Molded Joy

2 - Marching Forward

Stopping just outside the kitchen, Molly listened closely. She could hear the sound of her mother humming below her breath and the clatter of glasses being put in the cupboard, but she couldn't pick out anything in the familiar din that indicated her father was in the room too. She didn't hear the rustle of The Daily Prophet nor did she smell the rich, woody scent of his favorite cigarettes which he always liked to smoke before he left for work.

Sighing, Molly stepped in hoping still she'd find her father sitting at the kitchen table. When he wasn't there, she asked, "Mum? Where's Dad?"

"Your father's gone to work already, Molly," her mother said as she turned around with a couple of mugs in hand. "Come have a seat, I'll put the kettle on."

Wavering in the doorway, she almost considered refusing and just going back to bed to cry. Molly hadn't seen her dad since she came home from St. Mungo's and it hurt. Nearly as much as her ruined dreams of being a Mum.

"Dad… He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?" Molly questioned as she took a seat at the table.

Sitting down across from her, Molly's mum pushed one mug – her favorite pink striped yellow one – her way. "He's ashamed, Molly," the woman sighed. "What do you expect him to do? Would you rather he be here and yell at you?"

Swallowing down the sharp lump in the back of her throat, Molly let her eyes drop to the tabletop and said nothing in response. After all, what could she say? He had all rights to be embarrassed by her. She'd gotten herself into trouble and then into even more while trying to get herself out of the first bit of it.

"But, even so, he loves you," her mum said as she gently brought Molly's eyes up to meet hers.

Looking around the kitchen, at the open window letting in the last bit of the year's decent weather and the fireplace that was as empty of warmth as her heart, Molly let her gaze return to her mother's eyes. "Then why is he not here for breakfast? I made sure to wake up early just to see him off. Ashamed or not, it's been a week of this and I've not seen hide nor hair of him since I've come home from St. Mungo's! Even yelling would be better than being treated like I don't exist!"

Her mother's eyes fell away and she began to wring her hands together. "You have to understand how hard this is for him… He thought you were a good girl–"

"I am!" Molly argued.

The woman's face turned into a frown. "Good girls don't get pregnant and then abort the baby, Molly," she rebuked.

"Good mothers save their children from undue suffering." Molly argued.

"Good mothers don't kill their children!" her mother yelled.

Setting her jaw, Molly forced herself to narrow her eyes even as she wanted to let them go wide and mist over with tears. "I'm going back to my room," she hissed. "I have work that Professor McGonagall sent me to do."

"Molly!" her mother shouted after her, but she didn't turn around. No, Molly picked up her pace and all but ran into her room before slamming the door close.

Collapsing in a heap against the door, she buried her face in her arms and cried.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Among all the other students about to board the Hogwarts Express, Molly felt unusually nervous. She was a seventh year going back to Hogwarts to finish the last stretch of her schooling – just like several others that she had spied on the platform. But, unlike those others, she has been gone from school much longer than just for Christmas Holidays.

"Are you sure you want to go, love?" her mother asked as she reached out to push back Molly's red hair. "There's no shame in saying no."

Molly shook her head at the middle-aged woman. "No, Mum," she said. "I have to go back. I want to finish school with all of my friends and be like everyone else again."