don't make me smile, tag; dave/arthur <3

Molly was having a terrible day.She was exhausted beyond all comprehension. Ever since Halloween and the Hogsmeade trip a couple days prior she hadn’t been sleeping very well and it was really starting to wear her down. Arthur was having nightmares and even when she had the opportunity to sleep she was too preoccupied with her own guilt to get any sort of rest. And then to top it all off the last week or so both Bill and Charlie had gotten sick and she’d been up out of the bed even more to make sure that Arthur got enough sleep so that he could function at work. It felt like every time she went to close her eyes someone or something needed her attention or all the reasons why she was upset with herself and upset with Arthur came screaming back into her mind so that she had no choice but to open her eyes and stare at the ceiling until her body literally passed out.Today, however, was the first day that Bill and Charlie were back to feeling one hundred percent and the both of them seemed hell bent on getting into all the mischief that they’d missed in the last couple of days by being lethargic and feverish in their mother’s arms. She’d spent all day chasing them both around the house, neither one had wanted to nap despite desperately needing to, and she’d just had to wrestle both of them into the bathtub before starting dinner because Charlie had pulled one of her plants up out of its pot and covered both him and his older brother in potting soil as well as smearing it on the walls and floor. She’d nearly cried when she saw the mess she was going to have to contend with and the two little boys who seemed to know immediately what the mess meant and therefore ran and crawled away from her in two different directions.She was furious and hormonal, which was not a good combination, and she suspected she’d caught the boys’ bug so a fever might have been playing into the situation as well. But she couldn’t be mad at Bill or Charlie, they were babies and they didn’t understand that they were being bad, they were just playing. They had no idea that they were nearly driving their mother to drink out of sheer frustration. She wished they were older so that when she told them ‘no no’ they would actually understand what she was saying to them. Bill at least knew the word in the moment so sometimes she could prevent the behavior if she saw it early enough but he was still just too young to understand consequences. So all that anger and irritation she felt was left with nowhere to go, no outlet since she couldn’t in good conscience just scream at two little babies for making a mess or swinging an elbow into her face while she tried to pull a pajama top over his head.To get dinner on the stove Molly was a little ashamed to admit she’d used a sticking charm on both of their bottoms to keep them in their seats at the table. Bill liked to climb out of his high chair and Charlie liked to try to copy his older brother. Luckily she’d always caught him before he could get far enough along to actually fall out since he lacked the actual motor skills to climb down the side like Bill. But she just knew tonight that the second she turned her back on them Charlie would go crashing to the floor and she would feel like a terrible mother on top of everything else. She brushed her frizzy hair out of her face and sighed in frustration all over again. She hadn’t had five minutes to herself in the past couple of weeks, never long enough to actually get to the point in her shower were she would use conditioner. Some days she didn’t even get to the shampoo phase before someone cried or knocked at the door.Arthur’s dinner was on the table, a charm keeping it warm until he got in to actually eat it, and though her stomach was rumbling she declined to eat any herself. One whiff had made her stomach turn so violently that she almost hadn’t made it to the waste bin before she’d thrown up. But it was Bill and Arthur’s favorite so it sat on the table anyway while she sat in front of Charlie trying to get him to eat the strained sweet potatoes and cereal she’d prepared for him. “Bill, eat your peas, please.” The toddler had frowned at his plate and then at her and shook his head stubbornly. “William, I said eat your peas.” Again he shook his head. She opened her mouth to tell him again when she heard the pop of apparation just outside the door and the spoon on the clock start to shift. Just as Arthur came in the kitchen Charlie got his hands in the bowl and ended flinging a handful of orange mush into her face and hair.

More and more, Arthur dreaded going home. That was probably the worst thing of all. The past week or two had been...well, it was enough to say they hadn't quite been the happiest period of his marriage. The two of them weren't arguing, of course. They never really had screaming blazing rows about anything, and they were both mature enough to be able to sit down and have a conversation about something when it was wrong, but it wasn't arguments that were the problem. It was so much more than that. Ever since that night, ever since he'd made the suggestion, well, more decision, for them to stop having kids until the war was over, he had felt...was it something like guilt? Yes, it probably was. He felt like he had crushed Molly's dreams for a happy, large family flat into the mud, if only temporarily, and he couldn't go through the house, he couldn't look at her or Bill or Charlie without feeling that twinge in his stomach. And he was certain he had every cause to feel guilty. He had made a knee jerk reaction, hadn't even particularly bothered to talk to Molly about it, he had just sprung it on her. He had even considered apologizing, taking it all back. He wanted to. But of course, things were never quite that simple, and guilt wasn't the only thing that settled in Arthur's stomach and kept him staring at the ceiling in the dark every night.

