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The Burrow

Molly Weasley was in her kitchen. She had been there for hours now. All her life, she had felt good in that room. But not today. Tears streaming down her face, she was remembering their life before Voldemort was reborn for a second reign of terror. And particularly Ron and Percy, her heroes. Arthur had been the one to tell her in a flat voice that their sons would never come back home…

“No.” There was a world of denial in this one word. Molly refused to believe the news.

“Molly…” It was all Arthur could say. He blinked and closed his mouth and swallowed hard. His face was drawn, and his eyes empty.

“No…!” she cried, her face flushed in anger now, as though it could change the horrible truth. He was lying. It cannot be true. When he took a quick breath to speak again, she threw herself at him, slamming her fists against his chest. “No! Not my babies!” she screamed. “Not my babies…”

Arthur didn’t try to stop her, he didn’t even flinch, so her voice broke. His behavior made the words sink in more surely than if he had repeated them. Molly burst into raking sobs and felt her legs give under her.

At first, Molly had refused to believe her husband – her partner, her other half, the one person that she trusted the most –, then she had demanded to see her sons, and Arthur had taken her to St Mungo’s. She needed to see their lifeless bodies to accept the unbelievable, to hold them one last time in her arms and rock them like she had done so many times when they were babies, or not so young, when they had made a nightmare.

So many young people, gone forever. So many hopes, dashed. So many futures that would never be… And all because of one egomaniac madman.

Molly had always been so proud of her third son. Percy was the most serious and the most studious of her children. She could still see his freckled face and his intelligent eyes behind his glasses and hear his slightly pompous voice, all the more so when he was talking to the twins. Those two had always liked to play their pranks on him – he wasn’t much older, and unlike Bill and Charlie, they knew he wouldn’t retaliate. He had broken her mother’s heart when he had refused to face the truth along with his colleagues at the Ministry. When he had thought them crazy to follow a great wizard like Albus Dumbledore. She admired his ambition – it was a good thing – but for Molly, it had always been her family first. Money, fame… they would never warm your heart like the love of the people you loved.

What did I do wrong with you, my Percy? she asked herself. Because now, he would never answer that question for her.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her trembling hand, another face imposing itself on her thoughts. Ron, oh, Ron…! her mind screamed, her heart breaking again in a million pieces. She couldn’t believe that the day before she had seen her youngest son – now a man! – proposed to the girl he had been loving for years. Had she ever told him how proud she was of him, the youngest boy, the one who thought he would never live up to her expectations? She wondered how he could have been so unsure of himself, when he was the bravest of them all. Not any best friend would have stood next to Harry Potter and faced the Boy Who Lived’s fate with him. But Ron was as loyal and loving as he was unaware of his own extraordinary abilities.

Molly sighed through her tears. During the hours she spent in the kitchen she had been busy cooking for her loved ones – well, not for all of them. But it was the only way she knew to honor the memory of those who would never sit at the table with them again.



Charlie took a look inside the sitting room. Bill sat on a chair, in front of the cold fireplace. His brother was stone-faced. Charlie could see a muscle jump in his clenched jaws. His scars stood out on his pale freckled face.

When Harry, Hermione and Ron had announced that they had destroyed the last of the Horcruxes and were coming back home, Bill had sent his wife, Fleur, back to France. The young woman had fought her husband with all her might. She had protested for days. She had tapped her foot, screamed, cried and cajoled. But to no avail. Bill had stood his ground, never fighting nor screaming back. And finally, she had relented and accepted to do his biding. But she didn’t like it, and she had made it plain.

Charlie had to admit that Fleur had far more personality that he had credited the girl for when he had first met her. Now, he could see why Bill was so in love with her. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was smart and she was loyal. And above all, her heart was in the right place – and it was that fact that had finally won the French lass their mother’s heart.

Fleur had gone back to live with her family out of love for her husband. She knew that once she wouldn’t be here, Bill would be able to focus more freely on the war… and the final battle. She had accepted to go and remain in France, knowing there was a chance she would never see her husband again.

