Welcome to the planet
Welcome to existence
As a young impressionable girl, Molly Prewett had dreamed of gowns inlaid with sparkling diamonds and homes with a thousand rooms. Her hopes were to marry the most handsome man in all of Britain and live without a care in the world. She would dance on the rooftops of her numerous seaside vacation homes, singing to Celestina Warbeck all night long as others watched with envy and admiration.
However, in the end Molly Prewett hadn’t married for fame or fortune, for a life of luxury or prestige—she had married for love. With her heart bursting with compassion and emotion for the one man who had stolen her heart, Molly became a Weasley.
Now, life wasn’t perfect. Molly worked hard and Arthur worked even harder. And as Bill, then Charlie, Percy, next the twins, Ron, and finally Ginny, came around; the pair began to work even harder than before. Money was hard to come by, but they had managed to make ends meet. Life wasn’t perfect, but they were happy. They had each other, a family.
Bill was the eldest and he made them proud: a model student, a model boy with a streak for adventure. Then it was Charlie, an accomplished Quidditch player with a love for the outdoors and an easygoing likable manner. Percy was next, the most ambitious and studious of the whole bunch. The twins then followed, Fred and George, a lethal pair in the matters of causing mischief but both with hearts of gold beneath it all. Ron was the last of the boys and he was a combination of all those before him, he was sweet like no other. And last of all was Ginny, the first girl to be born a Weasley in several generations, a kind young girl who grew to be a confident and self-assured young woman.
Molly knew what the other families said. She weathered the demeaning remarks and spiteful glares from those who thought they were better, for having more money, more status. She saw her children endure the same kind of treatment from those who couldn’t look past the surface. The values she had tried to instill hopefully reassured them that such superficial things like money and fame didn’t matter. Family, love, those were what mattered in the end.
Of all her children, Molly knew that Percy would be the one to want more. He was always an ambitious child, more uptight than his brothers, but more focused. She knew he was meant for great things, but when he did leave it broke her heart.
He had turned against the family, siding with the Ministry in a cause that was not only unjust but was also against everything the Weasleys believed in. Molly’s first reaction had been anger: How could he? How could he not believe Harry? What was he thinking? But, once the frustration and disappointment had subsided, there was only sadness. Away from the view of others, Molly had cried for days on end. Her Percy, her child, had left. And he wasn’t coming back.
Harry was always like another son to her, and Hermione like another daughter. Both Molly and Arthur knew that this mission, this quest for Dumbledore was needed. Molly knew that Harry felt as if he had to save the world, but he didn’t need to do it alone. She pleaded with the three to let the Order of the Phoenix help. After all, they were only children. Dumbledore surely would not have instilled sole responsibility with these mere kids. However, the more she tried to reason, the more she pled, the less they divulged. And with Bill’s wedding in the making, Molly could only immerse herself in the preparations and hopefully delay the inevitable as the three began to make their plans.
Once the three had begun their journey, after the frightening raid at the Burrow, Molly had sat in wait, Arthur by her side, hoping for any news, anything at all. He had reassured her, that Ron, Hermione, and Harry could easily take care of themselves, but that had done little to quell her worries. Percy was off fraternizing with the enemy, with the bigots, and she couldn’t help but ache for his return. While Ron and the other two were off doing who knew what, saving the Wizarding World and no doubt facing death every waking moment. Sleepless nights piled open sleepless nights as Molly could only imagine the trouble they had gotten into, the danger the four of them were facing as they wandered farther and farther away from home each day.
The Prophet had become useless, a mere puppet for You-Know-Who’s reign of terror. Any information she managed to glean off of others was from members of the Order. What was Percy up to nowadays? Any information on the whereabouts of Harry, Ron, and Hermione? How dangerous is it getting now? Has You-Know-Who been spotted officially yet? How are the others? However, it was the lack of answers in such troubled times that kept Molly’s heart in disarray. Her whole family split apart. She would stare at the old grandfather clock in the kitchen for hours on end, all nine hands resolutely set on mortal peril, never changing, never moving.
For months she had waited, devotedly, stubbornly, and when the call finally came, she was ready. Ready to fight. Harry had shown up with Hermione and Ron in tow at Hogwarts, and now it was only the inevitable which was left. Everyone in the Wizarding community knew this would be it, the moment of truth, the moment of justice, the tipping point of their lives. This would be the battle that would define history, define who they are, shape the perpetual truth of their reality—this was it.
