Chapter 4
It wasn't long before the delicious scent Kat's cooking was wafting through the cottage and Molly was forced out of her room by temptation. She skipped down the stairs in attempt to keep a smile on her face for Kat. The stairs and hallways were lined with boxes and stay cases and bags from the other house. In due time they'd all have to be sorted through and put away but that could take weeks; the cottage wasn't big enough to hold everything anyway.
"What are you making, mum?" Molly asked cheerfully as she entered what would be the kitchen.
"I'm not too sure to be perfectly honest, sweetie. The only food we have is what was left the cupboards at home-" she paused, "I mean at the old house. And I only have this old cooker to make anything on." Kat gestured to the back of the room where there was an old, rusty cooker shoved in the corner. It definitely looked as though it had had better days- the door to the oven kept swinging open and shut and the gas fire on the hob kept flickering on and off dangerously.
"I expect it turn out a bit like a Shepard's Pie." Kat continued, her voice hollow, "It's just tomato soup, vegetables and mashed potatoes."
"It sounds great. Do you want some help with that?" Molly offered walking over where her mum was struggling to attach the legs to the surface of the table. Kat's hands shook slightly as she fiddled with the screws and Molly could see a single tear forming in the corner of her mum's eye.
"Mum, why don't you go find the chairs while I finish the table off. I think I spotted them near the bottom of the stairs."
Taking the hint, Kat slowly got to her feet and headed out to locate the chairs while Molly finished foxing on the last two legs of the old table. They had plans to completely decorate the bathroom, kitchen and living room so had only brought with them the old, cheap furniture which would suffice until replaced properly.
Righting the rickety table, Molly called for Willow, who bounded in from the garden and ran around the kitchen excitedly before spotting her tail and stopping to chase that instead. 'At least Willow's enjoying herself' Molly thought as she bent down to play with the puppy.
Molly and Kat were soon dining together in the makeshift kitchen, eating from the first chipped plates they could find in the array of boxes with plastic cutlery. Willow sat next to the table, whining every so often and getting up to search around the room. Molly kept her eyes fixed on her food; she knew that what Willow did when someone was missing from the family.
Just as Molly was scraping the last couple of peas from her plate, there was a distant hooting sound, and her beautiful boreal owl, Pepper, flew in through the back door. She perched on the back of Molly's chair, an envelope tied her leg. Across the table, Kat tensed slightly but remained silent as her daughter undid the letter and slid it open.
Molly coughed awkwardly before announcing, "It's from Hogwarts, my list of equipment for next term." Kat glanced up but Molly continued quickly, "But we don't need to worry about that for now, we still have a few weeks."
Pepper pecked impatiently at Molly's ear before jumping onto the table and gobbling up the remaining food from the plates.
"Mum, I'm so sorr-" Molly began.
"I'll do the dishes, sweetie." Kat interrupted, "I'll have to use the bathroom sink; this one doesn't work. You can go see your uncle and cousins if you want or stay here and work on unpacking these boxes."
"I'll stay and find some off Willow's stuff. I'll put her bed and toys in my room for now," Molly replied as she reluctantly got to her feet, stroking Pepper on the back of the head as she did so.
The next few days were worse than torture for everyone. Fred returned only out of guilt about leaving Molly. Every day found the three of them packing, painting or decorating in a different room. Each evening, Kat cooked dinner and left it on the table for the others to collect of their own accord. Breakfast and lunch consisted of separate meals being individually made and taken to respective rooms to be eaten. The only few things Molly enjoyed about the week were the occasional visits from George- which seemed to at least cheer Fred up considerably- and escaping the cottage to walk Willow.
One evening, when Molly's patience had finally snapped and she had stormed out the house, dragging poor Willow behind her, she found herself heading straight towards the Burrow. When she had set out, Molly didn't really have much of an idea as to where she would end up, but as she stood in front of her grandparents front door, she knew, exactly what she was going to do.
Mrs Weasley gave better advice than anyone Molly knew. Her grandmother could tolerate the most ridiculous of rants and still know precisely what to say to calm anyone down. After raising seven children, Mrs Weasley had experienced daily dramas, therefore knowing better than anyone how to go about fixing a problem or resolving an argument.
Within five minutes, Molly had been ushered through the front door, had a steaming mug of hot chocolate forced into her hands, been lectured about how she shouldn't have left the house alone so late at night in the cold rain before her grandmother finally asked her why she had come over.
"Mum and dad are fighting," Molly muttered to her grandmother's back.
Immediately, the dish cloth was dropped and the tap turned off, and faster than Molly's eyes could follow, her grandmother was in the chair next to her, wiping her wet hands on her apron and looking at her granddaughter in concern.
Molly explained everything to her grandma; how she understood both the opinions of her mother and father, but didn't know what to think herself. How Fred often left to visit George and how the family were rarely seen in the same room together for more than a few minutes. And finally, how she felt that it was her fault.
"After all," she had reasoned, "if it weren't for me, dad never would have had to risk his life so many times to keep everyone safe, and mum would have been able to keep her perfect magic-free life."
"Sweetie," Mrs Weasley began, gripping her sobbing granddaughter in the most motherly hug she could muster, "none of this is your fault. Think of all the good that came from you attending Hogwarts last year." When Molly just stared blankly, she continued, "Think of your uncle George. You didn't have to see what he was like before your dad came back and saved the day. I can't even explain to you how horrible the last twenty-one years have been. You and your dad put a smile back on our faces."
At this point, Willow, who had been curled up next to the fire, plodded over to Molly and rested her head on her owner's knee.
"Your mother stills loves you, dear, witch or not."
"But what if she doesn't love dad?" Molly sniffled.
"Your father, as immature and childish as he can be, is trying very hard to do the right thing. He believes that fixing things here, where he was born and grew up, is more important than worrying about arguments. He fought- died even, for our world."
"But he's apologised to everyone! Why can't he make mum happy now?" Molly wailed.
"Molly, dear, I watched your father grow up. He was a troublemaker, always was. He told jokes, pulled pranks and was never seen without a smile on his face. Your dad and your uncle George lived to make people happy. To make people smile. But the one thing he always put before any of his silly little pranks was his family. Now, he knows he' s done something wrong, and he thinks he has to make up for twenty years of lost jokes and pranks. The guilt he feels for putting something else before his parents, his siblings, his twin, is greater than any guilt any of us have ever experienced."
"I want him and mum to stop fighting!" Molly whimpered into her grandma's shoulder.
"I know you do." Mrs Weasley's heart broke for the little girl. In just under a year, her entire life had been flipped and the two people who should be helping support her were arguing. She gazed at the forgotten mug of hot chocolate and an idea popped into her head. She held Molly in front of her and wiped away the stream of tears which would soon flood the kitchen.
"You should head home now. Your parents will be worried." Molly scoffed but Mrs Weasley ignored her.
"That cottage isn't home," Molly said sadly, "not when mum and dad don't do anything but argue. That can't be anyone's home."
Just as she was about to leave the Burrow, Molly turned around to face her grandma, "The Burrow's quiet without anyone here."
"No dear. Not quiet. It's peaceful."
Molly turned to walk home with Willow, so she didn't hear Mrs Weasley mutter 'and it's awful' and she didn't see the steady flow of tears which began to roll down her grandma's cheeks.
Because in reality, Mrs Weasley missed her children's youth, and she missed the chaos.