Molly never saw their bodies... Gideon's or Fabian's...

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She wasn't at the attack where they lost their lives, and no one wanted to "burden" her with any grisly details. One day, they simply stopped existing. Her newborn daughter barely a week old, and there would be no more surprise visits with flowers or toys or candy. At least they got to meet their new niece—see how beautiful she was. It hurt her—Merlin, every day it hurt her that Gid and Fab never got to watch them grow up, and even more that to her younger children—Fred, George, Ron, Ginny—Molly's brothers were nothing more than dusty old clock hands in a drawer.

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When she thought of her brothers, it was always the not seeing, the not knowing that haunted Molly. Instead of a single truth, her imagination conjured hundreds, thousands of graphic and horrific scenes in which Gideon and Fabian could have "died like heroes". Since 1981, her boggart had remained unchanged— it was always from that point on a shifting cycle of murder, drawn from her imagination's very own torturous pensieve.

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Molly had thought that if she had just been able to touch them one last time, if she had been part of the fight, that their deaths would have been easier.

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Looking down in her arms at her son's pale body and frozen smile, she knew that she had been wrong.