It was a beautiful funeral, Molly thought, as she listened to the McKinnon's pastor come to a close on his eulogy about not forgetting the brave fighters and victims of these dark times. When the small band hired for the funeral began their somber, farewell tune, she got up like the rest of the many mourners and followed her husband and brothers to join the line headed toward the caskets.

While waiting, she stared at the coffins the McKinnons' laid in. They were a rainbow of hues, a stately mahogany for Edith and Jack McKinnon's coffins, a warm, yellow oak for their daughter, Marlene, and daughter-in-law, Bethany, and for the children a soft ash that was just a shade off from white. It was rather fitting, Molly thought, that the youngest ones caskets should be such a color. White was so often connected with things like purity and innocence, and those children, sweet little Todd, kind Tamara and lively baby Eddie were just that: innocent.

The last of the funerals attendees were finally getting to their feet, with it, the crying that had been muffled before by a loved one's shoulders was now loud and clear. The anguish in the sobs made Molly's own eyes well with tears. It was trying times like these that made Molly wonder about her part in the war, Arthur's, and her brothers'. Seeing Order members fall right and left made her all the more scared for her brothers, made her wonder when she'd be the one who had to plan a funeral. The thought scared her so much she could never dwell on it for more than a few minutes at a time.

She was certain, though, if her brothers did die before this war was over, she would make sure she fulfilled their wish to have charmed water-squirting flowers pinned to their dress-robes. That way, all those that went to pay their respects to the twins would get a blast of water to the face and be reminded one last time of what kind of men her brothers truly were: spirited, friendly souls.

Incapable of thinking of Fabian and Gideon's possible funeral any longer, Molly moved on to the next most common question she had for herself while attending the funerals of Order members: her role within the Order. Couldn't she be of more use to them by being one of the brave witches who went out and fought? Who protected families, like the McKinnons, from being blindsided by attacks from vengeful, bloodthirsty Death Eaters in the middle of the night?

Molly then remembered the time she asked Arthur what he thought about her taking a more offensive role in the war. He had told her as much as it might sooth her to go and fight, to not to, because she was important to those who came to their home. Order members needed a trustworthy minder. One they didn't have to fret about being a Death Eater sympathizer and one they didn't have to fear would abandon their children and run in an attack.

Those points alone were excellent reasons for her to not join the fray, but then Arthur had added in the fact their home was also sanctuary to families chased from theirs by Death Eater attacks, in-between places for those on the run, or on their way into hiding, to stay and rest as they made and finalized their plans for their futures.

It was these reasons that always swayed Molly into continuing her role as the minder for the Order. Perhaps she didn't use her Gryffindor courage to fight the Death Eaters directly like her brothers, but she certainly used it each and every time she agreed to house targets of You-Know-Who. It took bravery in itself to constantly allow her home to be used as a kind of halfway house and congregation place for Order members and their families.

(Or, so she had been told, by many who came through her doors).

Coming to a halt once more as the line toward the coffins stopped its forward motion, Molly turned her head at the sound of a particularly loud whimper. Down a row of chairs to her left was a small collection of people, four men and a woman. The woman kept sniveling into her sleeves; unable to stop her tears despite the way one of the men kept telling her to just take a big breath. Feeling a pang in her heart at the sight, Molly pulled her handkerchief out of her purse and left the line of mourners to approach the group.

"Here, dear," she said, holding out the little bit of white cloth to the pretty young woman, who, upon closer inspection, really didn't look like she could be more than a year or two out of Hogwarts.

Staring at it for a moment, the young woman started, "No, it's o-"

"I insist," Molly cut in. "You're going to ruin your robe, crying into it like that." Sighing softly, she added quieter, "You'll likely have to wear it a few more times before this war is over, you know."

Finally taking it, the young woman gave Molly a wobbly smile. "Thank you..."

"You're welcome... I'm Molly Weasley"

"Lily Ev- Potter."

Nodding, Molly reached out and gave Lily's hand a gentle squeeze before turning around to join her watching husband and brothers.

Taking her hand, Arthur asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Molly said, "She just needed a handkerchief."

And with that, Molly gave no more thought to the group as she went to pay her respect to the children she once cared for and the rest of the McKinnon family.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Molly had to shake her head as she watched the man battle with his daughter. The girl, an impressively tall specimen for ten, was arguing with her father very heatedly. Humming a little ditty beneath her breath, Molly kept bouncing the dozing toddler in her arms and hoped the man could find a way to calm his daughter on his own.

