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Always Maroon by _Em Switch_

Format: Short story
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 1,715
Status: COMPLETED

Rating: 12+
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Violence

Genres: Romance, Action/Adventure, Young Adult
Characters: A. Longbottom, F. Longbottom, Arthur, Molly
Pairings: Arthur/Molly

First Published: 01/10/2010
Last Chapter: 01/17/2010
Last Updated: 01/17/2010

Summary:
Gideon and Fabian Prewett died like heroes.

Re-live the moments branded onto the memory of Molly Weasley on that fateful night...



Chapter 1: The Origin Of Heroes
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Molly carefully unwrapped the lumpy packet, which was tied with ribbon that flashed with stars, with feigned curiosity. She knew that inside the papery folds lay a new Prewett Christmas jumper, emblazoned with a large golden ‘M’. 

Maroon. Always maroon. 

She smiled and watched as her twin brothers shredded their twin packages to reveal identical knitted hats, both sporting the practical initials ‘F’ and ‘G’.
Mrs Prewett eyed them from her spot in the armchair beside the fire. 

“Well?” she enquired, smiling softly, flashing a glance at her husband who leaned in towards the children; 

“Not what you expected, eh?” He finished with his booming laugh, a custom after this well used joke. 

“Thanks mother,” Molly said, rising onto her knees to plant kisses on both her 
parents’ cheeks. 

As she sat down once more she threw black looks at Fabian and Gideon, who appeared to not have heeded the hint, and were busy attempting to build a pile of presents big enough to fly their new toy Cleansweep Threes.
 
She shook her head. In a year she would be at Hogwarts, and they would not. Her head filled with reverie as she imagined whole nights passing without the whir of her pocket sneakoscope disturbing her dreams...

                                                                              *

Her hands shook so violently that her wand was of no use; time and time again she pointed and stammered at the little pan of eggs that would not boil, and time and time again, not so much as a spark flew from the end of her wand. 

Arthur, whose long thin nose was buried in the rolls of parchment so crucial to the plan, suddenly looked up. 

Noticing her break down, he strode over to the stove and wrapped his large hands around hers. As she looked up at him with those bright brown eyes, two fat tears escaped their corners. Bashfully she attempted to siphon them away, but instead managed to singe the ceiling. 

“Molly – ˝ he started, but his words of consolation were drowned by her mortified cry. 

"Arthur...” 

For a few minutes they stayed this way, Arthur rooted to the spot, his face blanched and expression wooden as Molly sobbed quietly into his shoulder. When the sobs began to die down, he reached for her hands once more, and clasped them to his chest. 

“It will be alright. They will be alright. Molly, you must believe this.” 

A final, shuddering breath, and then a forced sense of calm. She wiped the corners of her eyes on her apron and again readied herself to charm the pan of water; again, no sparks came. 

No sooner had she realised this than did Arthur whip out his own wand and point it gently towards the stove. 
Although it was slow to bubble and not half as efficient as if Molly had done it herself, the eggs were soon ready to eat. 

He summoned two eggcups from a nearby box – the house was still yet to be unpacked – sliced some bread and drew out a chair for Molly with a flick of his wand. Grateful, though still shaking, she sat down, and began to eat in silence. 

She busied herself when it came to tidying away the dishes, performing the spells extra slowly, as if by doing so she would slow time itself. Arthur looked at her, but kept quiet. He perused the complicated, cryptic plans once more. 

An hour had passed, yet the hands on the old Clock stayed in fixed place, every one on mortal peril. Every face of her family, and a few of her friends, hovered beneath this warning. She glanced at it out of habit. She had never seen what would happen when a member of her family died; would they fade away, to be replaced in the future by a new Weasley? Or would they simply stay as they were, halted in time and place forever? 

She hoped against hope that she wouldn’t find out today. 

Arthur suddenly folded away the crispy rolls of parchment; Molly’s stomach somersaulted as she readied herself for the off.
 
Taking a sweeping look of their new house, with its quaint little yard and towering chimneys, they walked into the adjoining field. Their fingers entwined as they Apparated. 

The heather dusted moor stretched bleakly before and beyond them. There was no place to hide; they were quite exposed. However the painstakingly particular plan had worked; there was no way their arrival could be heard over the whistling winds. 

Molly shivered, and felt the trickle of a Disillusionment Charm as Arthur concealed them both from view. They followed the plan and strode east, away from the train tracks, and further into the desolate landscape. 

After a few minutes they were noiselessly joined by others; the Longbottoms, Frank and Alice, who acknowledged the couple with brisk nods and concerned, meaningful glances. 