Night was certainly the worst part of Arthur's day, days that had gotten steadily more stressful. Ever since the attack at Hogsmeade, security at the Ministry had been doubled tenfold, they had been on more raids than ever, and Arthur spent every waking moment not at work anticipating another knock on the door, shaking every time post came through the letterbox, and silently praying that it wouldn't be another call to action from Albus Dumbledore. But even with these myriad horrors combined, night still remained the pinnacle of Arthur's torment. He had been wracked for the weeks since the attack with nightmares, nightmares so vivid that he found himself back in Hogsmeade, seeing the faces of the dead children, adults, men and women, and those black hoods scouring the streets. He could once again feel the heat of the explosions, the curses roaring past his face, red and green, hissing their attack at their targets. And in the pile of corpses that seemed to mount up almost un-feasibly quickly in the dream-time streets of Hogsmeade, he could see Molly's face, and Bill's, and Charlie's, and suddenly every child dead before their time would have flaming red hair, and each would be his. And he'd wake in a cold sweat, and excuse himself to go feed the babies, or get a cup of tea, or anything to avoid once again staring into blackness. Once his wife next to him had been a comfort, but now it was a bitter reminder of the mistakes he had made in those short weeks. He had attempted to hide these regular nightmares from Molly, but the way she looked at him every morning, when she came down to find him already at the table, dressed for work and eating, bags under his eyes, made it obvious that there was nothing he could hide from his wife.

Overall, there was no way in the world Arthur Weasley could have felt worse.

Apparating home from yet another exhausting day at the Ministry (three raids, and the paperwork to go with each of them) Arthur stood a minute outside the kitchen door, watching his wife busy about the children eating, with a mixture of the fondness that he knew would always be in his heart for his wife and children, and the guilt that had taken up residence like some vicious lodger, making its home in his heart without permission, but ever growing. She looked tired, and sick. She'd more than likely picked up the bug that had rendered the boys to crying and shaking the past week, and he hated, even more than he hated the guilt, he hated the fact that it was practically impossible for him to be around and help her through it. It was times like this, when everything seemed to mount against him, that drove him to question what on Earth Molly Prewett had seen in useless old Arthur Weasley. Sighing, he pushed the door open, just in time to see Charlie fling a handful of his food and catch Molly square in the face. Normally, he would have laughed, and she would have laughed along with him at the trials that having children brought, but today was a different matter. Placing his briefcase on the floor, he snapped at his son. "Charles Weasley, no!" Really, the scolding was fruitless, Charlie was too young to accept the fact that throwing food in his emotional mother's face might cause more harm than the play he had been intending. Still, the suddenness of his father's appearance and reprimand was enough to cause him to stop, for a minute. Arthur was certain he'd explode into crying soon enough, but it gave him enough time to see to Molly.

Grabbing a cloth from the side, he stepped to her side, and brushed a strand of hair from her face, before wiping away the goo that young children seemed to find so appetizing, or in Charlie's case, not. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of her eyes, and for a moment all the guilt, all the animosity washed away. He wished there was a charm to extend that moment to a lifetime, but inevitably, it would pass just as fleetingly as it had arrived. Still, the moment provided enough respite from the stress that had been building that Arthur couldn't help but smile at his beautiful wife. He could have apologized right there and then and held her for a million years, but something, probably that fear that had nestled in alongside the guilt stopped him. Finishing up wiping her face, he chanced giving her a small kiss on the lips, and offered her a simple, "Hello dear." Normally he'd have made some sort of joke about having a "bad day," but somehow, that didn't seem like such a good idea today.

After all the stress, and irritation with each other and themselves since that night, after she had been what she felt was a horrible wife Arthur was still the sweetest man on the face of the planet. Molly had always known that when she fell for the boy that would eventually become her husband that she would be getting a sweet, sensitive man that knew how to take charge when needed and had more than enough courage to make him a bonafide Gryffindor. He had never been mean or arrogant or cocky like she’d seen many of the peacocks strutting their stuff around the school, no he had always been kind to pretty much everyone she saw him interact with. She’d even known as they’d said their vows that she would never get a chance to be Good Cop to his Bad Cop when it came to the raising of their children because he was far too nice to ever do more than quickly scold them. Only people that had purposely or irrevocably wronged him in some way ever got even the slightest cold shoulder from him and she had rightly admired that about him. But still sometimes he would say or do something that would remind her all over again about what sort of man she’d promised to spend the rest of her life with and she would be taken aback. Not necessarily surprised because it was so in character for him but still enough to make her stop and appreciate him.And so as he tenderly wiped sweet potato mush from her face since her hands were full of bowls and spoons and dirty hands that she didn’t want spreading the mess any further than it already was since the baby had just been bathed Molly was again in awe of just how wonderful Arthur was. And all it did was bring back the terrible guilt she felt about lying to him when he clearly hadn’t ever done anything that would rightfully warrant his wife, the one person he was supposed to trust implicitly, keeping secrets and hiding evidence and sneaking around and lying to him. She had been covering up the fact her ‘morning sickness’, more aptly named ‘whenever sickness’, and she was wearing her clothes to mask the telltale curve that was just recently starting to take shape, and she was visiting with her mediwitch without him. It didn’t matter that he’d made an edict concerning their mutual lives without discussing it with her first anymore, all that mattered was that she was the one that was being an absolutely horrible human being not fit to be his wife and here he was sweetly clearing off her face and kissing her mouth and calling her dear. The shame clawing at her stomach made her feel terrible and physically nauseous but luckily since she hadn’t eaten anything recently she didn’t immediately tip over and coat his shoes and her floors.So Molly did the only next logical thing; she burst into tears. Roughly at the same time Charlie did. She hadn’t noticed the baby’s lip quivering from having been startled by his father but he decided to let his displeasure be known about the same time as his mother’s tears started too. And Bill just watched wide eyed at the dual break down, frozen in the middle of pushing his peas around his plate. But even as she was in the middle of melting down she was still a Mum and she moved the bowl and the spoon out of Charlie’s reach then snatched the cloth from Arthur’s hands and used it to clean his messy hands. He wasn’t really hurt or upset in any way so Charlie was easily distracted from his own tears by the blubbering going on in front of him. Molly tried to calm herself down but all she ended up doing was making herself more upset, which she couldn’t blame on anything but hormones which in turn only fueled her crying because she remembered that Arthur would have no idea what had set off the crying jag because he didn’t know the truth. Which was all her fault in the first place. “I am so, so sorry, Arthur,” she choked out as she got up from the table. The boys still mimicked her behavior a lot of the time and she knew that if she didn’t leave the room her husband would be with three people crying for reasons he didn’t understand. She hurried upstairs and into their bathroom, shutting the door behind her and turned the shower on while she wiped at her cheeks with her sleeves. Twenty minutes later she was clean and dry, in a pair of pajamas, and down to just sniffling. She felt more human now that she’d had a proper shower but she still had guilt churning in her gut making her feel sick still. And she was ashamed to admit it but she was afraid to leave the bathroom now because there was no way that she couldn’t tell him about it now but she was still feared the conversation.