It really was a shame there was no mother in the picture, Molly thought. The girl could use a strong female figure-her manners were atrocious and she had a mouth on her that, if she were Molly's daughter, she'd get a Scourgify for. However, Mimi was not Molly's daughter (and the girl should count her blessings for that!)

As the man, Benjy Fenwick, started yelling, Molly knew it was time to step into the fray. A shouting match would wake the little boy from his nap and Molly knew if Junior saw that his father was leaving, he'd join his sister in the fight for their father to stay with his own special weapon-tears.

Molly was not going to try and sooth a distraught toddler while Mimi continued to rage after she and Junior lost their fight to keep their father with them. The first time it happened had been enough for her.

Laying the toddler down on the drawing room's couch, she arranged Junior so if he decided to roll over, he'd not fall off the couch, and cast a quick Silencing Charm on him and approached the fighting pair. Tapping her wand against her cheek, she interrupted, "What is it that you two are having a row about today?"

The girl sent her a mulish glare. "Dad said there'd be no more missions after the last one, but look where we are!" she snapped, gesturing to her spot on the threshold of Molly's home.

Making a noise of understanding, the woman raised an eyebrow at Fenwick and asked, "Did you really tell her that?"

"I-" he frowned, then his shoulders slumped. "Maybe?" he admitted, looking terribly pathetic and sheepish.

Molly made a tsking noise and remarked, "I bet you're regretting that now, aren't you, Fenwick?"

"Hey, now," he grumbled, eyes flashing in a way that his daughter's often did when annoyed.

Carefully maneuvering her way between the pair, she told the inept father, "You shouldn't lie to your daughter like you do. It leads to the very trouble you are now in. I'm also sure whoever you're working with today is getting annoyed with you for holding them up at this point."

Fenwick flushed and opened his mouth. Molly didn't let him speak as she grabbed the edge of her home's door and said, "There's no more time for chit-chat. Get moving!" And with that, she slammed the door shut.

"No!" Mimi shrieked. "Dad! NO!" the girl yelled, shoving past Molly and re-opening the door. However, her father was already long gone.

Turning around, the girl did not even bother with closing it as she levelled Molly with her most hateful glare. "You did that on purpose!" Mimi said.

Molly sighed. "Sweetheart, what your father does... It's not something you can stop-no more than I can keep my brothers from going on missions myself."

"But he promised!" the ten year old insisted.

She understood. Truly she did. But Molly also understood how important Fenwick was to the Order. "I know, I know," Molly murmured as she took the girl's hand and brought her close to pet her hair.

Instead of rejecting her touch, like she often did, Mimi pressed her face into Molly's shoulder and hiccupped, "H-He's a real asshole, isn't he? He told me and Junior right to our faces he wasn't going on anymore missions after last time when he got hurt, but here we are again!"

Clutching the girl tightly, as she tried to make her feel how sorry she was for her less than stellar father, Molly kept consistent in her home's rules. "No cursing, sweetheart."

"Sorry," she mumbled into Molly's front. Fingers twinning in the fabric of her blouse, Mimi asked, "Why's Dad keep going off on missions? He knows Mum's gone and never coming back and that Grandpa's too darn old to be taking care of Junior on his own and I have Hogwarts to go to next year!"

Closing her eyes, Molly took a slow breath to keep her tears at bay. She didn't know why Fenwick would risk his life when it put his children in such great danger, because unlike Catherine and her husband, unlike Andromeda and Ted, unlike Edgar and his wife, he did not have much in the way of family (or friends, for that matter). His muggle wife had left him when their daughter had had a particularly frightening episode of accidental magic after her brother was born and he only had his ever-aging father left for family.

To Molly, it looked like he just wanted someone to kill him and she knew that it really was just a matter of time before he got his wish. She couldn't tell that to the girl, though. It was too cruel a thing to do to someone so young and Molly never had abided with crushing the spirits of youth. To grow up strong, they needed to feel that they were loved-no matter what the truth may be.

Opening her eyes, Molly kissed the top of Mimi's head. Slowly, with a thick voice, she answered, "He thinks he's doing more to help you and your brother by being on the front lines than by being here with you."

"Well, that's idiotic. There are tons of blokes and ladies who want to fight that don't have children," the ten year old muttered unhappily.

