[identity profile] sabretoothmolly.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] bait_backup
*Ronald is with some cousin of Arthur’s. Percy’s there too--five is too young, she’d said somewhat hysterically, over and over, too young, too young--and, of course, the twins couldn’t come, the very idea is absurd, they'd blow up the floral arrangements and everyone knows it. But Charlie’s standing there next to Arthur, periodically blowing his nose, and Bill’s there too, solemn and gray-faced, his hand in hers. Both boys are in black armbands over their most subdued jumpers; she’d outright refused to buy them funeral clothes, over and over, too young, too young, and finally Bill had stopped protesting and here they are.

She’s another story, though. Molly doesn’t typically wear black--it’s harsh on a woman of her coloring, and she has never looked terribly sophisticated or had any real desire to. But the day before she’d gone to Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions (All Occasions Means All Occasions, Even Burying Your Baby Brothers, she’d thought distantly as the measuring tape went around her swollen abdomen) and put down her gold and here she is, watching them put Gideon and Fabian in the ground and all she can find her way to think about is that it was an awful lot of expense for something she’ll only wear once. And then it occurs to her that it won’t be once, that the way things are going she couldn't have made a wiser investment, and then Bill is squeezing her hand very tightly because she’s making rather a lot of noise and people can hardly hear the eulogy.

They gather afterwards and she has made an awful lot of food and no one’s eating any of it. That’s been the one consistently recurring truth of the past few days, she realizes dully: she has made an awful lot of food, and no one’s eating any of it. Still, she knows the right thing to say, and says it dutifully, quietly, to each and every person who offers her condolences.*

Thank you for coming.

Date: 2011-11-18 08:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] frankly-bamf.livejournal.com
*Frank is there, but not in any sense that actually counts. He is as he's been since he saw the twins' flat for himself the morning it'd happened: detached, just an echo of the smiling, good-natured man who's so well loved by his friends and the Auror office and the public. He hardly sleeps, only eats if Alice asks him to, won't talk unless forced, and it's been that way for days now, and today - today is no different, except that they just buried his best friends, and it's not so much that Frank's not talking as that he has nothing to say.

Still and silent, he doesn't offer Molly condolences even though he knows he should. He can't, because if he talks to her or the boys all he's going to see is his dead friends, their freckles and their eyes and their hair, and Frank still hasn't cried, and that will tip him over that edge where nothing else has so far. He knows it, and he can't, and so he doesn't. Instead he stands off against a wall in the living room, staring at the clock with its two missing hands, dry-eyed and voiceless, and waits for something he's not altogether sure of.*

Date: 2011-11-24 05:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gummymummy.livejournal.com
*Alice is sticking rather close to Frank. Lately her life feels reduced to begging - begging Frank to eat, begging Frank to sleep, begging Frank to just talk to her. It feels as though he hasn't looked at her in days.

But more than anything, it's guilt that's making her hold him so close today. As far as she knows, the Weasleys have no clue about Rosier's message, but Alice keeps flashing to it. And each time she clutches Frank a little closer and hoists Neville a little higher. Even though Molly and Arthur have heaps of their own, if there's one thing Alice has learnt about funerals, it's that babies are always welcome.

Over the muted noise of the wake, she can hear Molly thanking those in the condolences line. It would be rude not to say something on their behalf, and even though she doesn't feel up to it, better her than Frank.*

I'm going to go speak to Molly.

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