By Flash Indie
All the usual disclaimers apply
When Molly falls pregnant with Bill, she's ecstatic.
Unrestrainable joy is exploding from every pore of her body, her heart tango's in her chest whilst all her words slur together in a flurry of excitement. She and Arthur are so young and so in love that nothing in the world could bring her off this high.
Her wide smile is contagious apparently, because no one she meets is immune to her joy. She gets rounder and rounder, and Arthur's love is a constant presence, consuming her and the baby growing inside of her.
The exuberance doesn't change after he's born. Even with the sleepless nights, and the toys and the milk and the nappies littering their tiny London apartment. William Weasley fits in perfectly, the first piece to an exciting jigsaw puzzle. A gurgling blob of red hair and freckles.
Two years later, the familiar swell of her belly is back. She tells Arthur and Bill in a flood of words and elaborate hand gestures, blood pounding in her ears.
It'll be a girl, she tells them, beautiful, smart and charming. She'll crush on Bill's friends, play with dolls and dresses and Arthur will chase away all the boys she brings home with a single glare.
When Charlie's born, the world hazes in front of her, tears blur her vision. She doesn't cry because he wasn't what she wanted, she cries because he is. He's beautiful and perfect and everything she could ever have hoped for.
She cries for twenty minutes, until Bill says that if she doesn't like the baby that much, he'll take him back for her.
With baby number three, she grins and Arthur claims she glows.
She puts an extra plate down at the dinner table that night, ignoring the questioning glances as she bounces Charlie on her knee. When Bill asks if someone's coming for dinner, she tells him that there will be someone who will come to eat in about eight months for every single meal. Arthur laughs aloud and her boys jump around, wishing for a boy and claiming that he shall be called Alfredo Dragondung.
Not a minute after nine o'clock on the 21st April, Percy Weasley is born. He's tossed onto her chest, as a blob of blood and red curls and she holds him so close that Arthur asks if she's trying to get him back inside.
"Been there, done that." She says, but snuggles Percy closer none the less.
Her belly grows that much rounder, that much bigger, and she knows straight away. The smiles back and her hearts all aflutter, only she doesn't remember being this big with any of the others.
In fact, she tells Arthur one morning, she feels quite like a beached whale. She regrets saying anything however, when Bill, Charlie and Percy play fishermen for the next two weeks, claiming her as their prize.
She gets home from the hospital, every ounce of her aching, a baby in each arm. Collapsing on the couch, she lies the two of them on her chest, staring soundly at their still forms. They're gorgeous she notes, they'll have all the girls chasing after them…and she worries she'll be one of them.
She absorbs that new baby smell, her smile extending as she feels tiny fingers clasping for her hair. Twenty fingers, twenty toes, two perfect red heads, but by God, if their birth was anything to go by, these two would be trouble.
Two years later, and the enchantment has drowned. She cries, the liquid heartache rolls in litres down her cheeks. Money is tight, and the apartment is too small, she hasn't slept in years and she can't do nine months again. What hurts the most though, is how much she doesn't want this.
She tells Arthur who grins, ignoring the muddy twins he holds in either arm. Bill and Charlie are yelling furiously in the backdrop, their voices reaching high octaves she didn't even know they could manage, and when she turns her head, Percy's colouring in the walls.
"Another swimmer got through, eh?" He says, and she hits him, not bothering to hide the grin.
Nine months later, Ron blinks up at her with big, blue eyes. His fair red hair over his pale white skin, tiny fingers clasping at everything, anything. She stares, she can't help it, and something is swelling inside of her, a familiar rush, the magic is back. All five of her boys are quiet as she shows them the tiny baby in her arms, this is all so familiar, yet all so foreign. Ron was easier than the rest, quieter, and already overshadowed, and her heart quickens again as she snuggles him close to her chest.
Coffee burns her throat, just like it does every morning. She chews on a piece of toast, patting her belly gently.
"Think I'm pregnant again, Arthur."
"That's nice, Moll. I'll pull out the cradle after breakfast." And with that, he continues reading the paper.
Childbirth takes half an hour, and before she knows it, the doctor has thrust a bundle of flesh into her arms. He stalks off, muttering about god-forsaken Weasley's, and something like "if I see another red haired infant…"
Molly stares at the latest addition to her not-so-little family with something akin to curiousity.
"There's something missing."
"What do you mean, Ms. Weasley?"
"Well, look, I've done this seven times now, so I know what I'm talking about. There's something missing down there."
"She looks fine to me."
She? Ah. That was it.
A daughter. A little girl. Only Ginny wasn't so little, in fact, she was the biggest of all of her babies. But she had red curls, dimples that were yet to set in, and a severe lack of testosterone.
Molly grinned contently, kissing the baby girl on the forehead.
Two weeks later, she got her tubes tied.