Entry tags:

arthur weasley, arthur/molly, beholder_2012, fic, het, molly weasley, rating:pg

FIC: "Burrowing" for lyras
Recipient: Lyras lyras
Author: ???
Title: Burrowing
Rating: PG / Teen
Pairings: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Word Count: @3,000
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *Dealing with the death of a loved one.*.
Summary: Fred's death hits the Weasley family hard.
Author's Notes: Lyras provided wonderful prompts and it was hard to choose. In the end, several of her suggestions were used in creating this 'slice of life' featuring Molly and Arthur. While Lyras said that she didn't mind if the angst was piled on to them, I like to think of this as the two of them stepping in it without becoming buried.

---

"You've no idea what it's like to lose someone you gave birth to," Molly snaps, pushing away the arm I'd tried to place around her for comfort.

"No, but I know what it's like to lose a son." Dropping my arm and bowing my head in defeat, I turn and leave the house.
_____

The only other time I can remember being pushed away, we were seventeen, and it was only because Minerva had entered the Gryffindor common room while we were canoodling in the corner. It stung then but I'd understood the moment I'd caught sight of our Head of House. It stung now, but I can't say that this time I see anything that makes sense of it all.

My Molly is burrowing in her grief for Fred. We all are in our own ways. George is barely hanging on. Ginny is trying to distract herself by throwing all her energy into chores so that she's too tired at the end of the day to even think. Charlie feels guilty for not arriving at the battle sooner. It doesn't matter to him that there was little way the lad might have accomplished that coming all the way from Romania even if he hadn't taken the time to round up reinforcements to bring with him.

I can tell that Percy thinks that it should have been him instead of Fred. It's obvious that George does. He can barely stand to look at Percy now.

Not that George is doing much looking at anyone hiding away as he is.

I was standing behind George on the stairs yesterday, having finally coaxed him down for lunch, when he saw Percy was there. George turned on the spot and pushed by me, fleeing back to the room he used to share with Fred. I didn't miss the words, "Should've been Perce," mumbled under his breath. God help me, for I couldn't help feeling a small bit of that myself.

It's no coincidence, I think, that Ron and Bill are the most grounded of the lot. Ron has Harry and Hermione to lean on, and Bill has Fleur. I push aside the thought that my Molly has me.

It's not as easy pushing aside the thought that I should have her.

There's too much pain right now not to resent, just a little, the cold way she had pushed me aside. The best I can do is take a leaf from Ginny's book and try to distract myself. I open the door to my workshop and wander inside.
_____

It feels an age since I was last here instead of a few weeks. A layer of dust covers everything from my prized plug collection on the shelf above the workbench to the Muggle eckeltrictik plastack snowman in the corner – the one that I have to make work with fairy lights since there was no place for a plug here at the Burrow to make it go. Once upon a time I had hoped to convince Molly that we should have eckletrickity installed at the Burrow. I gave the idea up shortly after Charlie was born, but in the last year I've started thinking about it again. It had been Fred who mentioned something about genergators that didn't need Muggles to make them work. I wonder if George might know something more about that? No. George would want to know where I got the idea and that would lead to Fred. Best that I should ask Hermione, I think. She is a right clever one. She'd be sure to know.

I scratch at the edge of my bald patch as a sick feeling settles in my stomach. I've no call to be thinking about things like Muggle genergators when my family is floundering.

When I'm floundering.

It's hard enough getting up, and breathing in and out, still I've managed to do it these past few days for the sake of the children – the remaining children – and my Mollywobbles.

Molly. My jewel. My life.

In all the years we've been married, never has she turned away the comfort I've offered. I try again not to let that sting. I remind myself of the words of advice that I'd offered Bill before his wedding. The key to a strong marriage was to be there for each other. Ironic that the next words of advice I'd given my eldest was to not to allow the small things to crawl under the skin until the itch was so strong that it was a distraction from what was most important.

I am itching now. The sting of rejection creates a fierce rash, one I have to force myself from scratching raw. Molly's rejection of my offer of comfort wasn't a rejection of me. It wasn't a rejection of us. It would be a mistake for me to treat it that way.

I am disappointed in myself for scratching at it anyway.
_____

"Dad?" Ginny calls, pushing open the door. "Are you—Oh, good. You're here." She gives me such a happy little smile despite her sad eyes that my heart wants to break. She comes and wraps her arms around me the way she used to do when she was little. Holding my girl against my chest, I kiss the top of her head. Ginny lets loose with a little sneeze and steps back.

I'm sad to feel her slip from my arms.

At least in this case I understand the reason. My shirt is covered in dust and cobwebs. Spending the last weeks in hiding at Molly's Aunt Muriel's house has left the Burrow neglected. Evicting the spiders and cleaning the workshop was lonely work but it had distracted me and made me feel useful. There was precious little of that these past few days.

