Part One

Coming Her Way

By- M.S. Dae

Disclaimer- I do not in anyway own anything Harry Potterish(except for nerdy merchandise of course), nor any of the characters. But if you feel the need to call me Jo, I would be thrilled. I also don't own the lovely bolded quotes from Jason Mraz's 'The Boy's Gone'. But if you wanted to call me Mrs. Mraz I think I would be beyond thrilled. In fact do that. From now on, I am Jo Mraz.

"The boy's gone.

The boy's gone home."

Molly Weasley rubbed several cleaning potions scrupulously into the ground with the blue rag in her hand, scrubbing the single inch of the wooden floor before her over and over and over…

Watching rags do the job themselves had not been enough. Nor had knitting, not even by hand over wand. Her hands were too fragile now, she needed to use her fright, drive it through herself and onto the floor as she pounded her palm into the ground, quelling some of the anxiety, some of the petrified thoughts in her mind…

This is how it was every time. Every single time she heard a breath of trouble, an emergency, a cursed dark mark. This was the dynamic flow of apprehension and terror every single day of her life for two years now. Who would come home alive, who would come home…?

"Be so happy with the way you are

Be so happy that you made it this far"

Molly gasped and dropped the rag to the ground. Despite how it might've seemed under different circumstances, she was only so strong. She was only one woman. One woman who had only them to live for…Her boys, her husband. Her little girl. Every bit of herself she had put in them, everything she could; the only gift a mother knows is truly worthy of her family. And what about Harry? The poor boy that had never even known his own mother…

And the tears fell down her face. Not pretty and dainty little tears feigning emotion in her distantly hurt eyes…No, not all. Big, loud gasping sobs came from Molly, so very much like a dying animal, a mournful cry of a beached whale. Her very own thoughts suffocated her, grabbing around her neck tighter and tighter with every tear that fell, mixing in with the spilt blue potion, the devilish woman on the bottle smiling back at her, perfectly clean robes and perfect little blonde curls sitting perfectly on her slender shoulders… the ideal house witch with no problems beyond the dirty grout in her floor, the pesky garden gnomes ruining her azaleas, all solved by her 'perfect patented potion'…as if she knew what problems were, as if she could have ever felt the way Molly had…

Molly knocked the potion and the witch's mocking smile away, spreading the blue potion across the floor, soaking her graying robes. She pulled her hands to her face and shook her head in shame. She was jealous of a fictional woman…in these dark days whose child wasn't in peril? But still, her very own children were out in the center of it all, possibly facing the Dark Lord himself…what she wouldn't give for garden gnomes, for a dirty grout…

A thunderous growl interrupted her cries, followed by an illumination of the midnight sky. Not that it was coincidental, for in those days it never was. It wasn't some emergency meeting. It was a green skull out somewhere in the sky, a slithering serpent tongue gleaming down on her very own flesh and blood.

There was a sharp knock at the burrow door and Molly sighed, pushing herself up off the floor she wiped the tears quickly off her face, and hurried to the door. She was obviously being ridiculous, and she wouldn't let company see her that way…

"Who is it?" She asked when she arrived at the front door, holding back the cracks in her voice as well as she could.

"Molly it's…it's Remus," came a soft voice from behind the door. It was almost too soft for Molly's liking.

"Well I hope I never have to see that day

But by God I know it's headed our way"

"Ah Remus! What's your favorite drink?" She did the best she could to keep good cheer in her voice in vain hope that he would respond in the same manner, but could already sense, as a mother can, that something was not right.

"Hot chocolate," came the somber voice.

"And my question?" Her voice became slightly more frantic as she heard his tone.

"Molly…I think you'd better open the door…"

Molly opened the door, only to wish she hadn't. Before her stood Remus, battered with gashes across his face, and dark, tired circles around his solemn eyes, apologetically falling on Molly's face. She saw blood on his coat, so much that she was sure that it was not his own. And then she looked down to see what he was carrying in his arms.

A fallen comrade with familiar bright red hair.

Someone ripped Molly's legs from under her, sending her to the floor and she screamed as Remus and Kingsley Shacklebot brought in Bill's limp body, streaked with rain and blood, his limbs dead, falling limply towards the floor.