Molly pulled the girl away and met her brown-eyed gaze. "Sweetheart, do you know that those people you're talking about are barely older than you?" she questioned and, with a sudden dawning of an idea, Molly continued on without waiting for an answer from Mimi. Molly had reason for the girl why her father had to go, and she needed to hear it through.

"Some of them just finished Hogwarts, others are only a few years past, but no matter what, they are all so young. They've hardly lived, but they're already willing to give it up if it means others will get to see another day and live in a happier, safer world.

"Now, I'm sure you understand why your dad leaves you here, right? It's because you and your brother need someone to take care of you and watch out for you because you're just children. Those blokes and ladies you talk about, to many of the Order members who are a little older and have children of their own, see them for what they are: bigger children. They look at their children, and they look at them, and they can see just how young they truly are. The older Order members want to save as many of them from death as they can.

"What that means is, though, they have to risk their own lives all the more. It means they have to put themselves in more danger and hope that their children will understand when they are older and why they left them orphans. They have to plead and pray to all the powers bigger than themselves that you all will understand they had to die so someone else, someone hardly any older than you, could live and grow up and experience all the joys and pains of life as they had."

Searching the narrow, worry and fear wrought face of the girl, Molly squeezed Mimi's shoulders and asked, "Do you understand why your father leaves now? If he didn't, it could be a girl, barely older than seventeen, out there dying instead. Would you rather she, a girl who's hardly lived die, or your father, who's twice her age and seen and done so much more? Or better yet, do you think your father would want her to die over him?"

"...No. Dad wouldn't want her to die," Mimi replied after a long, drawn-out sigh.

Molly nodded. "Yes, you're right. It seems you understand. That's good, I'd be worried if you think he'd let a young girl die."

Letting her go, Molly smoothed back Mimi's mused hair and told her, "And sweetheart? If anything happens to your father, I want you to know you and your brother can always come here-no matter what."

"Thanks, Missus Molly," the girl said, a smile coming to her lips.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

"Catherine?"

Entering the darkened bedroom, Molly had to strain her eyes to see her old school friend. She was in the middle of her bed, rocking in place, body bowed.

Turning on the lights with a swish of her wand, Molly moved a little closer, calling once again, "Catherine?

Looking up from her knees, Catherine whispered, "They wouldn't even let me look at it."

Approaching the bed slowly, Molly crawled across it to be at her friend's side. "I know," Molly whispered, taking Catherine into her arms for a hug.

Settling her damp cheek against Molly's shoulder, Catherine mumbled, "I didn't even know, and now...they're gone. I never even got to see them."

Feeling her heart break for Catherine, Molly knew she couldn't keep the gender a secret, even if Gerald, Catherine's husband, thought it was best for she didn't know just yet. "You had a beautiful girl, Catherine. She was very, very tiny, I hear. Gerald said she had dark hair, like him, too."

Pulling away slightly, Catherine met Molly's gaze. "A little girl? It was a little girl?" she whimpered, sounding both heartbroken and awed.

"Yes," Molly answered. "The baby was a girl."

Beginning to tremble, Catherine gave a jagged little giggle. "My mother always used to say she couldn't wait until she had a granddaughter to dress in all my old clothes and give every kind of doll to. Now, that chance is gone forever, and she'll never get another."

Molly felt her heart rate pick up. Was Catherine barren? Like her? No one had mentioned...

"You're-You're-" she stuttered.

Catherine seemed to understand instantly as she shook her head. "No," she said, "but I'm never going to have another baby. It was bad enough that I never knew I was even pregnant. Just imagining the possibility of losing another-one I know I'm carrying, for that matter, makes me so upset I've contemplated jumping out the window just because of it."

While slightly alarmed by what her friend was saying, Molly chose not to dwell on it. Catherine had a flair for the dramatics, after all. Even if she was telling the truth, Catherine's mother and Gerald would be here with her until she was better. They'd make sure Catherine didn't do anything as awful as jump out her window.

Besides, Molly was more worried about what else her friend was saying. It just didn't seem right to Molly, giving up on children altogether because of something like this. Catherine hadn't even known she was pregnant. If Catherine had, there was no way she would have been going on Order missions. If she had known, she would have stayed home, decorated her daughter's nursery and spent the rest of her free hours knitting all kinds of baby clothes for her little girl. If Catherine had known, she would have carried her baby to term and had a healthy, lively little girl.