Despite the mess the kitchen was in, and how troubled and sick his wife looked, Arthur seemed quite oblivious to the numerous troubles, at least for a while. In that moment, there were more important things in the world than the fact that the kitchen needed a bit of a tidy, far more important things. The kitchen could be seen to, and right now, the fact that even though they were having their problems at the moment, even though things were difficult, the four of them were alive and well and still a family held a lot more significance. Giving his wife's face on more look to make sure that he hadn't missed any stray food, he nodded with satisfaction, giving his wife another kiss, and taking another look around. He smiled fondly at the sight of his favourite dinner on the table. It stood as a testament to the affection his wife had for him that, especially in the past few weeks when she could never be sure what time he'd return from work, or even that he'd be back at all, she still had dinner ready for him every day, at exactly the right time. It was like she knew, somehow, like she had some sort of sense that he was OK, that he was coming back to her. It was the same sensation that told him while he was at work that they were still at home, waiting for him, a sensation that warmed his heart and managed to power him through work, just so he could get back to them. The sad thing was that even though that sensation was still there, it would always be there, these past couple of weeks, it had been more difficult for him to get excited about coming home, because even though there was nothing in the world he loved more than arriving home to his family, he couldn't bear to look at his wife without feeling like he'd cut off one of her limbs, destroyed her hopes, because he was afraid. Because he was a coward who would rather stall their hopes than fight for what was right.

It was pathetic, and more and more he'd been ruled and haunted by his inadequacy, his unwillingness to fight. The fact that he'd rather hide him and his family away to keep them safe didn't make him feel any better, but at the same time, the situation couldn't be rectified. It was bad enough that he'd told Molly without discussing it with her, but to now change his mind without discussing it either? There were times when he sat in the kitchen at four in the morning, awoken by those phantoms of his dead family on the torn up streets, and he cried with the fear that his cowardice might be the death of their marriage. What made it even worse was in the cold light of day when he'd had time to consider the way he'd felt in the early hours of the morning, the very fact that he'd considered the end of their marriage made his breath freeze in his chest. And it had been these past few weeks that he realized the true evil that Voldemort could spread. It was so much more than murder and blood purism. He destroyed homes. He destroyed minds, and lives, without killing a single person. He drove them to hiding, drove them to madness, and he'd let himself become a victim. He would have burst into tears himself, had he not been determined to win a small victory by holding the family together for Molly this evening. That knowledge was confirmed when she burst into tears herself, quickly followed by baby Charlie.

He tried to pull her into his chest, the only technique that had a practical 100% success rate at making her feel better, but she was already busying about Charlie. It was probably for the best. It would have made Arthur cry to find out that there was no way he could soothe his wife in the state she was in, something that he feared might be true for this particular incident. Then, almost as quickly as she had started the crying, she was offering him an apology, a situation that should have been mirrored, to Arthur's mind, and then she was gone. Charlie, who, as most babies do, had only really been crying for the novelty and because there were others crying had stopped, leaving Arthur standing in the kitchen in heavy, bemused silence. Sighing, he took off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. Time to tidy. It was really the least he could do, and going to check on his wife right after she had burst into tears and practically sprinted upstairs, as all husbands instinctively knew, wasn't the smartest idea in the world.

