Furcate: To form a fork; branch

March 9, 1970

"Molly? Are you up here?"

Arthur stuck his head up into the cramped attic that had once been his bedroom, craning his neck to see around the boxes that, in the two years since he'd left school, seemed to have multiplied like gnomes. Sure enough, at the far end of the small room, he could see someone in a bright red apron huddled by the window: his wife of all of two months.

He pulled himself the rest of the way into the dusty space and began picking his way over to her.

"My brothers are downstairs," he told her, folding himself onto a box opposite her. "And the boys. Mum says my uncles ought to be arriving soon and then we'll eat. Are you ready to come down?"

"In… in a bit," Molly squeaked, keeping her eyes glued to the window.

Arthur shook his head, smiling bemusedly. "Honestly, Molly. What are you suddenly so nervous for? You've met my brothers before."

"It's just… different now," she muttered, taking the corner of her apron and rubbing a patch of dust on the window. "And I've never met your uncles and aunts and all your cousins…."

"They're going to love you," Arthur said confidently.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet with a reassuring smile.

"How do you know?" She asked, reluctantly allowing herself to be led toward the steep staircase.

"Because I do," Arthur told her, and even though it was maybe the corniest thing he could have said (and she gathered he knew as much by the slight smirk that crossed his face), she also knew he meant it with every fiber of his being. It calmed her a little. But only a little.

XxX

Molly had never eaten at such a crowded table in her life. She and Arthur were crammed so close together, their plates were nearly on top of each other. Arthur was one of three brothers, and while Bilius had never settled down and no one could imagine him ever doing so without bursting into raucous laughter, Rupert had five sons all between the ages of two and ten and another one on the way. And Arthur's father was the youngest of seven brothers, all of whom had at least three sons a piece. And only about three of Arthur's cousins hadn't made it to the celebration. Factor in wives, children, and maiden great aunts (not on the Weasley side, of course), and Molly was not sure how they all even fit into the tiny kitchen, let alone at the same table.

And almost every one of those people older than about fifteen had turned to her at some point and said, "So you're the one little Artie's settled down with?" Most of them smiled cheerfully, but Molly couldn't help but squirm every time.

Eight o'clock found Molly leaning against the porch railing, watching Arthur's older brothers toss a Quaffle back and forth in the back garden as an excuse to rough him up in that brotherly way she had never quite understood. But somehow to them, pinning someone in a half-nelson was a sign of affection. Several of their cousins had joined in by this point, and even though they were all mostly-grown men, the back garden resembled something close to a schoolyard.

"So you're the one little Artie's settled down with?"

Molly jumped at the voice, whirling and blushing when she saw it was only Arthur's father. He chuckled a bit.

"I heard a few of them asking you," he said with an amiable grin that was so much like his son's. "Suppose it got tiring after a while, but the family had to check you out. Don't worry, I think you passed," he told her amusedly.

She offered an embarrassed smile.

"You seemed a bit anxious tonight, Molly. Hope we didn't intimidate you." Septimus went on, taking a sip of butter beer.

"Oh, not at all," she lied.

It wasn't a very good lie.

"Come now, Molly. I raised three sons – one of whom was Bilius. Surely we weren't that bad?"

Molly hesitated for a moment, twisting her fingers together. But there was just something about Septimus that enticed confidences. It was another thing he'd passed down to his son. "It's just that you're all so close, even though there're so many of you. Arthur's always telling me about running around with his cousins and his uncles and everything…. And I took him away without them even meeting me…. Not exactly starting on the right foot, is it?"

To her surprise, Septimus laughed. It was kind laugh – he was laughing at her, but not in a mean or condescending way. It was near-impossible for Septimus Weasley to be either of those things.

"We don't hold it against you," he assured her. "You might be taking him away from us – and alright, a little warning from the two of you might have been nice – but that's what children do. They grow up and branch out. Look around you," he gestured at the garden and the house, filled with people from several generations.

"Every one of them hopes that's the way it goes. Trust me, one day your little part of the family tree will branch out, and you'll know what I mean. My dad used to say something like, 'to grow a new tree, you've got to drop the apple'. Branching is a way of life."

He took another swig of his drink, nodded to her, and moved off to see what a few of his grandsons were doing in the flower garden.

And eventually Molly Weasley did know what he meant – when she stood at the center of her own overly-crowded house some forty years later and watched all her little blossoms tear around after one another.

A/N: And there you have Molly's second lesson on family, this time delivered by Arthur's father. I kind of adore all the Weasleys, even the ones we never got to meet. Yeah, at the end, Molly's 'blossoms' are her grandchildren. I hope I got across what I was trying to get at… Please let me know if you liked it!