The Casualties of Grief.
The Burrow. Autumn 1998.
‘Molly, my darling.’
“Go away.” I’m sorry. Please stay.
‘Molly. It’s been weeks since you’ve properly gotten up and ready for the day.’
“I don’t care.” Yes. I do. Love me. I’m in so much pain. “Go away.”
‘Molly. Let me help you.’
“I don’t want your help!”Yes. I do.
‘I love you. I’m just trying to be there for you.’
“I hate you.” I didn’t mean it. I DIDN’T MEAN IT, ARTHUR.
‘You don’t mean that.’
“Yes. I do.” No. I don’t.
“Damn it, Molly! Enough of this." Molly turned to face him. She was a little shocked he finally fought back. "You aren’t the only one who lost Fred!” His voice raised an octave. “He was my child too!” She hit a nerve. I’m so sorry, my love.
Molly sat up from their bed and turned to face him.
There were weeks and weeks worth of bags beneath her eyes and dried tears stained upon her cheeks.
Her curls were a disheveled mess.
Her body ached as she hadn’t ever laid in bed so much in all of her days.
“Enough? Enough of what, Arthur Weasley? Grieving the loss of my son? Am I not perky enough for you? Sorry Fred's death has kept me from being cheery!" She threw the sheets off from her body and stood before her husband.
'Molls. . .'
"No, Arthur. Don't you Molls me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You weren’t the one who carried him in your belly for nine months! You weren’t the one who left your career to stay home and raise him so he wouldn’t be alone! You weren’t the one who made him a second breakfast everyday because one was never enough - -” She paused.
There was a cry of emotion which cut off her words.
Molly brought her hand to her mouth to try and push it back down.
Fred. I miss you so much.
Arthur didn't say anytihng for several moments.
“That's not fair." When he finally replied, his voice lowered once more. "We agreed I would be the one to work and you would be the one who stayed home with the children. That's what you wanted. That's not fair, Molly!”
Molly’s attention shot upward toward Arthur. She glared.
“Neither was losing Fred, but apparently that's what we were destined for! A life of sadness, and losing one pf our very own!”
Her hands dropped to her sides as she made her way over to the closet. She drew her wand - which had been in her pocket since she last laid down several days prior - and magicked a trunk from the shelf and began to pack her things.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, trying to stop her.
Molly turned toward him. Her wand pointed directly against his chest. Her eyes glared into his.
“Don’t think for a moment I won’t use this on you.” I would never, my love. I would never!
Her eyes were heavy and filled with anger and rage.
She was so tired. She honestly didn't know what she was doing any longer.
“Get away from me, Arthur. I don’t want your help.” Yes. I do. “I’m tired of the questions! I’m tired of you lot asking me if I’m alright. I DON’T WANT TO ANSWER ANYONE ELSE. I don’t want to be here.”
STOP ME. PLEASE.
“I’m leaving you.”
* * *
Shell Cottage. Two Weeks Later.
‘Mum? Dad’s here. He’d like to see you.” It was Bill’s knock on the door and his voice which brought Molly out of her thoughts from the last conversation she had with Arthur before she left the Burrow.
Molly didn’t answer Bill right away.
She never did.
‘Come on, Mum. Let him in.’
She rocked back and forth in the rocking chair in her room.
Her eyes stared forward into the nothingness that was her new world now.
She barely left her room over the last few weeks.
Every day at this time - half past eleven in the morning - on his lunch break at the Ministry, Arthur came to pay Molly a visit, but whenever Bill or Fleur would knock on her door, she would tell them to tell him she didn’t want to see him.
It was a lie. She wanted to see him.
Molly wanted to hold him so tight.
She wanted to tell him how sorry she was.
She wanted to cry in his arms.
. . . but the shame she felt for the way she ended things crippled her from allowing him inside.
Never in all of the time she’d known Arthur had she ever spoken to him with such disrespect and hatred.
Molly didn’t mean a word of what she had spoken, but it didn’t change the fact: she said those hateful words filled with no care for the man she loved with her everything.
She was just so tired and so broken.
She’d lost Gideon and Fabian in the first war, and now she lost her son in the second.
Bilius was dead.
Her father was dead.
Her mother was dead (well, she wasn’t that close with her mother, but she still died). . . everyone she loved died.
Why did she survive? That was the question.
Why of all of the people who could’ve been given the opportunity to live longer. . . why did it have to be her?
She would give her life ten times over if it meant her brothers returned to this world.
She would give anything . . . anything at all to be given the chance to hold Fred one last time.
She would do anything to be reunited with her little boy.
A mother wasn’t meant to outlive her child.
Molly tried to be strong, but the weight of knowing she wasn’t there to protect them - like she had been for Ginny - -
I COULD’VE SAVED HIM.
I WASN’T THERE.
I WASN’T THERE.
FRED. I’M SO SORRY.
Her mind plagued her with the reality every bloody minute of every bloody day.
She had been strong enough to fight off and kill Bellatrix Lestrange. She could’ve killed Rookwood before he set off the explosion.
What was the point of living in this world, if the two hands she’d been given to protect her children hadn’t been able to save her little boy?
“I don’t want to see him.” she finally replied. No. ASK HIM TO STAY. “Tell him to stop coming around. My answer won't change.” Don’t do that. Tell him to keep fighting my stubborn arse until I open that damn door.
It was the same answer given to Bill or Fleur everyday at half-past eleven. . . yet, everyday, at that same damn time, Arthur came around again.
Maybe one day Molly would open that door for him.