After putting both of the children to bed, a feat that he suddenly realized Molly was a saint for performing every day, he found himself downstairs in the kitchen again, faced by the mess in the kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled up and wand in hand. Trying to wash up and tidy manually, he knew he'd break far more things than he'd clean. With a short wave of his wand, he began shifting things about the kitchen, allowing them to find their correct places, scouring food stains from the tables, washing up pots and pans. It was hardly the neatest spell in the world, and more than once he had had to move quickly to dodge a pan flying square at his head, a bit too overzealous to replace itself on the hook on the wall, but it would do. After a short while, the kitchen was not spotless, but it was passable, and definitely enough to make him feel like he'd done a good job. He was certain that when Molly was in a brighter mood she'd laugh with him about his pathetic effort, and then they'd find things they had done wrong together whilst she made fun of him. If, of course, she was ever in a brighter mood. He hoped that now, after fixing up a kitchen, he could do anything, so he made his way upstairs.

Their bedroom was still empty, although Molly seemed to have changed, her old clothes strewn about the room, although in an eerily tidy manner. Even in distress, Molly had a way of keeping things in order that made Arthur love her more. The only other place she could be was in their bathroom, and Arthur would sit outside that door all night and talk if it made her feel even an inch better. Sleeves still rolled up, with a slight bump on his head from being a bit too slow to dodge a colander, he slid down the doorframe and leaned his head against the bathroom door, speaking loud enough that she could hear, but hopefully not loud enough to wake the boys. "Molly? Darling, are you in there?" Stupid question, but he wasn't sure what else to say.

Molly startled when she heard the sound of something rustling and then Arthur speak from the other side of the bathroom door. She didn’t hear any other noises or sounds, no gurgling or disjointed chatting, and she realized that he was alone in their bedroom. Immediately another wave of guilt washed over her when she realized that she’d been hiding out in there so long that she had entirely missed the boys’ bedtime. Molly could count on one hand the number of times she hadn’t been there to tuck Bill in and kiss his chubby cheek goodnight- once when she was sick and couldn’t risk the baby catching what had been ailing her and the second time the night Charlie had been born. “Arthur I…” She trailed off and stared at the door desperately, hoping the answers for what to say or how to broach the topic would come to her. It was so hard to find a way to start the story knowing she would have to tell him about her lies and secret keeping and sneaking around. Voldemort had already won a battle in their house by practically pitting husband and wife against one another and forcing her into silence about something so important to them.But she knew she had to say something and if she was going to bother speaking at all she might as well just get everything off of her chest and out into the open. “I knew the night you came home from Hogsmeade and I should have told you then but after what you said I… I didn’t know how.” Molly went to sit with her back to the bathtub, pulling her knees up and picking at the hem of the pants, so she could face the door like she was facing him. It gnawed at her that she was too cowardly to open the door and say what she was going to have to say to his face, tears or no tears. Where was all that Gryffindor courage now? Where was all that bravado that the house she’d been sorted into was famous for? Molly knew the right thing to do would be to go out into their bedroom and just take the conversation as it came but she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it if after she told him she saw his face fall. A look of disappointment over something so important to her, something that was supposed to be happy and special and amazing, would kill her. “I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby in May.” Molly remembered how she felt when she’d told him they were expecting Bill and Charlie and how radically different those experiences had been. With Bill she’d been nervous; she was a new bride and they’d just moved into the house, still fresh off their graduation from Hogwarts, and they weren’t really ready to be parents just yet. The plan had been to wait for a little while and settle into being husband and wife before they started adding additional titles on to that. So yes, she was nervous, but she’d also been elated. There was nothing in the world she’d wanted more than to be a mother at some point in her life and that point had finally presented itself. She had been excited and slightly anxious to tell her husband that he would be a father and the moments that had followed her announcement had been happy and thrilling and full of smiles and laughter and kisses. And then with Charlie there was no nervousness and her excitement was quieter but no less powerful. There was no anxiety when she’d told Arthur in one of the rare quiet moments they’d had since Bill had been born, just awe and contented bliss. She had already seen the miracle that was a human being created from their love and she had just been filled to the bursting point with sheer joy and she’d barely been able to keep herself from flooing him at work just to tell him.This time was different and Molly hated that. A part of her was still thrilled to be a mother again and have a whole other person that was completely theirs to love and raise and bring into their family. But the rest of her just hated that instead of nervousness and excitement coloring the moment where she got to tell her husband there was dread and worry and fear. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, those emotions had no place in that moment outside of accidental teenage pregnancies. But it didn’t change the fact that Arthur had decided for them that they were done having children until everything else in the world chilled out a little and so now she’d had to tell him that accidental or not she’d gone over his head about that decision. “I know that its not what you wanted and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for keeping it from you.” Possibly the worst part of the whole situation was that for the first time in a very long time she and Arthur were not on the same page. Usually they barely needed words to communicate, something that they seemed to get better and better at over time, but this time they were not only not on the same page she wasn’t even sure they were in the same book.