Charlie had never experienced that kind of feelings. He had never had such a deep relationship with anyone. Would he have been strong enough to send his love away, depriving himself of what might have been their last days together, to protect her?

Sighing inwardly, he walked to a window looking out on the garden. The twins were in the back yard, sitting on the old wooden bench under the hundred-year-old oak tree, absentmindedly testing some of the stuff they invented to sell at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. That was probably a bad idea. Some of their inventions could be pretty dangerous when handle without care. They might get hurt. But they didn’t seem to care, and those who generally would have were each lost in their own grief.

As Charlie was watching them, George handed a box full of toffee to Fred, who unwrapped one and put it in his mouth. The next instant, his skin had turned blue, but he kept on chewing on it as if nothing had happened. Charlie thought about what Percy would have said if he had been at The Burrow now and smiled… Then he exhaled sadly. Perce would never disapproved of the twins again, and he had never seen his pranksters of brothers so subdued. Generally, when you couldn’t hear them, that was because they were plotting together. But not today.

Today, The Burrow was quiet as it had never been with so many Weasleys home. The house had witnessed it all, and though there had been pain, there had been mostly joy, and it had soaked up the residual warmth. Generally, Charlie could almost feel it coming off it again, like an intangible presence, or a glow that you could only see if you narrowed your eyes like ‘this’. But it seemed to have faded almost to non-existence, and the rooms were dull and grey.

Charlie kept on doing his unconscious round, as if to make sure there was still some constant in his world. He passed his father’s study and saw him inside. Arthur sat at his small desk. He had arranged a few "plugs" before him and he was taking them apart and putting them back together with what the Muggles called "tools". But he wasn’t really to what he was doing. His eyes were unfocused behind his spectacles. He must be lost in his thoughts, Charlie told himself. Or rather his memories. He knew his family had plenty of them.

But Charlie wasn’t ready to do just that. He knew that if he did, he would be of no use to anyone, and something nagging at his mind told him he needed to be strong – just a bit longer. He would mourn later.

He looked more closely at his father. Arthur Weasley looked wan. And was it more gray in his hair? Maybe… The last twenty-four hours had been hard on all of them. But especially on his parents. Charlie had lost two of his brothers, two of the siblings he had grown up with, but he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose a child, and even less two. It was just… wrong. Parents were not supposed to outlive their children.

Was his father reproaching himself for Percy’s estrangement? He knew that the day Perce had slammed the door, he had angered their father and broken their mother’s heart. But now Percy had died a hero, protecting their sister. He finally had chosen a side. He had been there when they all needed him the most. As if he had known that, not being able to be at Ginny’s side himself, Harry would be able to focus and face Voldemort more serenely – and survive – if he knew someone was there to keep an eye on her.

Entering the kitchen, Charlie saw his mother’s plump frame shake with silent sobs. If her heart had been broken before, now she was crushed. For Molly Weasley, there was nothing more important in the world than her family. He was tempted to give her a shoulder to cry, but it would probably make him go over the edge too. He would, after… After what? Was it just a trick of his mind? It was so frustrating!

He thought about Ginny. Should he be beside her? Did she need him? She was at the hospital with Harry. The young man had been wounded, but he would make it. He was young and strong – he had proven that time and time again.

Ginny… She had been unable to tell them how Ron had died. When she had rushed to Harry’s side, Ron was still alive.

And then, Charlie knew. There was one person they had all forgotten about – Hermione! Had someone told her parents she was in St Mungo’s? Were they at her bedside? He felt guilty. She had been part of their life for years now, and he had not thought of going to see her and making sure she was all right. None of them had…

Damn… All Charlie knew was that Hermione had left the battlefield alive and been taken to the hospital. How could they have all been so unthoughtful? Ron was gone, but she still belonged with their family! Ron would be so mad at us! And he would be right.

Charlie silently left the Burrow and disapparated.



