The Casualties of Grief. 
Molly honestly didn’t know how long she’d been sitting in the rocking chair by her window, staring out into the oblivion.
Time was becoming somewhat an irrelevant concept to the woman.
Molly was numb in a lot of ways. She felt completely drained from not only losing her son, but losing herself and pushing away the one man who had been there for her through it all. Not to mention, causing an apparent uproar in the lives of all of their children.
She didn’t blame them, really.
Molly knew her choice was wrong, but she was so bloody stubborn at times, she couldn’t bring herself to go home.
The air of exhaustion which took over her was quite the burden and took a toll on her thinning body. She, Molly Weasley, the woman who was always feeding others and kept a well-fed figure herself, was thinning out into nothing.
She didn’t want to eat.
She didn’t want to drink.
She didn’t want to get up.
She didn’t want to go on.
She didn’t want to breathe.
She wanted Fred. All she wanted was Fred.
There really was nothing but fading life left inside of her.
Bill had attempted to speak with her.
Fleur had attempted to speak with her - even bringing in Victoire as a hopeful incentive to bring back some semblance of life, Molly knew, to the Matriarch they all counted on.
Percy popped by, but he didn’t try to speak sense into her. In fact, on the contrary, he acted as her friend - a shoulder she could cry on whilst she grieved.
He didn’t make her speak.
He didn’t ask her to explain herself, and maybe that was because he understood what it was like to be in such pain so great that not even those she loved could help her now.
She held onto her Percy all evening, letting out a few silent sobs in between sleeping and merely sitting there staring. . . and he allowed her to do so, not asking her to be anyone else for him.
Ronald, oh her sweet, sweet Ronald had stopped by with flowers earlier that very morning and love from both him and Hermione. He was so awkward in his approach to get her to listen, but Molly appreciated the gesture, and she appreciated Hermione’s reminder to bring her flowers.
They now sat in the vase beside her.
She didn’t even ask her youngest boy to stay longer than he felt comfortable, knowing this was hard for him, and she even encouraged him to go and spend time with his father that evening. Even if she wasn’t able to see Arthur, she didn’t wish for her husband to be alone.
Molly had been visited by a good majority of her children during this time. Hell, even Colin Creevey, a boy Molly considered one of her multitude of bonus children had visited her. Though his ghost, it may have been, he still managed to pay the woman he loved like a mother a visit. . . whilst also telling her how foolish she was behaving.
It wasn’t until another knock later in the day - after Bill and Fleur reminded her, yet again, that Arthur had stopped by for the day. . .and after she, yet again, sent him away, and told them to tell him to take this as a time to spend with his children, Molly knew exactly who was on the other side of that door.
It was her little girl, and Molly knew her daughter well enough to know (because they were so much alike) Ginny was here with a purpose, and she wouldn’t leave well alone until she found a resolve that worked for her.
Molly didn’t answer the knocks right away, and she couldn’t help but allow a soft little smile to spread across her lips toward Ginny’s threats. Oh her darling daughter was so very much like her. Under any normal circumstances, of course, Molly would’ve marched to that door immediately, flung it open, and - - ‘Ginevra Molly Weasley! You are most certainly not going to do such a foolish thing! And without a wand? Really? I know I raised you better than that to go gallivanting half-way across the world without any sort of protection whatsoever! You could die- - -’ Her inner dialogue ceased the moment she responded with that one damn word which gripped her heart so tight she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.
She taught him better than that.
She taught him better enough than to die before she did.
Molly felt herself filling with emotion, but she knew she had to push it aside as best she could because if she knew Ginevra, and she did, her daughter was about to burst through those doors one way or another, and she wouldn’t ever keep her children out.
Her wand was lazily drawn from the pocket of her robes and an inward, Alohamora!, was chanted, unlocking the door. The wand was just as lazily returned and replaced.
When Ginny entered the room, Molly’s eyes landed on her daughter. . and her own heart broke at the sight of how defeated she looked. ‘Oh Ginevra. . .’she wanted to say.
Molly wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter and tell her how sorry she was for abandoning her in this obvious time of need. She knew how much weight and burden had been put on Ginny to put on a bright face and march herself off to school as if nothing had happened.
She tried to speak.
She tried to share some words - anything - with her aching daughter, but no words would form.
‘Ginny. I’m so sorry, my darling,’ she wanted to continue. . . but she couldn’t speak.
Silence from the exhaustion she felt surrounded her, preventing her from saying a damn word.
Her eyes landed on the tea and then on Ginny as she spoke.
Molly scooted forward in her rocking chair and took the mug in between her two hands.
Her eyes looked to the tea - a piece of lavender floated on the top.
This was her recipe concocted for Ginny just after returning home from her first year at school and being possessed.
Molly had been there the day Ginevra returned home with home remedies and support and acted as any and everything Ginny might have needed because she wasn’t going to lose her little girl to the darkness which had taken over her. . .
. . .and it was in that moment - that moment of realization as to why Ginny was here - that moment as to why her daughter brought the mug filled with the brew of Molly’s making she now held in her hand.
The witch set the cup aside, stood, and immediately wrapped Ginny up in her arms.
She held her tight.
Her hands moved up and down Ginny’s back and into her hair, feeling every single ounce of this child she brought into the world.
Ginny was here.
Ginny was real.
Ginny was safe.
Ginny was alive.
Molly’s eyes closed tight.
Her cheek rested against the top of Ginny’s head, taking in her daughter’s scent.
Her hands gripped the sweater Ginny wore.
Molly loved all of her children equally. Though, they often told her she chose favorites.
Every single one of her children held a special and very important place in her heart, and Ginevra, she was always closest with because Ginny was her youngest.
It didn’t mean she loved Ginny more than her other children, it meant she’d spent more time getting to know her because whilst the others were off growing older and living their own lives at Hogwarts and beyond, Ginny had been home with Molly for many years. Not to mention, they were the only women in a houseful of men.
The pair of them had a different bond, and having her daughter here. . .there was a part of Molly which came to life again.