She had never really liked onions. Sure, they were good for flavoring, but they stung her eyes and there was no charm to prevent it. But Arthur liked onions, and so did Ginny-- none of the boys ever did, not really-- so Molly continued to chop onions for dinner whenever there was call for them.
There was no real need for them tonight. Arthur was always willing to give up onions for Molly’s sake and they were the only two left at the Burrow now. The children were all gone. Bill had gotten married and taken his new wife to a new house, Charlie was back in Romania doing his work, Percy still wasn’t speaking to them, the twins were staying at the shop, Ginny was at Hogwarts, and Ron… Ron was the reason she was cutting onions tonight.
She cut the onions to hide her tears, although it felt a bit pointless now. Arthur knew she was upset and she’d been crying pretty steadily ever since Ron had gone off on that wild goose chase with Harry… not that she was angry with Harry. She knew he had to go, and although she had tried to stop them, to keep them safe and warm and happy, she knew that Harry would do whatever job Dumbledore had left him and that Ron and Hermione would go.
Molly chopped the onions more furiously now, thinking of it. Why would Dumbledore give a job to children? What could it be that it had to be kept so secret? It wasn’t fair to her or her husband that their son should be given a task that, from the few clues she had gotten from listening at doors, would be extremely dangerous and difficult, and not tell them what it was. Molly didn’t like to think ill of the dead, but Dumbledore… he was a great man, she knew it, but he could have at least given some sort of clue.
Her tears came faster the more onions she cut. It wasn’t just Ron. He might have been the only one who was her natural son, but Harry was like her son, and Hermione was like a daughter, and it was frightening to think of the three of them out there, all alone, with absolutely no idea what they were facing. It was even more frightening for Molly to realize that she didn’t know what they were facing, either.
She looked around the kitchen. She had chopped a dozen onions in the course of one afternoon, and she knew Arthur couldn’t possibly eat all of them. She had gotten a bit carried away. Halloween was always an emotional time, and today was no exception. Yet there was something in the solitude of the kitchen and the smell of the onions that, even though she hated onions, made her feel a bit better somehow.
“Molly?” Arthur’s voice cut through the air. “Molly, what on earth are you doing?”
He came into the kitchen and looked at the pieces of onion scattered about on the counter. “Molly, what is all this?”
“Just a bit of onions,” Molly said offhandedly. “I thought I could make some onion soup tonight… it’s so very cold out…”
“Molly, you know full well that you don’t like onion soup very much,” Arthur said evenly. “And you have enough onion here to feed twenty people who actually do like it.”
Molly sniffed and waved her wand so that the kettle started. “I just felt like chopping onions tonight…”
“You’re worrying about them again,” Arthur said bluntly. “You’re worrying and you don’t want me to know.”
Molly smiled slightly. Arthur knew her too well by now to be fooled by something so simple as chopping onions as an excuse.
“Yes,” she admitted. “A bit.” She hesitated. “Do you think they’re eating well and are warm enough? When Remus went back to Grimmauld Place to check on them…”
“They’re probably fine, Molly,” Arthur said reassuringly. “They’re good kids, they know how to take care of themselves… well, Hermione knows how to take care of them.”
Molly nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. She looked around at the onions scattered about. “I’ll clean this up, then.” She waved her wand and all the onions but the few she’d need for the soup disappeared.
She had always chopped onions before to hide her tears. It was time, Molly decided as she mixed onion soup for her husband, to break that habit. The next time she felt worried or upset, she would not chop onions until the kitchen was poisonous.
Although they didn’t really smell that bad after one got used to it. In fact, if the world was depressing enough, onions smelled surprisingly good.
Or maybe it just felt good to cry about something besides her sons for a change.