Scrapbook

Molly pulled her sweater around her shoulders as the autumn winds shook the windows. She stood in the middle of the unnaturally neat room; perhaps waiting for it to revert to its former state as a repository for dirty clothes, random potion ingredients, and Quidditch equipment. It was more likely that she was waiting for the room’s former occupant to lift his tousled red head from under the blinding orange covers and moan, “It’s not time to get up yet, is it?”

The players in the Chudley Cannons posters that lined the walls (those players not in the midst of flying, that is) gazed on her with surprise. It had been months since anyone had stepped into this room.

She sat down heavily on the bed. She gazed at the book in her hand; a rich scarlet with gold braid along the spine with the name “Ron” in gilded letters in the middle. She had saved some material from an old set of deep red curtains, magically sealed it to cover the book, and bound the spine with the gold cord that had framed the edges of said curtains. She had started it as soon as the owl reached her that he had been sorted into Gryffindor, and she had begun filling it with photographs and paraphernalia that day. She had done the same for his brothers and Ginny. It had been her way of connecting with her absent children while they were away at Hogwarts, with the intent that each would be given to its owner upon completion of their years at Hogwarts. Three of the books had indeed been given on that occasion, two of them had not (she had presented the twins with theirs at the party for the one-year anniversary of the shop, and the last two…

Ginny would no doubt get hers on time, for she seemed to be doing as well as could be expected in her studies; but as for Ron… Molly had not even realized that she had, as usual, carried the clock tucked under her arm-the clock that now had Ron’s name labeled at “Mortal Peril”.

“Stupid Molly!” She scolded herself aloud, shaking her head. “They’ve all been that way for ages.” Still it was the fate of her youngest son, her baby boy, weighing on her mind now.

“They didn’t check in yesterday,” Remus Lupin had told her that very morning.

“What does that mean?” She had loathed the panic-stricken sound of her own voice.

“Well, it could mean that they’re in a space where they were uncomfortable using the magic mirror for fear of being detected.” Remus’s answer seemed reasonable. However reasonable this explanation might have been, it had done nothing to allay the screaming terror in her mother’s heart.

Thus she found herself in Ron’s room, sitting on his bed, opening the cover of this lovely red and gold book. The first picture was of herself and Arthur at St. Mungo’s, exhausted and triumphant, holding baby Ron between them. The caption read “Welcome Ronald Bilius Weasley March 1, 1980.” She smiled at the memory.


“You did it again, love.” Arthur smiled proudly down at his new son.

“You’re not disappointed it wasn’t a girl?” Molly demanded anxiously.

Arthur shrugged. “Having a girl would be fun, but…” He grinned softly as he stroked Ron’s tiny fingers. “He’s perfect, Moll.”

Molly sat up. “Everything all right at home?”

“Fine except for George-or was it Fred?- turning my best quill into a worm because I wouldn’t give him his toy wand back when he hit Percy with it.” Arthur sighed.

Molly sighed back. “I suppose I’d better get myself out of here, then.”

“They’ll be fine. I took care of everything and your mum is with them now. Just relax and spend some time with Ronnie here.” He tickled Ron’s nose, causing the infant to sneeze. Both parents laughed.

“I think his eyes are going to stay blue,” Molly commented.

“Could be-Bill’s and Percy’s did,” Arthur agreed.

The baby whimpered a bit, winding up to a full cry. “I know what you need-you’re hungry.” As Molly held him to her for his first sip of life, she was overwhelmed, suffocated by a fierce avalanche of pure love. Nothing will ever harm you, she told him without words as he fed greedily. I will never let anything hurt you. Ever.


The next picture was taken shortly after, with Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins gathered around as they got their first look at their baby brother.

She smiled at the obligatory naked-baby-in-the-bathtub picture. Arthur had obviously taken it, for it was her hand that held up Ron’s to wave at the camera. The next she had taken of Charlie trying to feed Ron a piece of Percy’s birthday cake. (She remembered quickly putting down the camera as an indignant Percy began to protest.) There was Ron covered in icing once again, this time from his own first birthday cake. A somewhat shaky picture (taken by Bill) showed him walking unsteadily, held up by a parent at each hand.

She came upon one that stopped her breath-she was sitting in her rocking chair holding Ron fast asleep against her chest. He in turn had baby Ginny asleep across his lap. The caption read simply “Peace.” This was only months after Voldemort had been defeated the first time, and she had never dreamed at that moment, holding her youngest children safe in her arms, that such terror would ever come about again. Nor could she have imagined that this youngest boy, the one who had always seemed the most trusting and vulnerable of her children, would be risking his life yet a third time without hesitation against the followers of the most evil wizard in history. Tears of anguish and pride flowed freely down her face as she gazed at the pages, wishing she could will that little boy gazing at the camera in his pyjamas, sleepily holding his teddy bear and dancing it around, not to grow up to be an unselfish hero, not to pledge his life to a cause worth dying for.

