A/N: This was written for Random Mumble's Disney-Song Competition. The song I got was Goodbye May Seem Forever from the movie The Fox and The Hound.
Just to clarify, Molly was born in 1949 and Arthur was born in 1950.
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR. Title credit belongs to the song Goodbye May Seem Forever from The Fox and The Hound.
In My Heart Is A Memory
His palms are sweating as he crushes his hands into a fist. There's no reason for him to be nervous and he knows it. But as he waits in line to be sorted, he just can't help it. Student after student walks up toward the front of the hall and places the sorting hat upon their head as he glances around, finally taking in his surroundings.
He's scanning the Gryffindor table when he sees her for the first time, just a flash of scarlet hair. She's facing away from him, but he knows she's beautiful; with hair like that, – silky and bright as an open flame – how could she not be?
In some far off corner of his mind he hears him name being called and steps forward. From the front of the hall he can see her face, and she's every bit as beautiful as he knew she would be. Cheeks flushed in excitement, and full lips. A smile pulls at his own lips, just as the sorting hat shouts out, "Gryffindor!"
Still smiling, he walks forward and joins her.
. . .
"Mate, you've got to stop staring."
Arthur turns toward his friend indignantly. "I am not staring." But even as he says the words his eyes flicker back over to where Molly Prewett is sitting across the common room with her friends.
"Yes, you are. Just ask her out already," says his friend, Simon, turning the page of his potions book without looking up.
"A-ask her out?" When Simon says nothing, Arthur says, "I will. I'm just waiting for the perfect moment."
Simon does look up now, laughing. "You've been waiting for the perfect moment for years. Just get it over with."
Just then, Molly stands up, grabbing her bag and walking across the common room toward the portrait hole. "Go," says Simon, and shoves Arthur to his feet. He catches his balance and takes a deep breath, before taking his friend's advice and following after her.
. . .
The chilly March breeze blows the edge of their cloaks and scarves wildly around them. They walk close together, their shoulders brushing, and their hands clasped tightly together. Hardly paying attention to their surroundings, they wander across the Hogwarts grounds.
It is as they near the lake that it starts to rain; it takes only a minute for the weather to go from a light sprinkle to a down pour.
Molly lets go of Arthur's hand, and throws her arms up into the air, spinning in circles and laughing. Arthur stays standing in place, his arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile pulling at the edge of his lips. Noticing his staring, Molly stops spinning and comes to stand in front of him, her hair so drenched that it looks black.
"What?" she asks him, still smiling. He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of her hair back behind her ear, and then leans forward and brushes his lips to hers.
"I love you," he whispers just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain. Molly leans back far enough to look him in the eyes.
"You love me?" she asks, her voice and expression completely neutral, and Arthur nods. The instant he does so, the smile comes back to her face and she throws her arms around his neck. "I love you, too, Arthur Weasley."
. . .
He has never seen Molly look more beautiful than she does now, even with the filmy white material of the veil shading her face. Her lips are stretched in a heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and tears are streaking their way down her cheeks – he can feel tears running down his own face, a mirror to hers.
"I do," he chokes out the words, and – he didn't think it was possible – Molly's smile stretches even further across her round face.
"I do," she says, and Arthur feels like he's floating on air, floating right on up to Heaven, because life couldn't get any better than this very moment.
He's dimly aware of the minister saying, "You may now kiss the bride," and so he lifts the veil from its place in front of her face, and does so.
. . .
Arthur walks into the kitchen of the Burrow to see Molly sitting at the table, facing away from him. She's holding Victoire in her arms, her head bent close to their granddaughter.
"My sweet Victoire," she coos, rocking the baby gently. Arthur leans against the doorjamb, watching them, smiling slightly, while Molly is oblivious to his presence.
After a few minutes of watching them contentedly, he walks into the room, kisses Molly on the top of the head, and sits down in the chair beside her. She adjusts Victoire in her arms, and reaches a hand out to Arthur. He takes her hand, entwining their fingers together.
. . .
The wind whistles loudly outside, rain pounding against the window. But tucked snuggly inside, on a small, ratty, old couch across from the fireplace, sit Molly and Arthur.
"Mollywobbles?" Arthur says, and she turns her head to look up at him.
"Yes?" Her face is lined and wrinkled now, her once vibrant hair now thoroughly streaked with gray, but to Arthur, she's just as beautiful as that day when he first laid eyes on her.
He lifts a scarred, wrinkled hand and rests it softly against the side of her face. "I love you. I've always loved you; you do know that, right?"
She turns her head to the side and kisses his palm. "Yes." The word comes out breathlessly, but Arthur knows that it has more to do with the fever than anything else, and his heart constricts painfully at how frail she is.
He releases her cheek, and pulls her more tightly against him, taking her hand in his; she rests her head on his shoulder. They sit silently together, staring into the fire, and simply enjoying one another's company as they have from the very beginning.
Arthur can feel each rise and fall of Molly's chest, her breathing slow and steady. But the longer they sit there, the slower he can feel her breathing become.
"Arthur?" Molly says, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes, darling?" he says just as quietly.
"I… love… you, too," she says, and he can feel her hand tighten its grip, oh-so slightly, on his.
"I know." He brushes a kiss against the top of her head as he's done hundreds of times before. "I know."
She doesn't say another word, but they continue to hold each other while her breathing grows slower and slower, and eventually stops completely.
. . .
He lies in bed, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, as his chest rises and falls steadily with each breath that he takes. His hands, frail and shaky with old age, hold a photograph. Everything within the picture is completely still, as if taken from a muggle camera.
His gaze shifts from the ceiling to the photograph in his hand. The young woman in the picture stares back at him with bright eyes; her cheeks are flushed and she's grinning, her hair a streaming mass of scarlet. He traces the outline of her face with a shaky finger.
"I miss you," he whispers to the empty room, but there is no answer, and he is suddenly more aware of the empty space on the bed beside him. He has no power to stop the tears that pool up in his eyes and so he lets them fall.
Wishing for his own death would be no good – she wouldn't want that for him. So instead he does the only thing that he can: he closes his eyes and remembers.
A/N: I'm actually pretty happy with how this one turned out. I'd love to know what you thought, good or bad, so leave a review and let me know. =]