Passing an old cracked bottle of ale, their numbers increased by one; Caradoc Dearborn, who smiled in a glum way and frowned into the wind as they pressed ever eastward. 

When they reached an old, gnarled tree, the party stopped in their tracks. All invisible by now, they surrounded the stump in waiting, ears straining for clues above the gales. 

Minutes passed, and nothing stirred. For a moment it seemed they had found the wrong place. Arthur mentally perused the plan. They had followed it correctly. He could feel Frank and Caradoc were thinking the same thoughts. 

After five minutes, five, painful minutes, they loosened formation, and slowly backed into a tighter circle so as to hear the plan from now. Never dropping their guard, wands aloft, Alice spoke first. 

“Moody was so sure it would be this place,” she hissed. It was as if the wind itself was talking, but a calmer wind, a warm, spring wind. 

“This means that they’ve hit... elsewhere. Dumbledore said they wouldn’t waste any time.” Caradoc’s voice wavered. Molly’s throat constricted forcefully. 

“Moody was so sure...Oh, Molly...” Alice’s voice rang in Molly’s ears as the truth tried to force its way in. Arthur’s hand reached for hers, and as she made to twist in the air their fingertips brushed – 

“Molly, no!” 

But she was already in the darkness, that pressing darkness, and all she thought was Gideon and Fabian...Gideon and Fabian...Gideon and Fabian... 

A strong hand clutched at her ankle, she tried to wrench it free, but another gentle hand now gripped at her knee... 

She fell to the floor, the floor which was no longer heather strewn moor, and was now a lone, dusty road. The sky was darkening. She heard panting – could it be?
 
But it was Arthur, struggling to hide them in the bank of earth off the road. Where were they? 

Another person was near, and breathing heavily. It was Alice, she realised. As this dawned on her she was of the sudden revelation that she had recklessly dragged both of them into unknown danger. 

Where were they? 

Suddenly, from a distance, they heard voices. A large group of men, it seemed, were making their way across the field. It was only until she heard the celebratory snarl that belonged to none other than one of her twin brothers that Molly knew where they were.
She jumped up, only to be pulled forcefully back down again. She found herself inches away from Alice’s round face, which was now serious and wan. 

“Molly, please listen to me. You cannot help them. You will endanger them further, not to mention yourself, and the whereabouts of the Order. Please, I know this is hard...” 

She shook her head. Arthur now spoke. He had used a small mirror which protruded from his wand to spy on the battle which raged beyond the hedgerows. 

“It’s them,” he said, although Molly could not mistake the twin’s battle cries, “There are two Death Eaters...No, three, make that four...Oh, Merlin’s beard...” 

Molly wrenched the periscope contraption out of his hands and saw for herself – not three, but four masked Death Eater’s, not even a match for the two of them, with their speed and prodigious skill... 

A fleeting image of herself mere years ago, jealous at the praise they received in duelling club, flashed past her eyes. 

She watched aghast, torn in a horrible limbo between safety and danger, loyalty and the greater good. Fabian cast hex after hex after curse at the four Death Eaters, while Gideon’s neat jinx hit one square in the forehead, catching his mask, which tumbled to the ground. It was Dolohov, a new addition... 

The name of the Death Eaters were commonplace now in the minds of the Order. 

Nothing could stop them; one by one, You-Know-Who’s comrades fell to the ground under the wandsmanship of the two brothers combined.
 
Then, suddenly, four became five. 

The flashes of countless curses lit the little field, and scorch marks in the ground were a testament to the twin’s die hard attitude. They fought continuously, unaware that their sister crouched watching helplessly, feet away. Their hands and wands became a blur of furious, hot fighting. 

A final cry of triumphant laughter as a curse jetted across the no man’s land and into the neck of Gideon, who fell to the side. 

Fabian’s face twisted in a way Molly hoped never to see on anyone’s face ever again in her lifetime... 

Looking over his shoulder at his fallen other half, he renewed his fight with twice the malice, with raw anger, until the combined force of five against one won out, and he sank to the floor, still cursing as he went down, and lay quite still next to his brother. 

*
A baby with a shock of red hair and freckles covering every inch of its little nose gurgled in its highchair. It was Christmas, and the sprawling Weasley family had gathered around the table in the tiny kitchen to open their gifts. 

Fred and George, two years older than the gurgling baby, sported identical knitted hats, bearing the practical initials ‘F’ and ‘G’. 

Molly Weasley smiled softly as her oldest son Bill helped the baby unwrap the little lumpy packet that lay on his tray in front of him, although she knew what it was. 

A Weasley Christmas jumper emblazoned with a golden ‘R’; and maroon. 

Always maroon.

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