There was a picture of Ron pretending to fly on the toy broomstick he had inherited from Fred (once Molly had repaired it), another showing him puffed up proudly with a towel around his neck. She remembered asking him why he had insisted on wearing it, to which he had replied that it was his “magic cape.”


Molly heard a crash and a scream followed by “Mummy!” She looked out the back window to see Ron lying on the ground, the twins helping him up while laughing uproariously. She sighed, set down her bowl of batter, and ran out the back door. “What is going on here?” She demanded, hands on her hips.

“He fell out of a tree,” George explained as Molly examined a tearful Ron; brushing off the autumn leaves which had fortunately cushioned his fall.

“They told me my magic cape would help me fly,” Ron said angrily.

“We lied,” The twins chorused with identical grins.

“This isn’t really enchanted, love-it’s just a towel,” Molly told him gently as Ron glared at the twins in heartbroken disillusionment. “Come on, dear-I’ll put some bruise cream on that hand.” She started to lead Ron to the kitchen, and turned back to the twins. “I’ll deal with you two later.”

She had a pang of satisfaction on seeing their panic-stricken faces. She turned back to Ron, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s all right, love-Mummy will fix you up in no time, make you all better.” She led him by the hand back into the house.


She grabbed her handkerchief, not wishing to stain the pictures or captions. Who will care for him now?z She hugged the album to her, as though she could hold that child in her arms again. Who will kiss his scrapes and bruises and tell him that everything will be all right?

She glanced at a photograph of Ron as he and Ginny play-duelled with toy wands. We let you learn to fight, she thought as she watched them wave the sticks and cast imaginary curses. We brought you up to stand firm, to not back down. We let you be rough-and-tumble with your brothers, to play warrior with your sister.

She flipped to a page labeled “Hogwarts: First year.” The page began with Ron’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She suddenly regretted not having taken a picture of Ron at the platform as he left for the beginning of his adventure at Hogwarts. She had intended to but with four students plus Ginny to get out and get ready, she had simply forgotten. She felt a wound, a loss as she realized that with the hurry and flurry of meeting the train she had not truly cherished that moment. She was pleased to see a photograph of a group of children labeled “Gryffindor first years: Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil.” She spelled the photograph to turn and show her the back, feeling a pang as she realized that the original label on the back was in Percy’s writing. There was a photo of Ron and Harry having a snowball fight with the twins, one of Hagrid embracing both boys beside an enormous Christmas tree, another of Ron, grinning happily as he hovered on his broomstick. She gazed at a shot of Ron and Harry standing together, arm in arm, in the common room. Her heart caught as she stared at the skinny, awkward boy next to her son. I wish I could hate you, Harry. She sighed to herself. I wish I could rail and yell about how you forced him, hoodwinked my son into going on this crazy mission of yours. She knew she could not. She knew from the moment this overly thin, shy, motherless child had walked into her kitchen that she would do whatever she needed to in order to keep him safe; to give him some of what life had taken from him. I was willing to give you anything I had. Why did you have to take the one thing I couldn’t replace?

The second year pictures were much more plentiful, as she had taken Hermione into her confidence and told her of the project. The ever-resourceful young witch had then proceeded to collect pictures, and most of these were labeled and dated on the back in her precise handwriting. Molly loved getting a glimpse of a chunk of Ron’s life that she had missed. She stroked a picture of all the youngest Weasleys standing together: Percy, the twins, Ron and Ginny; in the Gryffindor common room. Another shot showed Harry and Ron playing chess with Hermione looking on intently. Molly could see Ron’s face taking on its usual smirk of triumph.

There were several pages of pictures and postcards from their trip to Egypt, and Molly enjoyed a few moments reliving that trip. Pictures of a smiling Ron with friends and siblings throughout his third year dotted the next few pages. She recognized Remus Lupin supervising Ron’s yearmates through some sort of obstacle course in one picture.

She turned the page to see photos and progammes from the Quidditch world cup. She viewed a photograph of Ron in his dress robes standing next to a pretty Indian girl, labeled “Yule Ball, December, 1994.” She sighed as she remembered how she had hated sending him those outdated old robes. Molly adored her husband and supported his career and didn’t feel that her children were mortally deprived by having to make do with secondhand things. There were times, however, when she would have considered selling her soul to give them the best, just for once.

The fifth year pictures were centered around Quidditch; shots of the team playing, one of Ron practicing intently with Angelina Johnson motioning and calling out in the background, another of Ron and Harry walking back from the pitch together. She smiled softly at one of her favorites.

