The Unknown Grief of Molly Weasley

Summer Holidays
'Mum, stop fussing! I. Am. Fine. How many times do I have to tell you?'
I hugged my youngest son, Ron, tightly to me for a few more seconds, and then released him.
'I'm just so glad you're safe!'
Ron's ears went pink, and I realised he'd noticed the tear tracks on my face. I quickly turned away, only to face Arthur, who, although he wasn't crying, was stood rigidly with a blank expression on his face- a sight I knew, and would become all too familiar with. Thankfully, I knew the cure.
'Ron, dear, could you leave us for a few seconds? Why don't you write to Harry, he can come over if he wants to? Straight to bed after, though, it's nearly ten.'
Ron glanced at his father, nodded slightly, then turned, and kissed my cheek. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned again to face us.
'I love you both, you know that right? I'd never do anything dangerous on purpose, you both mean too much to me.'
I smiled gently to prove we understood, and then, looking slightly embarrassed, Ron disappeared up the stairs. I turned back to Arthur, and my smile faded. He'd never been a man to voluntarily show his emotions, but I'd always been able to read him, ever since that night in third year. Gently, I pushed him down into a chair (with difficulty, as his legs didn't want to bend). I bent down in front of him.
'Arthur? Arthur, talk to me. It's me, it's Molly. He's fine, Arthur. He helped beat You-Know-Who! He's a hero! He's safe now, Arthur, he's with us now.'
Finally, Arthur looked at me, tears falling freely down his naturally kind face from behind his wonky spectacles.
'My son. My youngest son, Molly. Our youngest son. Hogwarts is meant to be the safest place for him and Harry, so why?'
'Because You-Know-Who is determined to finish what he started. He isn't dead Arthur, and for all we know, he never will be. But, our son stopped him, and who knows how far that will set him back? Will he lose everything all over again? Even his power of possession? All because of our son. Children learn from their parents, y'know. You should be proud, because, Arthur Weasley, you are the bravest, kindest, most decent person I know, and to see those traits showing in our son too means the world.'
I waited with baited breath, to see if my soothing words had done the trick. Finally, he looked back at me, the roguish cheerfulness back in the deep, deep blue eyes that I had fallen for instantly, and smiled, his dimples still visible on his tired face.
'I love you, Mollywobbles.'
My heart fluttered at the use of his pet name for me, and I pulled him up off the chair, and kissed him, reaching up to put my arms around his neck. He responded gently, with one hand in the small of my back, and one in my wavy, flaming red hair, forgetting his anxiety and losing himself in the kiss, as though he wanted to melt away. Finally, we broke apart, both of us wearing the same guilty expressions we had as teenagers- how time had flown. Arthur yawned, and stretched, his arms pulling at a patch on his robes.
'C'mon, I think it's time we went up.'
'I'll be with you in a bit; I just need to put another wash on before the morning.'
Arthur nodded, and muttered something like what that woman does for me...
'Don't stay up too long; you need to sleep too, y'know.'
I stuck my tongue out at him, and he grinned, and then left, making snoring noises at me all the way. Once I made sure he'd gone, I sank down into a chair, and put my head in my hands. I'd tried not to show my fear of what could've happened, I didn't want Arthur worrying about me on top of everything else, but it was torture. Only a few days ago, Ron had been fought a three-headed dog, got past a flock of winged keys, and then been knocked unconscious (an almost fatal blow, actually!) by a giant chess set, all in the name of loyalty. I dreaded to think what could've happened if he hadn't been knocked out- he could've ended up face to face with You-Know-Who, and we all know the consequences of that! I suppose though, it does prove how clever he is. I mean, he was helped by his friends, but still, nobody could've expected them to figure all of the stuff about the corridor and Flamel out at the age of just twelve, Harry not even that. I just wish he'd had the brains to tell someone rather than do it himself. Anyway, I was being silly. He was fine. I shook myself, flung the last of Fred's pants in the wash, and then went to bed. When I got there, Arthur was already asleep, the quilt wrapped around him like a cocoon, his face boyish and peaceful. I sighed and slid in beside him. All was well. For now...