Chapter 1 : The Burrow
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The halls of the cottage were silent to her, the rain the only sound she wished to hear. She blocked out the ticking clock, the loud voices from the floor below. Molly Weasley stood in her grandparent’s room, watching the skies weep. The burgundy bed sheet was set straight, the corners tucked beneath the red pillows on the bed. Around her, the wooden walls seemed strong.
She clutched the thin paper that she had found in the desk downstairs, a letter from her father to her Uncle Harry. It was the one she had never read, the one she hadn’t found before. Enclosed within the red wax seal, was his written will – something that was now needed. Her father’s passing was something she hadn’t taken well.
The Burrow had always seemed a safe place, through all the anguish and torment that the Death Eaters had enforced upon the world, still this house stood proudly in its place, not a tile missing from the roof.
It was imminent, a third war of the Wizarding World. But it was reasonable to say, that this one wouldn’t be won, not without a fight. There was no specific leader to take down, no leader, but an army. A group of Dark Wizards wanting to claim back the ideal that they were so ruthlessly deprived of all those years ago.
The brunette shook in the cold, folding her father’s letter in to her jacket pocket. Her grandparent’s home had only meant to be a temporary hide out before they moved once more – ‘keep moving’, was her Uncle Ron’s advice, ‘Never stay in one place for long’. Yet, almost a week and a half later she was still sleeping in the room she would play hide and seek in as a child.
According to Teddy, they wouldn’t be expected here; it would be too simple, so where better to go than plain sight? At first, Molly had been frightened, as the youngest of the travelling group, she had wanted only to hide behind the walls of Hogwarts and cry until her father woke her up from her sadistic dream, yet she still lay sleeping.
Now she would be in her seventh year, her final year. She would then leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry with straight O’s and proceed to train as an Unspeakable for the Ministry. But she was barely seventeen, nowhere near old enough to carry the burden of which she carried now. Then again, her favourite Uncle Ron could do it at this age, so why couldn’t she?
It took her a moment to collect herself, pull herself together, before she caught her plain expression in the mirror. Her hair was a nest, the dry strands falling limp down past her shoulders. Her usually red lips seemed lacking, a coral colour that seemed dry. And her eyes, her best feature, large and inviting, a doe eyed feature that could rival that of a beloved deer, yet they seemed lifeless and cold.
Fixing her hair by pulling it in to a bun, she exited the room, making her way down the hallway of The Burrow. The arguing voices in the sitting room below seemed only louder as she descended down the first set of stairs.
Pictures were hung from the wall in frames, moving persons and laughing bodies walked alongside her, in her step. She looked up to the grinning face of her Uncle George, still with only one ear; he was a charmer, a face that she knew her Aunt Angelina adored. But she didn’t know where they were, safe? She had not seen them for months, four to be exact, not since the fight at the Ministry.
Teddy had taken hold of her arm and pulled her through the floo before life-threatening damage could have been done that night, he could see it was a losing battle and he took the chance he got. Molly had always been a dear friend of his, despite the gap age. He had left Hogwarts before she had started, yet she always seemed to know more of the world they lived in than he did. He was the first voice from the floor below.
The second was a deeper tone, her cousin James. She knew his booming laugh from one hundred miles away, yet it was a sound she hadn’t heard for a while. Together, Teddy and James were an impossible force to be reckoned with, yet as enemies … the world should be afraid, more than they are now. Lately, arguing seemed the only thing of which the pair could agree on.
Molly sighed as she approached the first floor landing, pausing as she saw a door open a crack. A small white haired boy stood in the doorway, no taller than the rusted knob nailed in to the wood. His eyes were large, almond shaped, and his thumb jammed in to his mouth.
“William,” Molly said, startling the small boy. “Go back in to your room.”
The boy didn’t do as he was told, a usual occurrence Molly found.
He took his thumb from his mouth a walked towards Molly, shutting the door behind him. “Why is Daddy fighting?” he asked. “Daddy said that he wouldn’t fight with Uncle Jamie anymore.”
“Sometimes people can’t help it,” she explained softly, pulling the child in to her arms. “Daddy and Uncles James have always been a little different; they simply decide to sort it out differently than we all hoped.”
“But what are they fighting about?” he asked. “Yesterday it was over the last of the raspberry jam.”
Even Molly had to admit that their arguments were getting silly. Teddy had used the last of the jam and bread on William, whereas James had scolded his god-cousin for not consulting the others before he did.
