Molly was staring at the clock again. It was probably around one in the morning but she hadn’t been able to sleep, so she came to stare at the clock again. She knew what she was looking for, and she knew that she wouldn’t find it. She was looking for the missing hand- Fred’s hand.
She was getting ready to go back upstairs when suddenly she heard Ginny screaming.
She quickly moved up the stairs, but by the time she reached Ginny’s room the screaming had stopped and she heard voices from inside.
“Shhhh. Ginny it’s fine, it’s ok, you’re home, just breathe.” She was surprised to hear Ron who usually could sleep through anything.
Ginny's tearful voice came next. “I was back at Hogwarts in… in that dungeon and they were using the Cruciatus Curse again.”
“I know,” came Hermione’s voice softly. “I keep dreaming about Bellatrix and that was only one time. I can’t imagine living in fear of that everyday.”
Harry’s voice, “I keep dreaming about it in the graveyard.”
Ron’s voice barely audible, “I keep keep dreaming about them torturing all of you.”
Ginny’s voice was back stronger now, “Hey, we pulled through.”
Harry’s voice was quiet, “Not everyone did though.”
Molly froze at the soft tone Ginny’s voice took, “You need to stop blaming yourself, Harry, it wasn’t your fault. It was Voldemort.”
Harry’s voice again exhausted, “Everyone keeps saying that but the feeling won’t go away.”
Ron let out a small snort, “Mate, usually when everyone’s saying something it’s true.”
Harry’s voice again, “Clearly you’ve forgotten about all those newspaper articles in fifth year.”
She could hear the hint of laughter in Ron’s voice as he said, “That’s why I said most of the time, although they might have been on to something there, you are acting a little crazy with your guilt complex.”
Ginny laughed only for a second before she said, “We should probably go back to sleep. I don’t think I woke anyone else up, and I don’t want to do that by accident.”
Ron’s voice again, “Yeah we all sleep pretty light after being on the run, but I’d hate to wait someone else up.”
Silence fell.
Molly slowly walked back downstairs. Her hands were shaking. Their conversation replayed over and over in her mind. When she got back to the kitchen, she automatically looked at the clock. Her eyes stopped on Ron’s hand.
Ron- he was so innocent. He is the sweet one of all her kids. He had no tact- but he cares so much. She thought of him as a five year old telling her all about his day, but his face was replaced with the boy who stood tall and yelled profanities at the monster who had killed his best friend. The boy who held up Percy after Fred had been killed. The boy who had watched his best friends almost die over and over. That boy had seen too many bad things to ever be innocent.
Her eyes switched to a picture on the wall of Percy with his head boy badge beaming at the camera. She smiled looking at it before her eyes dropped to the kitchen counter and she could hear Percy's confession from a few nights before. “It was all my fault Mum… he was talking to me… I distracted him… I should have been able to do something.” The heartbreak in his voice had killed her, but she hadn’t been able to do anything. Charlie was the one who had moved forward to comfort him.
A postcard from Romania was sitting on the table. She thought of Charlie laughing as he told them about the latest dragon that had come into the reserve. She remembered him at age 13 laughing with a girl with pink hair at the same table. Suddenly he was older, sitting there alone after that same girl's funeral. He had been so strong through everything else, but suddenly he was crying before Bill stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
Her eyes moved to the clock again. Bill’s hand was pointed at home, even though his home wasn’t The Burrow anymore. A picture of him holding baby Ginny with Fred and George in the background was on the wall behind the clock, his happy face smiling at her. Now his face was covered in scars. She remembered when he woke up in the hospital wing. Reaching up to feel his face, Fleur pushing his hand away gently, telling him to worry about it later. The way George kept cracking jokes until Bill snapped at him.
George hadn’t made a single joke since Fred had died. He was silent, heartbroken. All his laughter, all of his joy had died with Fred. She remembered the other day he had been downstairs. He had been talking to Harry in the next room when she had heard him ask like he was afraid. “What did it feel like? You’ve died, what did it feel like? Was he in pain?”
Harry had replied softly, “dying is… quicker and easier than falling asleep.”
Her eyes stopped on a picture of Ron, Harry, and Hermione laughing. Harry wasn’t her child by birth, but he was still her child. She remembered him lying on the ground looking dead. He hadn’t been the same since. No, that wasn’t right- he hadn’t been the same since Dumbledore died, or was it Sirius? No wait, now she had it, he hadn’t been the same since You- Know-Who had come back. Even before that thought he was serious, almost sad sometimes, but it had gotten worse through the years, nowadays Ginny was the only one who could pull him out of his own head.
Her eyes went to a picture of eleven year old Ginny when she got her Hogwarts letter. She had screamed in joy, jumping up and down. Now she was scared to go back. The little girl in the photograph was replaced in Molly’s mind by the young woman having to be held back from running towards her boyfriend's dead body. The young women who duel Bellatrix Lestrange with such ferocity it scared people around her.
Molly’s eyes darted back to the clock looking, once again, for Fred’s hand, but she didn’t see it. Her eyes locked on the rest of her family. She stood up taking Charlie’s postcard. She pulled Ginny and Percy’s pictures off the wall along with the one with Bill, Fred and George, and the shot of Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughing. She stopped in front of the clock still holding the pictures.
Suddenly she started sobbing and couldn’t stop. She sank to the floor still holding the pictures. Still holding the proof that they laughed. Still trying to remember them that way Shaking from the realization that the war hadn’t killed one of her children.
It had killed them all, and she hadn’t even noticed.