MollyWobbles

Unforgiveable (xi)

"Different, but here.
Even now. Even after all they'd lost."
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Look up, Arty. Look up.

A/N: 

Originally, this was part of the epilogue. But I've decided to split my content a bit.

So, eventually, there will be a brief epilogue added to this fic called "Ginevra." But, we'll be leaving Mollywobbles here for a bit and returning our attention to Lumos for the time being.

(If you need something soothing, I highly recommend reading the first bit of LUMOS: "Circles" after this, and maybe listen to "Atlantic" by Sleeping at Last as you do, but that's just a suggestion.)

If you went on this journey with me, thank you. Thank you so much for reading, for being patient. For taking a few moments out of your day to explore some parts of this story with me. [A note for those on Wattpad: I am terribly sorry for spamming your notifications by uploading parts II - V at once.]

Please stay safe, stay well, and don't forget to look up.

Playlist:
1. "Arctic" by Sleeping at Last
2. "Clocks" by Vitamin String Quartet (when you see Fred and George)
3. "Stand By Me" by Florence + The Machine (at the knock at the door through the end of the scene)
4. "Hoppipolla" by Vitamin String Quartet/"Eleanor Rigby" by Vitamin String Quartet (last scene)
5. "Stand By Me" by Florence + The Machine (Again, after you finish the fic).

(CW: pregnancy, children coping with loss, grief)

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Unforgiveable (xi)

Arthur

Molly was gone.

Disappeared, far inside herself. When he touched her hand, it was smooth and cool. Only the faintest flicker of their connection could be felt, when he really concentrated. He was terrified of what childbirth would do to her. Percy and the twins had both been difficult, but she'd always been a fighter. She didn't seem to have any fight left, though. Almost never left her bed, and Arthur took to sleeping on the sofa, or next to Ron's cot, when he was fussing. Molly didn't seem to want him there. Several days after everything came to a head, he was making a cuppa to leave at her table when he heard her voice—the first time in days—he heard her voice.

"You look like your Daddy." Arthur stilled. Peeked around the kitchen wall. Molly lay on her side, facing little Percy, who'd crawled up in bed with her. Molly stroked Percy's cheek and smiled hazily. "More and more every day."

She was smiling—smiling like—like she didn't find the idea revolting. Like Arthur wasn't responsible for the loss she'd suffered.

When little Percy trotted out, he spotted the cup on the counter, lifted his chin, then slipped under Arthur's arm to take it. "This is for Mummy," he whispered, glancing up at him, round face expectant and open. The boy's little glasses were slipping on his nose, and Arthur's insides constricted.

"Yes," Arthur said. He dropped then, to his knees, and pulled the cup and saucer from his son before tugging him in. "Good lad, Percy."

Bugger—he was falling to bits, and a sob dragged out as he clung to his son. Percy hugged him back. "I—I can bring it to her," Arthur said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "You've been so good while Mummy doesn't feel well; why don't you go play with your brothers."

Percy pulled back. "No," he said, frowning. "I want to stay." He twisted towards the cup. "I'm the best at sitting with Mummy. Bill's too quiet, and Charlie is too fidgeting, and Fred and George are loud, and Ron cries." He paused to regard Arthur. "And you do too."