The small blonde boy before her looked nothing like his father, with the exception of the eyes. He held no traces of becoming a metamorphosis not the tendencies of a werewolf, and none of the desire to argue. He was his mother’s son, a mother of which he will see no longer.
Teddy and Victoire had been married in a small wedding held at Shell Cottage seven years before, only family allowed. William had been born only two years later and was named after his grandfather, a fact that he held close to his heart. But Victoire had been caught by snatchers seven months ago, a fact that Molly was sure Teddy had never truly had the time to recover from.
“Go back in to your room William.” Molly said quietly once more. “They will stop arguing soon.”
She walked past another window, the rain bleeding through the cracks in the glass. Yet she didn’t seem to care. Molly raced down the stairs towards her two cousins but made no attempt to split them apart.
Instead she caught the eye of Howie Farrel, known more commonly as ‘Jagger’ to anyone who wishes to keep their fingers and toes. He was sat in her grandmother’s old arm chair with his leg hitched up over the other. In his strong grip he held a crystal brandy glass, one of which he had helped himself to from the cupboard. He swirled the last mouthful of the drink around in the bottom of the glass.
He patted the arm of the chair, a quiet notion when compared against the raised voices of her cousins. Jagger was James’ best friend from school, they trained in the Ministry together, following in the footsteps of both their fathers and studied all the same subjects. Moly had known for sure she would have ended up murdering her best friend if they had to be together at all hours of the day, but the joke seems ironic now.
His dark eyes caught hers as she did as she was asked, he offered her the last of his drink but she shook her head. He downed it in one.
Molly nodded towards her family. “What are they fighting about?”
“James wants to leave,” he said. “He thinks it’s time to move on from The Burrow, but Teddy doesn’t want to.”
“And do you agree with him?”
Jagger shrugged. “I agree that it’s time to get some more supplies from the town maybe,” he smirked a tad “But in my opinion, at least it’s better than the argument they had over the picture of your Grandfather Arthur last night.”
“They argued over a picture of Grandpa?” she asked curiously.
He nodded. “Teddy wanted to take it with him, as inspiration or something, but James thinks the house should be left intact, for when everyone comes back – when everything is normal again.”
Molly found it hard to relate to her cousin sometimes. At night, while she thought of ways to remember her father, recalling her memories to William, James thought of what he would say when he saw his father once again, safe and sound. He thought of only the positive.
“To be honest,” Jagger began again. “I simply think that we should fight the Death Eaters and be done with it.”
Molly snorted; he was always the one to be irrational. Jagger loved a fight, nothing more, nothing less. She remembered the Quidditch Matches that she would watch. Jagger was the Gryffindor beater, he was stupidly brave. Recklessness came with the courage of which he held. He didn’t just win a match; he pummelled the other team in to the ground until there were no remains of the players. He always went too far.
She heard Jaggers voice in her head when she fought for her life, it was always his. She blinked and stood up to her cousins, calling it a day for their fight when James jabbed Teddy in the arm with a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet.
“Stop it!” she cried. “The both of you!”
They both turned to her pleading voice as she stood up from the arm of the chair. Teddy’s hair turned a shade of pink at her voice, his eyes lightening from their dark demeanour. James didn’t even have the decency to look remotely abashed, but then again, he never did.
“Molly,” Teddy began apologetically. “We’re sorry, did our discussion disturb you?”
“Discussion?” she echoed in disbelief. “You’re lucky we have protective charms around this house otherwise the entire county could have heard you! You woke up Will; he’s been stood at the top of the stairs listening for ages.”
Teddy’s eyes widened. “And you didn’t put him back in to bed?”
She chose not to reply, but simply watch as he ran up the stairs to see his son. James took this as a win and collapsed in to the sofa next to his friend. She joined him.
Outside the dimmed sky and the storming weather and approaching night had made it dangerous for the group. It was approaching nightfall.
Together, Jagger and James were brothers. Jagger was an only child and James hadn’t been close to his own brother since his second year of Hogwarts. James and Albus hadn’t spoken since the fight at the Ministry all those months ago. They had broken in, undercover, in an attempt to get back her Uncle Ron from the holding cell on the lowest floor, the most guarded. They had failed, miserably. If anything, the Ministry had captured more of them.
Molly had inherited her father’s desire to achieve, to do well; this spurred her to admire her Aunt Hermione. She was one of the few children that adored listening to her Aunt’s reasoning. While her sister, Lucy, longed to hear the stories told by her Uncle Harry, Molly wished to hear the spells used by her Aunt to keep her Uncles alive.