For what seemed like the longest time, the only thing that greeted him from the other side of the bathroom door was silence. Although the very idea of his wife being so distanced, so angry with him that her only recourse was to not say a word felt like a cold knife through his heart, he knew, deep down in that very same heart that it was all that he deserved. He couldn't even begin to try and blame this rift in what had been, whilst not perfect, a happy, content marriage on Voldemort. Yes, he had instigated it. And yes, if Voldemort hadn't killed those children, if Arthur hadn't been there that day, then things would be so much more different in the Weasley house. He would be sleeping soundly next to his wife each night, not wracked by visions of death in what little sleep he could grasp each night. They wouldn't be walking through the house in a sort of daze, not really connecting with each other in the way that once came so easily, and had once been so vital to their relationship. Voldemort may have been the catalyst, but there was no way in the world, or in any world, that Voldemort was to blame for this. In his head, and in his heart, Arthur knew that the blame lay squarely on his shoulders. If he'd been brave, for the both of them, then they could have continued with their lives. The nightmares would still have persisted, but rather than awaking and braving them alone, he would clutch Molly's warm hand in the darkness of their bedroom, and she would kiss his head and stroke his hair and stay awake with him, vigilant. Her presence would chase the violence from his dreams, soothe his heart and send him back to sleep. If he'd just been brave for that singular moment that night in October, then they could have been brave together for however long it took for the world to fix itself, and for Molly to fix him. But he hadn't been brave. He had faltered, staggered, and cowered like a child at the eleventh hour and his snap decision had all but torn his family apart. Even though the boys were to young to understand the reason, he could see in their eyes that they knew that all was not right with the two people in their lives they ought to be able to rely on to love unconditionally, look after them and each other. His cowardice had brought them here, in the late evening, separated physically by only a few inches of wood, but in reality by so much more. A chasm that he couldn't seem to leap, or cross. No spell or broom could bring them together. In his heart, he felt that if he could be brave now, maybe something would mend. But then the guilt and the fear crept in once more, and the thought left as quickly as it had arrived.

Then, from the other side of the door, a voice. Small, quavering, but unmistakably hers, calling his name, and then tailing off. Were it within his ability to reach through doors he would have stretched a hand through the wood to her and prayed to everything he could that he'd feel her fingers tangle with his. Somewhere, the rational part of his brain was telling him that yes, he was a wizard, and yes, he could unlock the door anytime he wanted. But that didn't seem right. Not yet. Not now. He didn't have anything to say to her in response. It wasn't a question, the shadow under the door and his voice had already signified that he was there, what little significance that held to her anymore. The break in the silence that her voice had heralded was quickly replaced, yet again, by a quiet between them that was so much more than simple quiet. He and Molly were used to sitting in silence. Ever since the boys had come along, any moments of silence were the greatest blessing that could be bestowed, a sentiment surely shared by many a new parent. In those brief oases, they had been content to simply lie in each other's arms on the couch, and often, fall asleep from the sheer exhaustion of being a proper family. But that silence was beautiful, serene. This silence was cold, artificial, and worst of all, it was a void of Arthur Weasley's own making.

He groped blindly in his mind for something, anything to say, just so he could act. Fight the beast that was eating the heart of their marriage from the inside out, the beast that laid inside his head, in his memories and in his fear. But no words would come. None that seemed adequate to patch the wounds that his words had caused that night. He had robbed her of the one thing that brought her happiness in an awful world to satiate his own instinct to run, to hide. What would a simple sorry do, when he had all but torn out her heart? Finally, he resigned himself to silence, hoping that there was still enough love between them that his presence would soften her. Even that thought wracked him with guilt. The very idea that he was questioning their love for one another, the one constant he could always rely on, that was the deepest loss and the biggest sorrow. And it was, worst of all, the signifier that Voldemort had taken a victory in their lives, without physically taking Arthur. In a dark part of his mind, the beast made of Arthur Weasley's fear whispered that maybe it would be better of that way, but he had enough left in him to fight that vile thought back into the squalid little corner it had emerged from. His stupour was finally broken in the next few seconds, as Molly spoke.

All at once, it slid together, the pieces of a puzzle that Arthur hadn't even seen until now. He'd worked it out even before she spoke the words that confirmed it, and, regrettably, oh so regrettably, it was the guilt that settled in him first. Guilt that while lost in his own self loathing, he'd missed the signs. Molly's trips to the bathroom, even the change in her figure. Normally every night before they went to sleep he made a point of taking her all in, remembering every last detail of her, like it was the last night they'd ever have together. Lately, he had simply climbed into his side of the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Molly was almost always asleep when he got to bed. He had had no idea, and he hated that he had had no idea, because now, with the facts laid bare, it seemed perfectly obvious to him in every way. What a stupid man he was, that Arthur Weasley. And that was why the frost had settled between them, at least somewhat. By the time he had made the decision, another decision had already been made. It was just their luck really - Arthur could almost count on the fact that every Weasley child would come to them in unusual circumstances - that children just gravitated to them. If he'd had the humour, he would have made a joke about his fertility, but now was certainly not the time. He was too busy assembling facts in his head. Of course, his decision had still played a major part, but hormones, and the very fact that she felt like she had to hide it from him...it made him sick that he'd turned into that sort of husband. What had she expected of him, if he'd found out, he wondered? A termination? Never. There was fear, and then there was coldness. Callousness. Cruelty. And Arthur was not a cruel man.