"I was told to round everyone up for dinner." Ginny looked up at me with her mother's warm brown eyes. I couldn't help thinking that Molly had sent Ginny on a fool's errand.

Rounding up everyone was an impossible task without Fred.
_____

The chaos surrounding meals at the Burrow is more subdued since the family returned home. Gone are the jokes and banter. There is too much to do for it to be completely silent but no one talks much as everyone gathers and we take our places at table.

It's only once everyone is seated that we discover that a place had been set for Fred.

My Molly turns white as a sheet as she stares at the empty seat beside George. George stiffens and I can see the struggle in him not to smash something.

Ginny squeaks and tears start tracking down her face. "Gods. I—I just counted. I didn't think—" Her voice trails off as she covers her mouth with her hand and looks from me to her mother to George with guilt and horror on her face.

Swallowing hard, I try to offer something more than the tight smile that forms on my face. The children need me to be strong for them. I don't feel very strong right now — I haven't for days, not since we lost Fred — but I try nonetheless. "It's all right, Ginny. Fred is with us in spirit."

Molly gasps and nearly upsets her chair in her haste to flee the room. George howls, a sound so full of grief that I'm sure the angels weep. He does smash something then. Hurling the plate from in front of the empty seat beside him, he barely misses Percy's head. The plate explodes against the wall and is followed by a glass, and the salad, before Charlie, who was closest to George, manages to get him up and headed toward the stairs and his bedroom.

Fleur releases the grip she has on Bill's hand and inclines her head toward the mess on the floor. Without a word, Bill nods in understanding. Together, the two of them rise and set about tidying up the broken crockery and spilled food. The two of them are so in sync with each other that my heart feels split in two, half full of joy that my eldest has found someone who knows him so well, and half full of pain that I am losing that with Molly.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Ginny looks at me for forgiveness I know she doesn’t need but desperately wants. "I'm so sorry." Ron, Harry and Hermione are all moving now, surrounding Ginny with murmured words and arms of comfort as they lead her off to the sitting room. My little girl has a brother and friends to look after her right now. I long to do the same for George and my Molly but there's another who needs attention.

Percy stares blankly at the chair that would have been Fred's if he were here. He's paler even than Molly had been when she'd fled. I'm finding it hard to tell if Percy is even bothering to breathe. "Son?" I try to call his attention away. "Percy?"

"It should have been me," Percy says in a dull, flat voice, barely more than a whisper. "You all think it should have been me," he says in a stronger voice as he meets my eyes, challenging me to disagree.

"No. No, Percy." I shake my head. Suddenly it isn't a lie. I realize what I should have realized days sooner. "It shouldn't have been any of us," I say with conviction.

Percy takes a deep breath and nods. I see a little of the tension leave his face as he stands. "I think I should go. For now," he adds with a sad smile as he sees my face shift. "Will— Will you tell Mum I'll come by for breakfast?" George usually sleeps through breakfast these days and Percy knows that. "I don't want her worrying that I've left for good." Not again, remains unsaid. It's always hard for me to tell with Percy what he's thinking, but I suspect his guilt runs deeper than just Fred. Mine does.

"I will," I agree. When Percy moves past me, I touch his arm. I don't think Percy handled thing well all those years ago, but then again, neither did I. Of all my children, Percy has always been the one least like me. I often wondered why he hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin, over Gryffindor. I've stopped wondering now. "Percy, it takes a man to stand up for what he believes. It takes an even bigger one to admit that he might have got it wrong. I'm proud of you, son."

Percy's eyes meet mine. He looks unsure of my meaning. There's one of the reasons right there that he would never have been a Slytherin. Ambitious, he certainly is, but subtlety is completely lost on the lad. I can see he isn't sure which of us I think might have had it wrong, and he's too uncomfortable with shades of gray for it to occur to him that it was we both. This time, I don't let my own pride stand in the way of giving Percy what he needs to hear from me. "I'm sorry."

He swallows hard and I note his eyes becoming moist behind his spectacles. Percy opens his mouth but then closes it abruptly, settling for giving me a nod before taking himself away by Floo. Making things right with Percy was never going to be the work of a day, but I'd made a start.

I think Molly might be pleased.
_____

No one returns for dinner. I'm not surprised. The only one with much of an appetite these days is Ron and even he's eating less.

"We will take care of zis, Papa," Fleur tells me. "You will go check on Mama." It isn't a question. It's a command. Bill and I share a knowing look. Fleur and Molly are far more alike than either has clued into, but Bill and I recognized it from the start. Both are bossy, headstrong, fierce, beautiful, and incredibly protective of family. It's draws us in. Charms us. Disarms us. The little scowl accompanying her words mean Fleur is disappointed in me for not having done already. I probably deserve it.

