Yes…" her husband of more than thirty years replied uncertainly.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't be," Arthur said with a smile. "It's good to see you happy again. I know how hard you've worked in the last six months to get back in tip-top shape. You're glowing. It reminds me of when we first fell in love."

Molly's gut lurched. After a year in a coma, and the last six months of getting her head back on straight, she and Arthur had not been intimate, not once. He was respecting her space as she healed, and she was glad of it, but if he was insinuating that he wanted to know if her progress meant she was ready to have sex again…

Images flashed in Molly's mind of the Battle of Hogwarts. Clamping her eyes closed didn't make them go away, and she found herself gripping the kitchen table for support. Arthur didn't understand. He couldn't, because he didn't know – no one did. Only the medi-witch who'd examined her knew what had taken place to cause Molly's head injury.

Rape. Five or six men; Molly couldn't remember too much about it. Just the flashes, really. A body bind hex had taken her by surprise, and then the Death Eaters had carried her to the Forbidden Forest, while the battle raged on, and tied her spread eagle between two trees. The body bind was then released and the assault began in earnest. After they were through with her, they dragged her back to the outer edge of the tree line. The last thing Molly remembered was a serpent headed walking stick hitting her between the eyes.

From what she had been told, she'd lay there for a couple hours before a couple Order members found her and sent her directly to St. Mungo's, where she'd remained for the following fifteen months. Might have been eighteen months had Hermione not promised to insure she continued her daily exercises and potion regimen. Hermione had later told her how that had been the first time she'd used her fame, as the brains of the Golden Trio, to get her way.

"I've got to get going," Molly said, eyes snapping open when she felt Arthur's hand on her arm. "I'll be home before dinner."

She didn't look back as she grabbed the basket and walked out the door, knowing that there would be a look of hurt in Arthur's eyes. She knew he wanted to be intimate with her again, but she wasn't ready. She wasn't sure she ever would be. The question that had plagued her for the last six months surfaced in her mind – Would her marriage be able to survive what happened that night?

Hermione looked up and forced a smile when Molly let herself into the flat. "Hi," the older witch said quietly, pulling the younger woman into a hug.

Frustration at her feelings vanished in an instant when she felt wetness on her cheek, and Molly began to shake. "Molly, what's wrong?" Hermione asked worriedly.

The older woman gave up pretenses of something not being wrong five seconds later, as a loud sob reverberated in Hermione's ear, and Molly clutched her so tightly it almost hurt.

"Molly?" Hermione pressed. "Talk to me, love."

The twenty one year old kicked herself mentally for the term of endearment she'd just used. She was not one to throw the L word out casually, and Molly knew that. Hermione could only hope that in her distress, Molly had not noticed.

"He wants…I can't…god…they might as well have killed me…my life is…I want to die."

The string of incomplete thoughts puzzled Hermione, but the last part, about wanting to die, was clear as day to her. "Oh, no you don't, Molly!" Hermione shouted, grabbing the older woman's face and forcing Molly to look at her. "Don't you fucking dare do that to me," she said firmly. "Please Molly, whatever it is, I will help you through it."

Molly stared blankly at her for a moment, seemingly startled out of her hysterical state. Ten seconds later, and all in a blur of quick movement, Molly's hands were on Hermione's face as well, and the older witch had pulled the younger into a kiss.

It was instinct, really, that made Hermione respond, rather than any sort of clear thinking. Lips melded, teeth clashed, and tongues battled for dominance. Hands drifted downward, each woman exploring the others' curves. Bodies pressed together tightly, and it was only a matter of minutes before the combined body heat and the heart racing activity caused Hermione and Molly to begin feeling too warm.

Nothing was said as they helped each other strip shirts and bras on route to Hermione's bedroom. The younger woman let out a gasp as Molly pushed her onto the bed and climbed on top of her. Hermione moaned and squirmed under Molly's weight at the older woman pinned her arms to the bed. The younger witch wanted nothing more than to remove her jeans – and Molly's too – but the red-haired woman was dead set on dominating her, and Hermione was inclined to let her.

Hermione had suspicions regarding the nature of what had landed Molly Weasley in St. Mungo's for a year, though they'd never talked about it. That said, if she was right, then trying to overpower Molly in this moment would be the biggest mistake she could make. Granted, she was well on the way to having sex with a married woman at the present, so in the category of mistakes, Hermione didn't suppose her judgment was much to talk about.

"Molly, please," she whispered, realizing that if she really loved Molly, than she needed to stop this before they went too far. "Stop."

The spell was broken, and Molly let go of her arms and got off of the younger woman. "Shit," Molly uttered, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from Hermione.

Hermione crawled over and sat directly behind the older woman, wrapping her arms gently around Molly's waste. "Please, please know…I didn't want to stop. But I had to," she whispered into a mane of long, red hair.

"I can't believe I just did that," Molly said quietly. "What the hell was I thinking…"

"Beats me," Hermione replied wistfully.

"I saw the way you looked at me," the older woman admitted. "I saw how you felt…and I just…needed to…god, I don't know, Hermione. I just acted. It felt…right. On the other hand…I'm married."

"To Arthur," Hermione agreed. "A man who loves you dearly, who you love in return."

"Who I have not let touch me since before the end of the war," Molly confessed, agony in her voice.

Hermione fought back the tears forming in her own eyes. That confession could only mean one thing. "How many were there?" Hermione asked quietly, reaching out and taking hold of Molly's hand.

"Five or six," the older woman replied with a hiss, gripping the younger woman's hand angrily. "You knew?"

"I suspected," Hermione sighed.

"Yes you still…"

"Love you?"

Molly twisted, looked Hermione in the eye and nodded.

"With every part of my being," the younger witch acknowledged. "But that doesn't change that you are a married woman."

"But my being a married woman could change," Molly argued.

Hermione gulped. "You have to know that any relationship between us will tear apart your family. You could never do that."

Molly stared intently into the younger woman's eyes for a good long minute before replying. "What if I could?"

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