It was no secret that Molly Weasley did not approve of her brother's witch. Ten years their senior, she felt like they should perhaps heed her guidance; wisdom, after all, came with age. Unfortunately, they did not agree, insisting that the witch was the one for them, and once out of school, they were marrying her.
Of course that seemed absurd, they were far too young, in her opinion. An opinion she shared. Frequently. But in a move that pierced her heart, her brothers informed her that either she accepted it, them or she could accept that they couldn't remain in her life. And while she agreed to keep her thoughts to herself, her dislike of their witch solidified. Her baby brothers would never have considered questioning her like that before she became involved. So despite continuing to say the right things, pretending to welcome the witch into the family, quietly, she vowed that marriage or not, she would convince her brothers that they had made a mistake.
It was a blessing in some ways that the war came to a head as it did. While, much to her consternation, her brothers did indeed marry their witch, they were all so involved in The Order that they were often like ships passing in the night. And whatever Molly personally thought about their wife's desire to fight rather than remain at home, she could at least agree that the time apart was likely a good thing. Perhaps they'd rethink the whole nonsense then.
And then, after months of fighting, her brothers had come to her and explained that they were being sent undercover. That they had a lead on something to do with the war and so they had to pretend to be dead. They asked if she would look after their wife, explaining that they might be gone for months but it would be worth it because if they were successful, the war would be over for good. And not being able to say otherwise, she agreed.
Seven months after their disappearance, their wife had barrelled into her home clutching a tiny newborn to her and begged Molly to look after the child, frantically explaining that she'd received word from her family that they were under attack. Molly had eyed her warily, taking in the sleeping bundle, clearly only days old and wondered how best to proceed. She wasn't even sure that the babe belonged to one of her brothers, she hadn't visited their wife the entire time they had been gone and thankfully, the witch had had enough sense not to bother her up until then. But clearly, it wasn't the time for that conversation. That could come later. So Molly agreed. What else was she meant to do?
But then, when she got news of the massacre of the McKinnons, she began to plan. Her brothers were now widowers, but what reputable witch wanted to bring up someone else's child? Clearly, her brothers had had no idea they were due to be fathers. If they had, they'd never have left, mission or not. And that meant that the child could not be here when they returned. And truly, it might not even be theirs, there was nothing on the babes face that resembled the Prewetts. Even the sparse covering of curls on her head was her mother's brown, not the expected red. So really, it was best to deal with it quickly and quietly. They could mourn their wife and never know that there was a chance she'd been unfaithful. She was only thinking of them. She looked down at the tiny babe in her arms and realised that she felt nothing. She looked too like her mother. It really was for the best.
Six months later, her brothers returned and despite their grief, she felt at peace. They would grieve Marlene and move on. And perhaps next time, they'd take her opinion into consideration and settle down with a nice witch who knew her place. It would all work out, she knew it.
On 31st of October 1981, half the Order hid in the home of James and Lily Potter, and as the gate opened, and Wormtail attempted to lead Lord Voldemort to their door, they struck. As they watched him fall as human as any of the rest of them, Gideon and Fabian Prewett just felt hollow. Their mission had clearly been a success, the Horcruxes Dumbledore had sent them to find were gone but neither of them felt like celebrating. They had won, and yet it still felt like they'd lost.