Ron blushed hotly as he quickly thrust a photograph in her hand. “I’d like this one for my book-my scrapbook.”
She started to respond; surprised that he had even taken an interest, when she looked down at the picture. The photograph was of Ron in his Quidditch robes carrying his broomstick on his shoulder. He had a half-embarrassed, half pleased expression on his face as Hermione softly kissed his cheek. Ron noticed Molly’s smile as she saw the picture. His face seemed to colour even deeper. “Hermione usually goes through them with me-the pictures, but Colin gave me this one…” He regarded the picture again, watching Hermione once more lean forward to kiss his cheek. “She does that for me sometimes, me and Harry; for good luck…”

The look on his face at that moment reminded her painfully of Percy at the same age as she had come in on Percy writing a passionate love letter to Penelope Clearwater.


Things mothers are supposed to pretend they don’t know about, she mused to herself as she looked once more on the picture; which she had captioned “Good Luck, Ron.”

The next page she had begun but not finished. This one had Ron’s OWL scores and a picture of Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny playing Quidditch at the Burrow on a sunny summer day just before the start of school for the trio’s sixth year. The next one, of Hermione stirring a bowl with floury hands and a dot of flour on her nose , caused Molly to chuckle.


Molly and Hermione were in the kitchen. “Now you want to put a little more cinnamon in it,” Molly advised.

“But I put what the recipe called for,” the younger witch countered in frustration.

“I know, dear, but it’ll come out better this way,” Molly assured her.

Hermione sighed. “I thought I’d be good at cooking - I’m usually really good at Potions.”

“You’re doing fine, dear. There’s more of an art to cooking - you have to taste it and see if you like it.”

Hermione nodded and added a small pinch more cinnamon.

“Now stir the dry ingredients with the wet.”

Hermione dumped the bowl of dry ingredients into the other bowl, causing a bit of flour to coat her hands. She absently rubbed her nose.

Ron and Harry came in at that moment. Ron grinned with mischief and subtly signaled Harry. “Wotcher cooking?” He asked casually.

“Cinnamon raisin biscuits,” Molly answered, staring at them suspiciously.

“Yum!” Ron said enthusiastically. Both boys left the kitchen.

Hermione continued mixing. “Do you think it’s stirred enough?” Hermione queried.

Molly looked at the bowl. “A little more-not much.”

Ron reappeared just then, holding a camera. “Oi, Hermione!” he sang out.

“What, Ron?” she asked impatiently. He snapped the picture just as she looked up.

“What was that for?” she demanded hotly.

“Just so I could have a picture of Hermione Granger with a dirty nose.” He quipped smugly. He reached out to wipe the flour off of her nose, causing her to blush. “This one’s going in the book.”

“You…you wouldn’t!”

“Watch me.”


Molly opened the door to Ron’s closet, sighing as she realized that this was the one spot in the room she had not cleaned since he left. “Accio Ron’s trunk.” A flick of her wand brought the trunk scurrying to her, stopping just at the edge of the bed. “Alohamora!” The trunk opened. She looked at the jumble of books, clothes, and random detritus of the last year at Hogwarts. She sighed heavily. “Accio pictures.” A large envelope labeled “Pictures” landed in her hand. She busied herself looking at these, the only ones she had not seen before; checking the backs as she gratefully realized that Hermione had, once again, labeled and dated them. There was a shot, taken on a golden October day, of Ron, Harry and Hermione sitting by the lake. Ron and Harry were grinning for the camera, and Ron was making rabbit ears behind Hermione’s head. Hermione had a rather disgruntled look on her face and looked as if she might swat him with the large book on her lap. Another was of Ron and Ginny holding the Quiddich cup between them, fists in the air. The last of that pile stopped her breath. This was of Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny sitting under a large beech tree. Ginny was sitting against Harry’s chest, both of his arms firmly wrapped around her. Ron was lying on his stomach in the grass next to Hermione, chewing on his quill absently while Hermione turned the pages of her book. Merlin, they’re children. Molly raged to the ceiling. They’re teenagers! They should be sitting under that tree right now studying, flirting, kissing, and daydreaming-not out Merlin-knows-where on some suicidal manhunt!

Molly carefully stuck the photographs to the book, captioning and labeling them. She hoped it was how he wanted it; she didn’t know, didn’t know…

As she started to command the trunk back into its spot in the closet Molly saw a glimpse of white lying discarded on the floor in the closet. Molly picked up the object; a card addressed to “Ronnie”. Ronnie? She sniffed to herself. Even I don’t call him Ronnie anymore. She opened it to see a Christmas card with a picture of Ron with his arm around a pretty, perfectly coiffed and painted blonde, her cotton-candy pink nails (that just happened to match her pouty rosebud lips) digging into Ron’s shoulder possessively.