His head spun, but after it had stopped, it settled on a single thought, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn't fear. Or guilt. Not even sadness. It was hope. He had spent what seemed like an age in silence working through his head, and he wondered whether Molly thought he might have fainted from shock, or simply left the room. But really, he had been thinking of bravery. He hadn't been able to be brave then, but she had given him, in a way she had no idea of, completely by accident, a second chance to be the man she deserved, and the man she married. The man that those children, and whatever children may come (and they would bloody well come, no doubt about that) could be proud to call Daddy. This was not a battle Voldemort would win, neither a battle he could even start. He would have to be courageous, more so than he had ever been in his entire life. A hero, for them all. Or maybe just a husband and father, which was an altogether more illustrious task. There were a million things he felt prepared to do, fight dragons, wrestle Dementors, punch Voldemort himself in the fact, but running away? That was not one of the things he would do. Bracing himself against the doorframe, he stood, and slipped his wand from his belt loop. He pointed it at the door, and almost breathed out the spell.

"Alohamora." The lock clicked open, but he still stood, staring at the door for a moment, willing himself to take the first step that would prove he was willing to take a million more. Finally, he found it inside himself to stretch out his hand to open the door, to see his wife, huddled up against the bathtub. And the sight of her, so small, so scared of what his reaction would be, it sickened him again, and once more he felt that bestial part of him screaming to run, run away and hide. But this time, without a glimmer of hesitation, he pulled that monster apart and cast what was left to the wind. He looked at his wife, and smiled, the first true smile he had managed in weeks.

"Molly Weasley...whatever happens, whoever comes into our life, from now on, I won't run. And I won't hide. No more. Even if we have ten, or twenty kids, I'll keep each and every one of them, and you, safe." The words came naturally, and for a second he couldn't believe that Voldemort had even stalled them for a second. He stretched out that hand, finally leaping that chasm. "I love you. And I'm so sorry."

Whereas days, hours, even mere minutes ago Molly might have hesitated for even a second at the hand offered to her now she was already reaching for him before she even realized she was doing it. The fear she’d felt wrapped around her heart when silence had fallen over the two of them after her announcement had started to uncoil the moment she’d seen him smile and from the gloom that had settled over her she started to see the woman she used to be before all of this start to peek through. She let him pull her to her feet then all but launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding onto him tightly and hiding her face in his shirt. Residual anxiety left her feeling a bit out of sorts physically but for the first time in a month her heart and her head were back in agreement with one another and more importantly she didn’t feel like she was at odds with her husband. “I love you too. So much. I’m sorry I let it get like this.” She was tired of the guilt and she had absolutely no interest in playing the blame game regardless of whether they were pointing fingers at each other or at themselves. They had both apologized and Molly wanted that to be the end of it. Hopefully they would learn from the experience and figure out ways to avoid the same sort of miscommunication in the future though she wasn’t naïve enough to think that they would never have any other sort of miscommunication again. She just wanted to forgo dealing with the same situation all over again. The last month had just been terrible and she wanted to move on and pretend like it had never happened. She wanted her husband back and her nearly fairytale worthy life back. She wanted normalcy, or at least as much of it as she was going to get with Voldemort alive and hell bent on destroying everything he touched.Being back in the circle of his arms, with the warmth of his body seeping into her skin and his scent enveloping her senses brought her a contentedness she thought, in the darkest of her moments over the last month, might be gone forever. Which was just crazy because she and Arthur were the strongest couple that she knew; stronger even than her parents or any of the other examples she’d had of successful relationships. Maybe it was just the little girl inside of her being so stupidly idealistic but she had really and truly believed that at eighteen she and Arthur were more resilient and unconquerable than couples that had been together twenty or thirty years already. It just went to prove that Voldemort had figured out how to wreck havoc on the lives of ordinary witches and wizards without ever pointing his wand at them directly. Luckily they were actually strong enough to get past the influence of evil in baring down on their lives because Molly could not have imagined a life where she and Arthur weren’t together and married and partners against everything, not since she was a teenager with stars in her eyes and a rose colored view of the world. That they’d even gotten as disjointed as they had still seemed a bit surreal to her and she’d been living it for weeks. Finally the feeling that she was on the verge of breaking down into uncontrolled sobs dissipated and the anxiety she’d been carrying around for weeks drained away and she was left feeling boneless and exhausted. If she’d let herself she could have just closed her eyes and fallen asleep standing against him right there in the bathroom. It seemed like it had been so much longer than it actually had since the last time he’d held her like this, since she’d been able to held him tightly in return. Molly didn’t doubt for a moment that contributing to the fact that she hadn’t been sleeping as well as she usually did was that she was used to being crowded in the bed by the limbs of another person. When they’d first married and started sleeping in the same bed, a novelty for the eighteen year old, she’d had a couple of sleepless nights as she’d tried to get used to having another person in her space. Well, that wasn’t the only reason they were sleepless, but definitely a contributory factor. She’d never had to share her bed before and while she’d liked that Arthur had wanted to be so close it had just taken some getting accustomed to. But now? Now his distance on the other side of the mattress meant she’d been back to not being able to sleep for very long or get any truly restful sleep.The sensation of bubbles ghosting up the inside of her stomach reminded Molly of why they were in this situation in the first place. The first time she’d ever felt something like that she’d looked around the room trying to figure out what had been touching her and, call her naïve, but it had taken her forever to figure out what it was. But being her third go-around she knew it was their soon-to-be youngest making his or her presence known. A small smile worked its way into the corners of her mouth and that rapturous feeling she remembered from announcing her previous pregnancies spread through her chest. This was the moment she had been looking for over the last couple of weeks, since just before that night in Hogsmeade. It was a little late and technically she’d already had her thunder stolen but she was pretty sure it bore repeating. “We’re having a baby in May,” she repeated with a much different tone than the first time she’d said it. Molly’s arms tightened around him a fraction as she sighed happily. “Another tiny, perfect, beautiful redheaded baby in the spring.” Still, a part of her remembered his declaration about how he hadn’t wanted to bring another child into the mess their world had become and she worried that maybe he wasn’t as thrilled about the turn of events as she was. Because loving the child and loving her was completely separate from being excited about what was happening. “You’re happy, right?”