Saint Mungo’s

The young man apparated a couple of heartbeats later in an alley close to St Mungo’s. It took him a few minutes to reach Harry’s room. Ginny had fallen asleep in a big armchair at her boyfriend’s bedside. She wanted her face to be the first he would see when he woke up. Voldemort was dead. And Harry was alive. She would finally make her dream come true.

Their dream… Charlie corrected himself.

He observed her for a moment. She was a woman now, and yet… he knew she would always be his little sister. Of course, if she could have read that thought, she would have hexed him into next week. He smiled at that. She was strong – not to say pigheaded. He was so proud of her!

Charlie felt a pang of emotion. She looked so young, so peaceful, but her tears had left her cheeks raw and her eyes puffy. The young man looked at the bed and the boy – the man! – lying there. Harry was pale, but the doctors said he would be all right after a couple of days of sleep. They had given him potions, so he would get them and stop fretting.

Reassured about those two, Charlie left the room and went to the nurse station to ask about Hermione.

"Are you a relative?" the witch asked him after what seemed like a long time. She was about his mother’s age, but there was nothing motherly about her. Her graying hair were pulled back from her pinched face and twisted in a bun.

Charlie started to shake his head, then nodded. "She’s my brother’s fiancee."

He didn’t like her expression, the way she glanced down the corridor above her small spectacles before she finally answered his question. "Miss Granger is in room 315."

Charlie headed towards the room, but as he reached it, he hesitated. He should have asked the nurse if Hermione was alone. Maybe someone, anyone, had taken her parents to see her? Sighing, he knocked discreetly on the door and waited.

"She won’t answer, sir," the nurse said, making him start.

Charlie frowned. "Why? Do you have her drugged too?"

She pursed her lips, then said: "You should talk to the doctors, sir. They will be here shortly." And she walked away.

"Wait!" Charlie called after her. But he knew she wouldn’t give him any more information. Something’s wrong, he thought, his brow now creased with worry.

He reached for the doorknob and opened the door silently, even if he knew he wouldn’t wake up Hermione. Like Harry, she was alone in the room – the other bed was empty. Charlie crossed to the one in which the girl was lying. Her face looked almost as white as the pillow. Her brown hair stood out in a stricking contrast to her skin. He could barely saw her breathing.

Charlie conjured a chair and sat down. It felt… strange to be here. He had never talked that much with Hermione. He spent so much time away, in Romania. But she should have become my sister-in-law, he told himself. It just felt strange because Ron and Harry weren’t there, he decided. At The Burrow, you never saw one without the two others!

Ron had loved that girl. And he had been about to marry her. Hermione was no stranger.

"I’ll take care of her for you, little brother," he whispered. "She doesn’t have the ring, but she’s my sister anyway."

He almost jumped out of his skin when the door opened.

The doctor stopped short, momentarily taken aback. “Excuse me, I didn’t know she had a visitor,” he said.

Charlie stood up. "What’s wrong with her?" he asked bluntly.

"Maybe you should sit back down," the wizard adviced, finishing to enter and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Charlie shook his head. "Just tell me, please."

The doctor sighed. "Actually, your guess is as good as mine. She should have come to for hours now, but…"

"What?" Charlie asked, rather impatiently.

"It seems like she’s willing herself to die."

No, it was impossible. He must have misunderstood the mediwizard. Hermione was strong-willed and gutsy.

But the man continued. "It can happen, fortunately very rarely, after a big trauma. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything more."

No. Charlie wouldn’t let that happen. She was the only thing Ron had left them.

"Actually, there is more." The wizard grimaced. "Did you know she was pregnant?"

One look at Charlie’s stricken face answered his question. Shaking his head, the doctor left.

Charlie sat back down, stunned. Had Ron known? Right now, it didn’t matter.

He took a deep breath and, taking Hermione’s right hand in his, he started to talk to her. He had to bring her back. At first, his voice was hesitant, but little by little, as he was sharing with her his memories of Ron, he lost himself in them. And they just flowed.



A/N: I hope you will like this chapter as much as chapter 1. This story is not only 'lemon'. But there will be more, of course. This chapter is about emotions.

Of course, I don't own anything HP related (I wish!)