Molly Weasley turned onto her back and opened her eyes. Staring at the ceiling she sighed deeply. Beside her, Arthur stirred in his sleep and she glanced over at him, a begrudging expression on her face.
How he can sleep, I'll never know.
She turned back to her side, closing her eyes again, willing herself to drift off, if only for a few hours. Her mind, though, crowded with images and anxious thoughts of her youngest son and his friends, was not obliging, and with another deep sigh, she sat up. Gingerly, so as not to awaken her husband, she got out of bed and crept to the door, reaching as she went for her dressing gown which was draped over a chair. Stepping into the hall, she quietly pulled the door to behind her and slipped on the robe over her nightdress, cinching the belt around her waist.
She stole downstairs with as little noise as possible, faint snores from one of the other bedrooms her only accompaniment. Reaching the kitchen, she plucked her wand from her dressing gown pocket and pointed it at the kettle which promptly began filling itself from the tap. She yawned sleepily before waving the wand vaguely in the direction of the cupboard which opened to allow a cup to soar gently out.
"Make it two, Mum," said a quiet voice behind her and startled, Molly gasped, her wand clattering to the countertop where little pink sparks spluttered out the end. The cup wobbled dangerously, and only just recovering in time, Molly snatched it out of the air before it could crash to the floor.
She wheeled to face her daughter, who was curled up on the window seat behind her, and hissed, "Don't do that." She drew a deep, though shaky, breath. "Scared me half to death."
"Sorry, Mum," Ginny replied automatically, glancing at her briefly before turning her attention back to the window.
Molly opened her mouth to begin a scathing lecture, but, thinking better of it, she sighed yet again and returned to her tea preparations. She knew there was something bothering her daughter, she could see all the signs. In fact, she even had a good idea what it may be but she knew she wouldn't get far towards confirming her suspicions by shouting at her. When the tea was ready, she poured two cups, sweetening one to Ginny's taste, and carried them over to the window.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, holding out one of the cups.
Ginny turned to her mother again, took the proffered cup, and shook her head before staring out the window once more.
Molly had the distinct impression that although Ginny seemed to be looking very intently at something, she wasn't actually seeing anything that was currently in their back garden. She motioned for her daughter to move over and Ginny obliged, uncurling her legs and dropping them over the side of the seat so her mother could sit beside her.
Not knowing what to say, how to start a conversation with the daughter that had said no more than a dozen words to anyone all week, Molly took a turn to glance out the window. The sky to the east was lightening, a faint yellowy-pink peeking out from between the inky blue. Sipping carefully from her hot drink, she turned to watch her daughter again. Ginny was clutching her mug tightly and, instead of at the window, she was now staring, unseeing, into the black liquid, looking for all the world as if she was hoping it would give her some sort of answer; to what question, Molly could only guess. She noticed that Ginny's nails had been bitten mercilessly, the tips of her fingers a mess of hangnails and teeth-torn cuticles. Molly grimaced to herself; they matched her own. Taking a steadying breath, she plunged into the unknown, and potentially turbulent, waters.
"What is it, Ginny? What's troubling you? Something at school perhaps?"
Ginny shot her a withering look before taking a long swallow of the hot tea. "How can you ask me that?"
Molly exhaled forcibly and tried again. "I know you're worried about them, dear. We all are. I mean, it's been almost five weeks since we last heard ..." She eyed her daughter shrewdly. "But it's more than that, isn't it? You're not just worried about your brother and your friends, are you? There's ... more." She emphasized the ‘more', ever so slightly.
Ginny's head snapped up so suddenly that some of her tea sloshed over the side of the cup and onto the window seat. Neither of them noticed. Molly was calm, watching her daughter. Ginny, though, was anything but.
"What d'ya mean, ‘more'?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.
Molly's calm was unruffled and she continued genteelly sipping her tea for a few moments before answering. "Contrary to the popular belief of present company, dear, I was sixteen myself once."
"Meaning?" Ginny prompted, her drink forgotten.
More sips.
"Meaning I understand how you feel." Another sip. "What you feel."
"Which is?"
Molly drained her cup and placed it, gently, on the floor beside the window seat before looking her daughter directly in the eye.
"You're in love with Harry."
She braced herself for the angry outburst but it never came. Instead, Ginny sat there quietly, glaring defiantly at her mother for several long moments. Gradually, as Molly watched, the glare softened, Ginny's nose reddened, and her eyes welled up.
"Great," she said bitterly, "it's that obvious." Two tears spilled over her bottom lids and coursed slowly down her cheeks.
Molly reached out her hand to cup the side of her daughter's face, her thumb brushing away the wetness there. "Not obvious, dear. But like I said ... I remember how it feels." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind Ginny's ear. "Does he ... share your feelings?" she asked quietly.
Ginny closed her eyes and more tears leaked out through the lids, sliding down her face, and dripping off her nose. She nodded, without opening her eyes, but they flew open when she added, angrily, "Or he did ... until he broke it off. He was being all noble... and I know he had a good reason, and I said I understood, but ..." She sighed heavily. "I'm not making any sense am I?"
Frowning in confusion, Molly shook her head. Ginny laughed, despite herself, and told her everything: her massive crush on Harry, her jealousy of Cho, Hermione's idea to behave normally around him, the glorious few weeks they'd shared, and Harry's decision to end it for her own protection.
Molly was shaking her head sadly when Ginny drew to a close. "It's just as it was last time." At the puzzled look on Ginny's face she elaborated. "The last time You-Know-Who was powerful it threw a spanner into everything: young people forced to grow up too quickly, some relationships torn apart, others more intense, all due to the threat of war, the threat of death."
They lapsed into silence, apparently neither of them having anything to add to that. Ginny took a sip of her now-cold tea and grimaced her displeasure.
"Here, let me," Molly offered, tapping the mug with her wand, bringing it to a more palatable temperature.
"Thanks," Ginny muttered, then added, "and not just for the tea. For listening."
"Of course, dear." Molly glanced out the window and saw the sun steadily gaining strength over the orchard trees. "Morning," she murmured, nodding at the view.
"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Any minute now the others will be down here."
As if on cue, Fred bounded down the stairs, two at a time. "Ladies!" he bellowed in greeting. "What's this? No breakfast prepared for me yet? Mum, you're slipping," he chided. "What've you two been up to down here if not cooking for me?"
Molly stood, artfully hiding Ginny from view so her daughter could hastily wipe her face, and gathered the tea mugs. "Discussing your birthday present, Fred," she replied, without missing a beat, and headed into the kitchen.
"Yeah?" Fred said, his interest piqued. "Really? Do tell, Mother, what ideas were tossed about, then?"
Molly was pointing her wand at various cupboards, directing pots and pans in preparation for beginning the morning meal. "Well, I'm not going to tell you now, am I, dear? Move aside then or else start helping!"
As Fred continued to badger their mother, Ginny smiled to herself and turned back to the window.
For some reason, probably because she and her mother had just been talking about him, she felt very close to Harry this morning, as if he were somewhere quite nearby. She shook her head, realizing how silly she was being; he was probably hundreds, even thousands, of miles away.
With a sad sigh, she stood and went to help her mother with breakfast.