James took this moment to smack Molly on the leg. “You alright, love?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “I just don’t like it when you and Teddy argue.”
“Well of course you wouldn’t,” he replied. “You’re the nice one in this group, I give Little Lupin two more years before he turns in to his father, of course by that time, we’ll all be back living in this house with mum making tea and gossiping about Albus’ new girlfriend.”
She didn’t miss Jaggers raised eyebrow. He and James may be similar, but Jagger didn’t have his head in the clouds.
Molly pulled the ends of her hair over her shoulder and twisted the bits that she could reach comfortably. “James, I agree with you that we should leave The Burrow, I believe that we should leave it in tact, for the future generations.” He smiled at her words. “But I don’t believe that the future generations are going to include us.”
His frown fell. “Don’t be like that Molly.”
“You know that it’s true, James.” She whispered. “But you’re right; we do need to move on.”
He slammed the copy of The Daily Prophet on to the table in front of them. “Well then, grab you bag and let’s go!”
“Oh no, Molly.” He interrupted. “You go and grab your sobbing sister, I will go and get the text books, but let’s not worry about the family photos, because we’re never going to see them again.”
She bit the inside of her lip. “James, I’m so-“
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Jagger interrupted. “James, go outside in to the rain and calm down. Molly isn’t Teddy.”
With only a slightly betrayed look towards his best friend, the raven haired boy stomped his way towards the back door and slammed it behind him.
Molly looked towards the floor. “It’s sometimes shocking to think that he’s older than William.”
Jagger laughed quietly. “Give him time; he’s just on edge.” He continued at her questioning look. “He’s been saying that he wants to move on for days, he’s worried that they’ll find us in such an obvious place.”
“He wants to go back in to the forests?” She questioned. “But it was so cold out there, especially now that it’s winter.”
“You’re the ‘O’ achieving Ravenclaw princess,” Jagger complimented. “You tell me.”
Molly flushed a light shade of red. “I was never a princess, a jester maybe – the others thought that I was a bit of a joke to be honest.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because I didn’t really talk.” she replied. “I am comfortable around James and you and Teddy because you’re family, but not strangers.”
“You have Lucy as your sister, she’s a paranoid girl – hence her current position of locking herself in your Aunt Ginny’s old bedroom.” Jagger pointed out. “And I’ve met your cousins, they will prank you the moment that you have your back turned, no wonder you have trust issues.”
Molly moved from one sofa cushion to the next, wanting to be a little closer to him. “It was never because of that. I found their teasing laughter soothing; their silence is what I find eerie.”
“You live in a very eerie world,” he replied sadly. He placed his empty drink on to the table in front of us both and turned to me calmly. “But none of us live in the same world you do, Molly.”
She furrowed a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean?”
He smirked gently. “You are a Ravenclaw, but you will never go back to Hogwarts, none of us will. You’re smart enough to know that. But I don’t think that you got put in to Ravenclaw because you’re a smart young lady.”
“I’m a straight ‘O’ student,” she exclaimed, taking a slight offence without knowing quite the reason why. “I am not cunning nor am I brave, and I’m too self-admittedly shy to be a Hufflepuff.”
He leant a comforting hand upon her knee. Molly liked his touch more than he would ever know.
“You’re the perfect Ravenclaw,” he rounded. “But not just because of your grades, because you’re smart in other ways – there are different kinds of intelligence.” Jagger stood up and made his way over to the cabinet filled with liquor. He helped himself and refreshed his glass generously. “You live in a world of colour, even when your surroundings are black and white, you see things for what they really are, you’re not easily deceived, you see people as their full potential, not who they are at that moment. When do you see when you look at your old Ravenclaw Scarf?”
Molly followed his pointed index finger to the scarf hanging from the hat stand. “I see blue and bronze,” she replied slowly. “I see pride, and happiness and intelligence, I see riches and fortune and promise – bronze, the colour of a rusty penny that can be shined to make it as good as new. I see love and friendship, I see Lysander Scamander-”
“Scamander?” Jagger interrupted. “Why do you see that freak?”
She didn’t know whether she should be offended at the common name used to refer to Lysander. He is the son of Luna Lovegood, a close family friend, more so than Jagger. “Because it’s his scarf,” Molly replied. “He gave it to me in our fourth year because I had lost my own. He never asked for it back.”
“That was nice of him.” Jagger replied sourly. “What did he give you next? The deeds to his house? That would be helpful actually, then we wouldn’t have to argue about where we would go next.”