Dearest Ronnie- the card read
This is the first year I’ve ever not looked forward to Christmas. I don’t know how I’m going to live without you for a whole week!!! I’ll just have to demand a week’s worth of kisses when we get back then, right darling? I hope the picture and present make you think of me, ‘cause I’ll be thinking of you every second of every day. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Hugs and Kissies-
Lav

Molly let out a chortle that was somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of disgust. Must be that girl the twins said he was seeing last year. She reasoned, feeling very underwhelmed at the impression of the young woman. I’m certainly glad that didn’t last long. She opened the small white box and pulled out a necklace that said “My Sweetheart.” She threw back her head and laughed uproariously. “Sweet Merlin-no wonder he threw it aside!” she said aloud, wiping her eyes. “The twins would never let him hear the end of it if he ever wore something like this!” Not having a clue what to do with it, she decided to put it back and ask him about it upon his return. At her command the trunk repositioned itself in the closet.

She stared at the last picture as she prepared to put it in the book. This was not one that Ron had seen himself; the trio had departed before Bill and Fleur’s wedding pictures had come back. Molly had looked over all the wedding pictures, many of which had Ron’s face in them; but this was the one that she felt he would want in his book. Once the photographer had finished with the (seemingly endless) posed shots of the wedding party and families, the photographer had wandered around taking candid shots. This was one of those candid shots, taken on the dance floor at the reception. Ron had his arm around Hermione’s waist, holding one of her hands and leading her awkwardly around the dance floor. Their eyes were locked on one another as if no one else in the world existed; gazing with identical expressions of absolute terror, wonder, and joy. Molly was vividly reminded of the painful process of giving birth; the messy, agonizing task of making manifest something that had been growing inside for such a very long time; knowing that once it was out in the open it would take on a life of its own. “Take care of him,” Molly whispered to the young woman in the picture as Hermione shyly buried her head in Ron’s chest on seeing the camera and Ron’s hand reached up to stroke her hair. “Take care of my boy.”

As her tears flowed, she remembered another image that she desperately wished she had captured with the camera.

She walked into the room and watched Ron magically seal an envelope. He turned to her and handed her the envelope along with two others. “Would you keep these for me and give them to people if…anything happens to me?” His voice was low and serious.

She felt a lead weight of fear and despair sink to her very core. She turned the envelopes over, reading “Mum and Dad”, “Harry” and “Hermione.” Summoning all of her strength, she smiled with false brightness. He lifted his head and gazed back up at her. “Mum, you know if comes down to…to dying so Harry or Hermione can live I’ll do it.”

“Nonsense-you’ll be just fine, Gid. You’ll be back in no time.” She gave an audible gasp as they wordlessly stared at one another. Molly saw another pair of blue eyes, just as courageous and determined; ready to leave for battle twenty years before. To her surprise Ron quietly embraced her and whispered words that she had not heard him speak in many years: “I love you, Mum.” It seemed as if in his transition from boyhood he had forgotten how to say them; the full-grown man standing before her had learned them anew. She stared at this young man, this beloved stranger, with pride. She tried to memorize every gesture, every curve of his face; the quiet strength and willingness to sacrifice for a cause greater than himself.

She closed the book and sighed. There was nothing more that she could do. She and Arthur had always tried their best to teach their children to stand up for what they believed and never be anything less than true to themselves. She almost wished that her youngest son had not taken these lessons so deeply to heart; that he and Molly’s adopted son and daughter would just come home and leave the fate of the world to older and more experienced wizards.

She jumped as a pair of loud Cracks! pierced the silence. She caught her breath and turned to see the twins sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“Goodness-you scared the life out of me!” She scolded. “Will you boys ever learn to knock?”

“Dad told us you were up here…” said Fred.

“…and we figured you could use some company,” George finished.

She realized she was still holding the book to her when Fred’s arm slipped around her, and his face was grave. His twin patted her gently on the shoulder.

“He’ll be all right,” George spoke softly.

“Yeah, we need him-nobody else is clueless enough to fall for all of our jokes,” Fred grinned. “Come on, Mum-let’s go on downstairs.” Fred took the book from her hand and waved it into the closet. “It’s no use fretting.”

“Besides, we’re starving…”

“Haven’t had a good meal in ages.” They both looked at her with ridiculously pitiful expressions.

She smiled weakly, leaning on George’s shoulder. “How does pork roast with mashed potatoes sound?”

“Fantastic!”

“Brilliant!” Both young men jumped off the bed, and helped her up.

Molly looked once more around the room, following them out. She shut the door, saying a prayer for her missing son she couldn’t help-and went to take care of the ones she could.