With other members of the Order by her side, Molly plunged into the battle, defeating foe after foe, fighting for justice, for morals, for succession past prejudice. Death eater after death eater, they plunged to their fate. Yet, Molly also knew that the bodies littered around her consisted of the many whom she fought for, those who fought with her for what was right. But, she couldn’t stop to mourn, not yet, it wasn’t time.
However, in the midst of battle, her third eldest approached her with George in tow. Percy, who smiled sadly at his mother, tears staining his cheeks, glasses askew, the blood of his brother on his hands. And Molly knew, she knew she had lost one.
“I tried, Mum, I tried.” Percy whimpered, as Molly enveloped him in a hug, tears threatening as her own dam broke. She ushered George over, soothing him as he whispered nonsensical things to himself. Her boys, her babies, they held each other, mourning the loss of one of their own. But, as the battle raged on, Molly knew they could not dally. One life had been lost, sweet Fred, she would never allow another to be.
Bill who had arrived, carrying the lifeless body of a brother passed, looked equally as stricken, as the four took a moment to lament. Molly bent over, kissing George’s lifeless body, stroking his cheek, a hint of his last smile a mere remnant perpetually frozen on his face.
So young, she thought, so sweet, a lifetime ahead of him, all stolen from him, all lost.
As they stood, harboring a last glance towards poor Fred, the horrible thing itself rose across the battlefield, seemingly stopping all movement. You-Know-Who had arrived, the terrible man who was now a beast. His words were inconsequential they were evil, useless, and Molly refused to listen. The crowd surround her began to riot, in a loud uproar, and the Dark Lord cast his spell across the battlefield. But, Molly still remained resilient, wordless; she stared at the thing that had created all this destruction, all this pain.
A word had yet to escape her lips, but then, there he was. The Chosen One, some called him, others knew him as the Boy-Who-Lived, but Molly, Molly knew him as Harry. His lifeless body dangled in the air, flopping about at You-Know-Who’s whim and Molly’s heart broke as she cried out in pain. He was their hope, their beacon of light. She had known him as such a sweet boy, modest, humble, and oblivious to the weight on his shoulders. But as he grew, poor Harry was forced into the limelight. He was forced to grow up faster than any child should have, yet he managed to handle it all. Under all the criticism and all the scrutiny, Harry was still one of the sweetest children she knew. And now, now, he was dead.
Incoherently, she cried out, as the events that followed became a blur. Young Neville had broken free from the Dark Lord’s binding curse to attack the pet snake floating in mid air and You-Know-Who’s control over the crowd dissipated as all hell broke loose. Molly joined the stampede toward the castle, battling those in her way. She steeled herself as she passed body after body, some whom she knew well, others whom she still felt for, as they had died fighting for what they believed in. Some of the bodies were so young, mere children, thrust into the horrors of war.
But, Molly did not pause, like every other person fighting for justice, she knew what was next. Harry’s death would not be in vain. The boy died fighting for them, fighting for what was right. They couldn’t quit now, they couldn’t, after so much had been sacrificed, after so much already had been accomplished. Throwing herself into battle, Molly dueled a countless number of Death Eaters, and while most were competent opponents, Molly had anger and revenge on her side. She had a purpose, and she wouldn’t be stopped.
As she defeated the foe before her, Molly glanced toward her right. And there she was, her sole daughter, battling the Bellatrix Lestrange—the woman who had taken hundreds of lives, the ruthless pet of You-Know-Who. Molly knew she could never let another one of her children die. She would never let it happen. She stormed into battle, her mind furious, her wand acting on its own accord as she pushed others aside.
“Get back! Get back! She is mine!” Molly screamed as others came to aid. She wanted Bellatrix dead by her own hands. She would do it, for Fred, for Harry, for Sirius, and everyone else who fell before Lestrange’s villainy.
Then, there it was the simple taunt, the threat to her children and the poor thought of Fred. Molly remembered the lifeless body of poor Fred in the hands of his brother, the stricken look across Percy and Bill’s and the lost look on George’s. And Molly knew she would never allow another Weasley to die, never. Her thoughts were on her children, and of poor Fred, splayed across the battlefield, as the spell left her wand. And before it hit, Molly knew it was over. She had found her mark, and as Bellatrix toppled over, Molly could only find a muted satisfaction in what she had done.
A/N: Lyrics from Switchfoot’s I Dare You to Move song and the quote from Deathly Hallows is on page 736, the US version.
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