Her sudden proximity, after several weeks of having shared only the briefest physical contact with his wife, came all at once as a surprise and a relief. It felt like suddenly a wall had been torn down, a dam had burst open, and everything that had been unwillingly trapped behind it for the past few weeks had come spilling through, both quite easily, and very happily. Still, the speed with which she threw her arms around his middle was enough to startle him so much that his wand slipped free of the grasp of his other hand, rattling against the tile floor of the bathroom. Of course, Arthur wasn't going to stop to pick it up, not now, and the hand that had been holding the wand instantly returned to the place that it really, by rights, shouldn't have left, at his wife's waist, holding her to him, relieved that finally the whole messy business was over with. Well, perhaps "over with" might not be an entirely accurate statement to make. Arthur knew that this simple reconciliation wouldn't make the nightmares go away, and wouldn't make him stop jumping at loud noises. Him and Molly returning to normal wouldn't make the world return to normal, however much he wished it. What it would change was his capacity to deal with the world as it was. He wouldn't have to sit in the kitchen alone anymore, in the early hours of the morning, tormented by his guilt and fear, imagining Molly asleep upstairs, and the way he had ruined them. Now he had her back, he'd be able to deal with the repercussions of that October night in the way he should have dealt with it from the start - with his wife at his side, supporting him throughout. No, the reunification of Arthur and Molly Weasley wouldn't save the world. It wouldn't put to rights all the evil that still threatened to encroach on their household in the dark winter nights. But together, they'd be able to deal with it far better than they could separately.

Her apology, however heartfelt, was entirely unnecessary to Arthur. She hadn't let it "get like this" at all. Although he knew for a fact that Molly would be prepared to forgive him anything for the sake of having her husband back, Arthur was certain that there was no blame in this situation that could be placed on her head. Yes, she had hidden her pregnancy from him, but with the decision that he'd make for the both of them, what other choice did she have? With the way he'd been acting the past month, she must have had no idea how he'd react if she had decided to tell him that they were having a baby, that the exact opposite of what he'd wanted to happen had happened. Was she frightened of how he'd react? Was she frightened of him, maybe? Had the war, had fighting in one battle turned him into the sort of person his wife felt she needed to be afraid of? Had he really changed that much? No. No, he hadn't changed that much at all. Despite the decision he had made, despite the fear that had settled into his heart and despite the days, weeks of indifference, treading on eggshells and estrangement, once she'd told him, once he knew he was going to be a father once again, he knew in an instant that his decision had been wrong. Although he'd never seen himself in that role, three years of being in a relationship, marriage, parenthood, it had changed him into a man who wanted a big family, a man who wanted to care for people as much as his wife did, even with the infinite capacity her heart seemed to carry. The very idea that Voldemort could force him away from that role seemed...well, it didn't seem silly. It seemed unlikely and it seemed cowardly, but now that the choice had been made for him, for the both of them, he was ready to fight for it. He always had been.