She ripped her son's body from the men greedily and onto her lap, crying louder than the roaring thunder as the lightning struck her again and again. This was truly suffocating. But there were no thoughts, merely drowning in her own lament. She could barely stand to look at him, and yet that was all she did as she stroked her boy's hair between her shaking hands, watching the whites of his eyes, the floating brown irises merging with his gashed eyelids, trying recollect the image of her little boy from years back…

He wasn't dead, he couldn't be. And yet she wailed and wailed, the blood from his torn lips falling onto her arms, and then she pulled her first child to her chest and wondered what she had done wrong, sobbing into his limp neck.

"So I better be happy now that the boy's going home.

The boy's gone home."

Remus and Kingsley watched on silently, both knowing there was nothing at the moment, short of reviving Bill that they could do.

"Come Molly let's go over to couch," Remus said as he and Kingsley took Molly and Bill's body over to a plump sofa in front of a burning fire.

But even then she would not let go of her son for anything. For all the questions that she should have been asking, she didn't. She couldn't ask what she didn't want to hear. And so she continued to hold her son, her tears raging onto his shoulder down his back…there would never be enough air again, she realized as she howled relentlessly.

She could remember clearly now holding him on his first day into the world, her first baby, her first baby boy…and her she was, what every mother hopes and prays she'll never have to do…to hold her own child on his dying day.

It was her fault. Somehow this was all her doing, and she wouldn't let herself rest until she found the exact moment she had sent her son to this wretched fate.

"Be so happy with the way you are

Be so happy that you made it this far

Go on be happy now

Please be happy now"

She thought to herself desperately that maybe, if she took him upstairs and bathed him, put him in his pajamas and kissed him goodnight, that it would all be better. She shook her head and wailed some more, her short frame trembling with the large boy in her arms…this wasn't a scrape from trying to train doxies out in the yard with Charlie…She looked down into his blank face and begged him to smile…to say something…anything…

"Because this is something else

This is something else"

She was inebriated with his cold stare, his mouth agape, already once worn from battle before, and she could not hear nor see anyone else. Her son, her smart boy, head boy, top of his class… her boy! And he was looking at her with dead eyes that in her mind screamed, why? Why did you fail me?

She vaguely recognized a figure to her left; perhaps Arthur had shown up, maybe even Mad-Eye…it didn't matter. But when she thought of the life he would have had…he would have been married, perhaps even had her first grandchild. Her Bill would never be a father…and at this she screamed and cursed at every dark mark, every death eater, even at the Order itself…

"I shouldn't have let him!" she sobbed, blindly staring past the boy in her lap.

Several moments of deafening silence followed this until someone could manage a response. It was Arthur.

"I tried to live my life and live it so well

But when it's all over is it heaven or is it hell?

I better be happy now that no one can tell,

Nobody knows"

"Nonsense," he wore a face of tired sorrow, his eyes blotched and ruddy. He couldn't go on standing, his legs weak and prostrate, and so he slumped onto the couch helplessly next to his wife and his son's body.

Looking down into Bill's face he took in a great inhale, holding back the ululation that had been furrowing in the sides of his throat and the storm that raged ruthlessly in his temples.

"I am proud of the man my son became."

"I'm gonna be happy now because the boy's going home.
The boy's gone home."

A/N- This was incredibly hard to write, mainly because death (at least the emotions that follow death) is a subject I haven't touched before, and to write death from the perspective of a mother…Well that's what I think was the most heart-breaking part. At one point I didn't think I could go on, but I forced myself to go through with it, thinking, I'll never finish it otherwise. I admit I haven't been writing much lately and so this came off rather straightforward…not particularly poetic as I had imagined it. I really hope this didn't come off as some ridiculously angsty/emo fic, but if you ever listen to 'The Boy's Gone' I think you'll get exactly what possessed me to write this. I imagine this will be a collection of one-shots based off of this song, the next chapter being about Harry's take on the war. All sorts of reviews are welcome (embraced even!), but please, flames are not constructive. Thanks for reading this far : )

Cause I've never wanted anything like what I wanna be right now,

(an angel again, somehow)