The Pensieve

As Good As

She'd brought her knitting.

When the owl had arrived in the middle of the night, flinging itself down the chimney as she hadn't awoken to the sound of its rapid tapping on the window, she'd stumbled out of bed for the loud noise straight from a nightmare of chasing Percy around to give him his sweater.

When the bird deposited the envelope on the table and flew back away, she'd glanced at her pocket watch left on the counter to see the time, expecting it to be Arthur and another all nighter at work for guard duty. She'd never gotten that far to even see the time, the stamp on the front was from St. Mungo's.

Dear Mrs. Molly Weasley,

We are sorry to be notifying you that your husband Arthur Weasley is currently in our care in the Creature Induced Injuries Ward. Your presence would be encouraged-

Healer Smethwyck.

She screamed, but there was no one home to hear it. Her eyes flew to their first anniversary gift Arthur had ever given her, but it wasn't on the wall as it should be. She sent a chair flying across the room she ran so fast to where she'd last left it, resting in her wicker basket full of the left over material for the last of the sweaters right beside the fireplace as she'd sat alone listening to the radio. Percy's hand was still spinning lazily in place, the magic had known from the moment the door slammed shut and been disenchanted ever since. Her other children's were pointed at school or home, but Arthur's was in the firm center of mortal peril.

The note still clutched tight in her fist, she threw it, the clock, and the ball of yarn into the first bag her hands touched and ran to the apparition point.

Dumbledore was there waiting in a traveling cloak over his bathrobe, his beard unkempt and still looking as regal and alert as ever with his phoenix perched in place on his heavy shoulder.

"Arthur?" she begged of his drawn face.

"He is still alive," his voice seemed older somehow, but he grasped her shoulder tightly and handed her a parchment and loaded quill. "Your children already know, Harry saw it happen through Voldemort's snake." She was already trembling in place, the extra flinch for hearing the name barely registered. "They are with Sirius awaiting news, but I plead with you Molly, Harry's involvement can not be known. We are working on a story as to why Arthur was where he was found, we reached him much sooner than we might have thanks to him, but your children must not come to Arthur's side yet."

"I understand," she promised, jotting down a hasty scrawl of agreement;

Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can.

Mum.

Her hands were steady now, not a splotch out of place in that ink as she reached up to let Fawkes clamp it in his beak. He stepped aside, but she threw her arms around his thin frame and he held back tight. "You must stop this Albus," her voice still wobbled as she squeezed him, as if she could hold tight enough for his protection to blanket her world.

"You have my sincerest effort," he assured as he held back.

She sniffed as she released him and did not see the flash of fire as Fawkes vanished with the same burst of magic as she did.

The over night attending was on her fourth cup of coffee when the wild wife burst into the waiting room, only a single other occupant who had already filled out his paper work and was waiting to be seen about the random splotches of fabric dripping from his nose was there to see her nearly spill the piping hot drink all over her desk.

The orderly assured her no news was good news, they had nothing else to share that had not been sent in the envelope. The name tag for the woman read Ersa, and she offered Molly her own traveling cloak when she saw the distraught woman had forgotten her own as she led her to a chair and offered to fetch her tea as she waited.

"Thank you, but no," she said, the stress in her voice as her eyes stayed latched on the stairs had Ersa give her shoulder an extra squeeze. She didn't want the woman to be a foot away from her desk for any news that arrived, let alone for such an errand.

Sitting with nothing to do in her hands though was somehow the worst distraction at all, she found her nails tapping out the familiar click-clack pattern of her needles and forced her hands to still, instead reaching into her bag for the clock that told no time so at least she'd know, she would see the hands fate before she had to hear it from a stranger.

Instead she found herself pulling the knitting back free, having to brush a few little drops of water impatiently from the soft yarn and waiting with a calm mind for now as she counted threads and thought of each of her children.

Bill would be coming over this weekend, he said he finally wanted to introduce them to some lovely girl he'd been seeing and Arthur had smiled softly and listened as she fussed over what to make for the arrangement. She had his very first sweater she'd ever knitted in the attic with a chest of other clothes she couldn't part with, a brown lumpy thing that he'd outgrown practically before she'd finished. They grew up too fast.

Charlie had sent news he wouldn't be making it home for this holiday, he'd just gotten a promotion and some new hatchling needed his full care. She'd been weaving him black clothing every holiday, trying to learn from her first about how messy her boys could get. She hadn't shown it to Arthur yet, even as she'd smiled with pride she knew her husband would only be able to read so far without the same anger and worry for their other son delivering such news had blasted a hole in their household, the silver sweater sat wrapped and still formed a knot in her stomach every time she fought with herself weather to send it to him or not.

She hoped the twins were studying hard for their NEWTs, they were so clever and she knew they could go far if they'd apply themselves to more than their jokes, she could not bear the idea they would meet the same fate as Fabian and Gideon if they instead turned to the Order full time as they kept asking. Arthur so rarely put his foot down with them, but he had been the one to suggest even before the words left her mouth they should be kept far away from this. There's had been the first she'd added letters to, and the boys had loved the gold pattern mixed in so much she'd done it for all of them after that.

Ron and Harry were still doing the wrong kind of studying, she well knew. Her scolding fell on deaf ears with those two even more than the twins, but oh how she'd laughed when she heard of their secret meetings to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts outside of that awful Umbridge woman's classes. She'd blushed heavily and been so grateful Arthur had hid his own twitching lips behind the paper when Mundungus had delivered that news, the old codger had fallen right out of his seat in surprise and she'd swiftly turned to Sirius to cover her moment and insist he pass along the message there was time enough later for those boys to have proper schooling, they needed to keep their heads down. They'd thought Ron would be their youngest and had been saving the maroon color for the baby of their lot, red was such a special color to their family of course. Then Harry, what a surprise to be gifted another child so many years later, the green of his eyes had needed something that day she met him on the platform and she'd been toying with the idea of making one for him even before Ron had sent that letter.

Ginny, oh her baby girl, she'd been through too much already in her short life. She saw so much of herself in her daughter and feared it every day. She would leap into her fathers arms when she came up here and she'd have to mind her to make sure she didn't. Their pregnancy with her had been the surprise they'd been waiting for, their daughter was the easiest color to pick, the brightest most shocking pink for what she'd given to their life.

"They need you Arthur," she whispered into the silence. There was no radio playing, no fire. The straight chair she sat in had numbed her backside long ago as she continued her methodic tapping.

There was a twitch, the maroon socks fell to the floor with only a few more strokes to be completed as his it finally began to move. Ever so slowly, the hand of Arthur Weasley trickled about the clock face once more, past prison, work, home, and like it had so many times before and blessedly did once more, death. Finally it took the unfamiliar place of hospital and she let out a sob of relief.