Catherine could still have all those things now. This one was gone, yes, but she was still capable of having another. A dozen more if she wanted. Molly wouldn't dare suggest Catherine try for another right away, but she would remind her that there could be another, that this one didn't have to be her last.

Squeezing her friend close, Molly said, "I understand you're heartsick right now, but don't-"

"No! Don't say what I think you're about to, Molly. I can't face heartbreak like this again. I will not have another baby. I can't do it. This is just too hard. "

Molly still wanted to argue, she wanted to convince Catherine that she was making a mistake and maybe, just maybe, remind her that other woman would kill to be able to have another baby like she could. But Molly didn't. Instead, she kissed Catherine's forehead and whispered, "Okay."

Right now, Catherine needed comfort and support (something Molly hadn't gotten after she killed her baby), not someone trying to change her mind about something that could just be the grief talking.

"Thank you, Molly," Catherine said, giving her a watery smile.

"You're welcome."

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Absently stirring a spoon in her afternoon tea, Molly wasn't even aware it'd long grown cold as she read the extensive, exclusive interview with Celestina Warbeck Witch Weekly included in their latest issue. Molly just loved Celestina and could never get enough about her life and her music. The upcoming tour in Norway she mentioned was especially interesting, and she was wondering when she could buy tickets for it when-

"AHHH!"

Jumping from the noise, Molly let out a shout of her own when her tea spilled across the glossy pages of her tabloid. Quickly righting it with a spell, she stood up and stuffed her wand back in the folds of her apron. Tying back her hair quickly in preparation for what she might find in the living room, Molly grumbled to herself, "This better not be just another screaming match..."

Walking into the room, she paused at the sight of a teary Wilber clutching a book on the floor, and Horton, scowling down at his young cousin. Putting her hands on her hips, she demanded, "What's going on in here?"

"He-He-" Wilber babbled.

Rolling his eyes in a terribly unrepentant way, Horton said, "Wilber's being a baby and throwing a tantrum just 'cause I won't read him Toby the Toad's Great Bog Adventure for the fourth time today."

Molly gave an exasperated sigh. "Why not?" she asked. "It's not that long of a book."

"It's the only book he ever wants me to read! I'm sick of stupid Toby and his dumb adventure in the bog!"

"Toby's not stupid! He's smart! He figured out how to pull Martin the Mole from the mud puddle when no one else could!" Wilber argued as he hugged his book to his chest with all the might he had in his little body.

Pursing her lips, Molly tapped on her chin thoughtfully. Horton, no matter how bratty he was being, did have a point. Toby the Toad's Great Bog Adventure was getting old and she was no more interested in reading it again to Wilber than he was. An idea coming to her, she smiled. "Boys," she said, "I have an idea."

"What is it, Aunt Molly?" Horton asked.

Smiling now a wide grin, Molly said, "Why don't we write our own adventure for Toby to go on? I'm sure he must be quite tired of going through the bog by now."

Horton crossed his arms. He didn't look terribly excited at the prospect of more Toby, but Wilber dropped his book in favor of tackling Molly with an exuberant hug. "That sounds so wicked! Can we?" he asked. "Please! Please! Please!"

Laughing, Molly swept the little boy into her arms and looked to Horton. "Well, Horton? Are you going to help us or not? Who knows, we might need someone to draw some trees and I hear you're quite good at making them."

Finally swayed, Horton joined her side and said, "Okay, I'll help."

Taking the pair back to the kitchen, Molly collected the children's art supplies from one of the cupboards she'd designated as the boys' long ago and returned to where Horton and Wilber were waiting at the breakfast bar. Setting out paper and quills, she asked them, "Where should Toby have his adventure?"

Sharing a look, the boys declared together, "Hogwarts."

Molly laughed. Of course they would pick Hogwarts, Horton would be joining his brother there next year, and soon, Wilber would be running through the castle's halls just like his cousins. It was amazing, Molly thought, how quickly children grew up. She remembered the first time she'd held Wilber; he'd been so tiny and pink then...

And now, he was just as gangly as his father and as freckle-faced as every Weasley before him.

Time flew by, but it was precious moments like these Molly made an effort to remember. Especially in these dark days, when joy was fleeting and heartache just around the corner.

A/N: Thanks for reading and please vote and comment!