I do deserve it.

"I am theenking you will be telling 'er zat Fred eez not 'er fault," Fleur tells me sternly in the way Molly might tell one of children to wash behind their ears.

"Of course it's not her fault," I reply immediately.

"You know that. We know that," Bill says, circling his arm in a motion around the table that I know means the lot of them, not just himself and Fleur. "Mum? We're not so sure. Wouldn't hurt to make sure, yeah?"

I nod. "No, it wouldn't hurt to make sure." How anyone could think Fred dying was Molly's fault was beyond me. I was especially lost working out how Molly could think it.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to make sure.
_____

Charlie closes the door to the twin's old bedroom just as I reach the landing. "George is asleep. I'm going to let Bill know I'm kipping here with George tonight." Charlie had been staying at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. "He's having a hard time sleeping with it so quiet. When he does sleep, he's waking up with nightmares. Reckon it won't hurt to see if he sleeps better with company. We simulate sounds for dragons that have lost their mates to improve their rest. Can't hurt to try a little sound therapy out on George, yeah?"

Scrubbing the back of his neck, Charlie gives me a long look. Of all my children, he's the least likely to intrude on what he considers another's business, yet the most likely to step up when any creature is hurting. It's clear to me he's worried about stepping out of his self-imposed bonds.

"Whatever it is, son, say it," I encourage him. Charlie isn't brilliant with books but he is brilliant with people.

"Mum," he says plainly. "Dunno what's eatin' at her but something is. Something more than losing Fred." Charlie frowns. "If I had to guess, reckon I'd say she's feeling guilty. Dunno how she got there, but it's a feeling I know pretty well of late." Sheepishly, he adds, "Got told off for it too. Fleur reckons I need to pull my head out of my ar—er—bum. Probably best you tackle Mum before Fleur starts in. She's scary, she is," he adds in a whisper, looking around to make sure Bill's wife isn't on her way upstairs and can hear him.

Patting Charlie's shoulder, I nod my head. "Fleur mentioned it already. I've been commanded to fix it."

"Best get to it then. That one's as bad as Mum when she wants something done," Charlie says, giving me a small smile. I think he's going to be all right with George to focus on.

And maybe, with Charlie to help him struggle through, George will be all right eventually too.
_____

I don't have the faintest clue why I knock before opening our bedroom door. It's not something normally do, but it feels wrong intruding on Molly without warning when she's made it clear she needs space.

I expect to find her on the bed or on the little chair beside the window. I'm surprised when I don’t see her at all. I'm about to turn and check the bathroom when I hear her. Closing the door softly behind me for privacy, I move toward the sound. Molly is huddled in on herself, tucked up on the floor between the bed and the wall, sobbing. My heart breaks.

"Molly?" I call to her softly.

It hurts when she turns away and buries her face in the handkerchief.

"It's my fault. All my fault," Molly cries. Whether to me, or to herself, I can't tell. "How can you even stand to look at me? I killed our son."

"Molly! This isn't your fault." Hearing it from the others was one thing. Hearing it from Molly was another. "How can you even think that it's your fault?" It makes no sense how she could do.

Molly looks at me as if I'm daft. "Albus. When he asked all those years ago after the Tri-Wizard if he could count on us, I agreed. I brought us into this," she wailed. "I didn't have to agree to sorting Sirius' old house for the Order either, did I? But I did." Molly stabs her breast with her finger. "I agreed and brought the children along. You see? It was my doing. All of it!"

Sliding down the wall to sit beside her, I draw her into my arms. This time she doesn't resist. I feel ridiculously grateful for that despite the burden of having to convince her of the truth. Trying to change Molly's mind when she's set on a course is never an easy task.

Never has it been more important.
_____

"Oh, Arthur!" Molly lifts her head from my shoulder wails. Unfortunately that put her mouth level with my ear. Manfully, I struggle not to wince. My ears are ringing as she climbs into my lap begins peppering my face with kisses. Suddenly I don't mind the temporary loss of hearing or my numb legs. My Mollywobbles is back in my arms.

I am unable to bring back Fred. But I am still able to bring my wife comfort.
_____

I hug each of my children, including Harry and Hermione. Those two may not be Weasleys, at least not yet, but they have become family. Molly takes my hand and gives it a small squeeze.

The key to a strong marriage is to be there for each other. It's also important not to allow the small things to crawl under your skin until the itch is so strong that it distracts you from what is most important.

This afternoon, what is most important is that our family is together as we lay Fred to rest. Tomorrow we'll work on trying to heal.