Molly raised a brow. “Lysander is a nice boy, Jagger, you just never liked him, that doesn’t mean that you have to be mean about him.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Forget it, what do you see when you look at it?”
“A scarf.” He replied simply. “That’s all I see – my point is that you see more than anyone else.”
“I’m just explorative,” she replied.
Jagger nodded his head. “You’re the perfect Ravenclaw, to your own house, maybe not, but the lads in our dorm used to refer to you as The Ravenclaw Princess, the ‘Little Majesty’.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “’Her Majesty’?” she replied. “Are you being serious? I hardly spoke to anyone outside my own dorm room, let alone my house or year group.”
“Molly, you were always thought of as the ‘pretty, nice girl who doesn’t have a lot to say’.” He spoke almost painfully slow. “But you were always more than that, you saw things differently, and James knows it. You’re his favourite cousin you know.”
“I couldn’t be,” she dismissed. “He never paid me any attention unless forced to.”
“That’s just how he is,” Jagger brushed off. “He wouldn’t talk to me unless I began the conversation and made him reply via my threatening stare.” He demonstrated with a gaze that made Molly shudder internally. “He has faith in you, Little Majesty, trust me on that.”
She smacked his arm. “Don’t call me that,” but she smiled anyway.
“It’s why he gets so upset when you’re the one to tell him the truth,” he resumed. “James doesn’t like to hear that he isn’t going to be famous from his own deeds or that he isn’t going to write his own book or marry a model.”
Molly laughed quietly, her laughed heard only faintly over the rain. “He has too much hope, that boy.”
“And that’s why we’re going to win.”
She stopped playing with her hair and watched as he moved away from the cupboard, away from her swatting distance. “I don’t understand.”
“James is hope,” Jagger explained. “We have hope, we have reckless courage,” he jabbed himself proudly in the chest. “We have fear and love,” his gesture went towards the stairs. “I refer to a crying girl on the floor above, in a room next to a sleeping child and his adoring father. And then we have you,” Jagger knelt down in front of Molly, his free hand on her knee. “We have light, and faith and intelligence, you are chance and freedom. You are everything that we are not. We look at a picture and see black and white, you see beyond that. And that is why we are going to win this war.”
“We are light.”
“And they are darkness.”
Jaggers attention was pulled away from the moment that Molly adored, she loved it when he touched her, when he held her in his arms. Jagger was a cold man, but when with a warm hearted girl, his demeanour fell away, but he would never be the white knight that she was searching for; he was rude and arrogant and too full of himself for his own good. And right now, he was more interested in the calls of his best friend that the look of care in her eyes.
James cried from the garden, a call that seemed helpless against the rain. The droplets fought back, cascading down as if they were shot from a firearm held by darkness itself. It hit, and it hurt.
“They’ve found us.” The man in front of her stood up instantly from the floor. “Get up stairs,” he ordered “Get Teddy.”
Molly wasted no time in running towards the staircase, through the joining between the kitchen and the sitting room. But she was stupid. For a moment she wasn’t a Ravenclaw, her crown had been wrenched from her hands as she became the Gryffindor her father had always expected her to be.
She pulled her wand from the pocket in her large, navy knitted jumper and aimed it at the hooded pigure that had already broken through the locked front door to The Burrow. He shot a curse towards Jagger, and narrowly missed his chest.
Spells of light shot across the living space, green and white, a curse of purple knocked a picture off of the wall. Molly could do nothing but watch and dodge as the image of a grinning George fell from the staircase, a domino effect ensued.
“Stupefy!” She cried, throwing the figure from the doorway and crashing him in to the garden. A window broke to her left; a cry of anguish befell from the frame as James threw himself through the hole. “Stupefy!” she cried again, the approaching figure by the window deflecting the curse easily.
Molly turned to run, to ascend the staircase and take hold of her little sister, to tell her things will be okay, but behind her stood an obstacle. She was named after a heroin of war; she only wanted to live up to her name.
The figure pulled down his hood, revealing a mask matching the evil that could be imagined in the mind of an infuriated child. In an instant, an instant a moment too quick for her, he cast a spell from his wand.
The emerald light was the last thing that Molly ever saw, her final vision, much to the irony, was a colour, and it was the colour of her Uncle’s eyes.
An; Thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope that you enjoyed it. I have never written a one-shot like this before, and I got the inspiration and thought that I would take a crack at it. If you have any questions or comments, please leave me a review in the box below. It doesn’t have to be more than ten characters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Molly is a character that I love to write, however she isn’t around a lot on this site, I thought that I would add to the contribution of Molly Weasley the second. :)