Summer of '93 [PERCIVER]

9 - IN THE EYES OF A MOTHER

Molly Weasley was content.

This holiday had done wonders for her mental and physical health. Her skin glowed and her eyes were crinkled at the corners, merry with delight. There was a constant content smile upon her face nowadays, seeing as she had finally begun to ease her mind into a state of quiet.

She loved the beach, she loved the new, unfamiliar air and the way it smelled when she inhaled it. She adored California, it was vibrant and new, it didn't reek of routine and repetition. Her twin sons and youngest son were all delighted, their gleeful laughter ringing in her head. She loved that her children were happy, because so was she. Insisting that they go on this holiday was an ingenious idea, simply ingenious.

However, at times of quiet, doubts did crawl into her mind and she did have very real concerns about her children. As a mother, it was her duty to care and to fuss, her obligation to worry herself into a state of terror, and this was no different.

She didn't have concerns about her husband, perhaps apart from the little time he was spending with his children. However, he had always struggled with it, therefore she wasn't exactly willing to call him out on it. He was happier than she had seen him in a very long time. He was never meant for working overtime and the miserable Ministry life, no matter how much he wished to be. As hopelessly devoted to tweaking muggle objects as he was, it got him nowhere professionally. He had never been fit for the professional life. Experiencing new things and making new friends, that was where her husband thrived.

Bill, however, she was awfully concerned about. He had only written to her once in three weeks whilst she had written him five letters. He had to be busy, perhaps with work or personal life. Molly hoped it was because he was spending time with a young lady. A lovely, respectable one who was elegant and wanted him to cut his hair just as she herself wished.

Molly missed her eldest son, she hadn't seen him since last Christmas, hadn't held her eldest baby since the cold month of December. He rebelled against all of the rules she had laid in place, every last one of them. Bill had always despised being demanded and told what to do, he was defiant of all authority, he was his own authority. He yearned for escape in a way that devastated Molly. Would it bruise him so much to just cut his hear to an appropriate length, to not wear so many piercings in his ears? Would it oppress him so incredibly much to not dress in ripped jeans and t-shirts with uncivilised slogans across the chest? To not blast his punk music for the entire hill to hear from his bedroom? Molly wanted grandchildren, but he refused to settle down. Though despite this, she missed him dearly, and the thought of him being gone sprung tears in her eyes.

She shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of them. She was in a public place; she couldn't possibly burst into tears then and there. She had to watch her children, she needed to make sure Fred and George weren't tormenting Ron and Percy, that Ginny and Percy weren't isolating themselves somewhere, that Ron wasn't being excluded by his siblings. No matter how relaxing this holiday was, her duty as a mother never halted for anything or anyone.

Her mind strayed away from her eldest child and onto her second eldest. Unlike Bill, Charlie was writing regularly at the very least with letters that were an appropriate length for the distance of time he was sending them. He most certainly was not spending all of his time with a lady or even a nice gentleman, unfortunately for her. He spent all of his time studying and taming dragons, which horrified her. She was proud of his dedication of course, what mother wasn't? But if only he didn't choose a deadly profession to invest his effort into. The amount of burns he had written to her about in graphic detail frightened her, and she really did want him to be more cautious.

Her son craved independence, he constantly ran to it. Charlie was rebellious, yes, but he desired the rebellion less than Bill did. He had ran away from home as soon as he possibly could, not afraid to state that he was being stifled there. Her heart broke ever so slightly when she thought of Charlie as an adult, all on his own, content to be alone.