Arthur Weasley was always, of course, an optimist, but that was one thing that the war had changed within him. After the danger their relationship had been put in, especially by a man who had no idea what he was doing to them, he was no longer as idealistic about them as he had once been. He was certain they'd remain together, but he was less certain that there was nothing in the world that could drive a wedge between him and his wife. He resolved himself to be on the lookout for those things, and fight harder against them. With the war intensifying however, things only seemed to pile up on top of him. That was maybe one of the worst things, now he thought about it. Voldemort had very nearly torn apart his entire world, but he knew that Voldemort had no idea of the havoc he had created. He didn't even care, and he knew that although it felt like him and Molly were the only people in the world affected, this was happening all over England, maybe even further. One man had the ability to ruin so many lives, in myriad ways, and Arthur had allowed it. Up till now. Although he wasn't one for fighting, a fact he had discovered in the worst possible way, perhaps the best way to fight back was to live, and live the best way they could. There was no better way Arthur could think of to live than to build a family with his wife. In that respect, he was still an optimist. Maybe a little more jaded, but still, in the end, hopeful. It was a spark of hope, growing in his wife, stretching that hand out between them, pulling them back together. Really, it couldn't have come at a better time, even if it hadn't seemed like it at the time.

He let silence wash over them for a short time, relishing that it was finally a silence they could both enjoy, and one that could be allowed to flourish, not a silence that needed to be filled. It was serenity and peace, at last. He could simply hold onto Molly, and let them be for a little while. Their boys rested in the next room, just as silent, almost as if somewhere in their little heads and hearts they knew that things were finally right in the house again. But then Molly spoke, and Arthur broke away, although still holding her hand, to look down at her, a small smile on his face. He felt far more elation than the meagre smile betrayed, but he was tired, and somehow the muscles in his face would only give him so much. He hoped that she realized that he was far happier than he had been in weeks, that her news had raised a new fight in him, and not crushed him, as he worried she might fear. Her question told him enough to know that the worry that he might not be as happy as her about the new life that would soon fill up theirs was still in her mind, and he couldn't blame her. His words about children were probably still ringing in her ears, as they had probably done the past few weeks. If Arthur could go back in time and erase those words, make it so that she had never heard them, well, he'd give a limb to do so. As it was, he could only speak now to alleviate her worries.

"Molly, of course I'm happy." he told her, with all the sincerity he could muster in the exhaustion that was slowly pulling at him. All he wanted was to crawl into bed with his wife, rest his hands around her stomach, the three of them, and sleep, and forget that the whole disgusting episode had occurred. "There won't be a time that this wouldn't make me happy. I...well, I made a mistake. I was frightened, and I let that rule me, and us. I shouldn't have. I'd give anything to be able to change it, you know that?" he told her, trying his best to explain away his actions, make her see that it wasn't malice, and hope that she wouldn't think any less of him because he'd allowed himself fear, and allowed it to pierce their marriage as deeply as it had done. He tried to widen the smile, but his face wouldn't cooperate. Instead he let go of one of her hands and let it rest at her stomach, hoping the gesture would speak far more than the physical effort it required of him. It was odd, as if the weight of the world being lifted off of the both of them had made him more tired. Perhaps it was his body, preparing him for the trials of being a father yet again, an instinctual reaction, that kind of exhaustion only parents knew, one that was at once loathed, and appreciated. The feeling of wanting to sleep all the time, but the knowledge that if you could sleep all the time, your life would be so, so much worse. It wasn't until that feeling returned and swelled in his chest that he realized just how much he would have missed it all.

Molly nodded and put her hand over his on the barely there curve of her belly; she believed him when he said he would take it all back because she had no reason to think he would ever lie to her. She couldn’t hope to think he would have felt the same if the situation was reversed since she’d just lied and kept things from him for weeks but while he had made mistakes also none of his transgressions had been to lie to her. She resolved to put his words about not wanting a larger family out of her mind for good because if he told her that he wished he could take them back then the least she could do going forward was pretend as if they’d never been said in the first place. It wouldn’t give them back the last month of hurt feelings or unnecessary separation but it would making moving on easier for the both of them and as far as Molly was concerned that was the most important part now. In another month what they’d just put themselves through would be dulled, and a year from now something they could laugh about, and in twenty years it would be so buried in other good memories that it would be relegated to something they would have to force themselves to even recall in the first place. And she honestly believed that to be true so then dwelling on anything that had happened would be a measure in futility since she would hardly be able to remember it down the line.She looked up into the face of the man she had come to depend on for so many things over the last three years, five years if she was being completely honest, and she could easily recognize the lines in his face and the circles under his eyes as a fatigue borne of several nights of sleeplessness. The last time she had seen him so haggard looking was when newborn Charlie had suffered a bought of colic for three weeks solid. When the crying had finally stopped she’d thought the both of them were going to pass out completely out of sheer relief. And she could sympathize with the feeling as she felt about as tired as he looked and she did not doubt for an instant that she looked just as bad as he did. “Come on then. We’re both exhausted.” She led him by the hand still clasped with his back to their bedroom, turning down lights with the wave of her hand. “Haven’t been sleeping as well without you crowding me on my side of the bed,” she teased softly as she reached for the covers; it was too soon for real jokes but she wanted to make certain to make it clear that crowding her was exactly what she wanted him to do. She crawled into the bed and over to her side from Arthur’s side of the bed, leaving the blankets open and ready for him to slide into, and when he did she opened her arms to him and made certain that their limbs were especially tangled.