Chapter Thirty

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"He's afraid of himself

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"He's afraid of himself."

26 January 1974

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26 January 1974

Molly adjusted her robe once again before stepping through the door of the cottage. It was too tight around the middle already, and she was only three months gone.

Arthur grasped her hand, stopping her.

"Are we doing the right thing?" he asked, his voice low and tight with anxiety.

"Yes," she said.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

They'd been over it a dozen times, Arthur arguing that she had no business joining a dangerous underground organization in her condition, Molly adamant that her condition had nothing to do with it. He was frightened, she knew that. Not for himself, but for her and their little family.

A familiar, almost painful love welled up inside her for the boy she had married right out of Hogwarts, the one who had grown into a man before her eyes, who wanted to do a husband's job and protect his wife and children from the terrifying things that were beginning to happen around them.

She kissed him quickly and said, "If you want to leave, you can. I'm sure Auntie Muriel would be glad to have you take Bill and Charlie. And I won't think any less of you."

"You know that's not it."

"Shh," she said, putting her fingers to his lips. "I know. But you're right that it's foolish for both of us to join. The boys—and this little one," she added, patting her belly, "are going to need one of us at least. And I have to do this."

"Because of Ginevra."

Molly stayed silent for a moment. She still didn't trust her voice not to crack when she thought about her dearest friend's death.

"Yes," she whispered.

Arthur took her hand and squeezed it. "She's the last person who'd want you to put yourself in danger, Mols."

The warm feeling she'd had for her husband vanished. She pulled her hand away and wiped roughly at the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

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