Molly looked around happily, enjoying the bright sound of people talking and laughing and enjoying themselves. The Ministry didn’t host such a large event very often, but the yearly Christmas party was something she had started looking forward to since her children had decided they were grown and determined to leave the nest. Besides, she’d always enjoyed a good gathering and since at least a few of her children should be around somewhere, it almost qualified as a family get-together. And she hadn’t had to twist arms to get them all there at the same time, so that was even better!
Not to say that everyone present were people she enjoyed spending time with. Many she normally found to be pompous and full of hot air, in fact. But it was the holiday season and everyone seemed more relaxed. Few were talking about their respective areas in the Ministry, instead sharing news about family things and outside interests so even the most self-important windbags were tolerable on this occasion. And there were some co-workers of Arthur that she genuinely liked, and she was enjoying the chance to catch up with them.
Arthur had wandered off for the moment to speak with someone across the room, and Molly took the time to look around at the decorations. Not what she would have done, of course, but then she preferred decorations with some meaning behind them, some personal story. Although she had drawn the line at keeping the petrified garden gnome she’d found topping her tree one year, in spite of Fred’s arguments that he’d had a personal story behind that decoration.
The memory tugged at her heart, and she sighed softly. She missed her prankster son terribly. She kept waiting for the pain to ease some, for it to get easier. If she were being honest, she might admit that it had become easier to think about Fred. She could remember things about him without bursting into tears, at least. But it still hurt, and she suspected that it always would.
That George hadn’t rebounded more from the loss made it worse. He went around as a mere shadow of himself, and the loss of Fred was doubly cruel because of the change it had caused in his formerly carefree twin. Oh, George tried to hide his pain when he was around her and Arthur, but Molly knew her son, and he wasn’t fooling her.
She sighed again and tried to focus on something else. Looking around the room, she tried to spy the distinctive Weasley hair. And a familiar head caught her attention, but it wasn’t the Weasley red. No, it was definitely brown, with just a hint of unmanageability. Not the wild bush of the girl’s youth, at least not since she mastered the use of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Molly sighed again, but with a different sound. More of an impatient snort, really. She thought of Hermione as a surrogate daughter but she would prefer for the dear but ungrateful child to actually be a daughter. Even if through Harry. Molly had had high hopes when the children were younger. Constantly together, it seemed a sure thing that Hermione would have ended up with either Harry or Ron. They were all best friends, and that was a good start to a relationship, Molly knew. And then, at the end of the War, it seemed to have been decided, and Molly had already been trying to distract herself from the loss of her son by planning Ron and Hermione’s wedding. Unofficially, of course, but she was going to be ready when they got around announcing their engagement.
Only they didn’t. Instead, they just sort of drifted apart, and seemed content to let it happen, in spite of her best efforts. It wasn’t that something had happened . . . they were all still the best of friends. And the impudent children seemed determined to let it stay that way!
Well, not if she had anything to say about it! Hermione Granger was the perfect complement to her son, and if not him, then to Harry, and she was going to get the girl married off to one of them, if it killed her!