The Power of Pain

Chapter 7

"Harry! Ginny! So good to see you!" Molly called out her arms held high as she pulled her youngest in a tight but mindful hug. "Oh look at you." She cooed patting Harry on the back before taking her grandson into her arms. "Now I bet they don't feed you enough over there now do they?" She chuckled as Albus giggled in her grasp bouncing happily on the aging woman's hip.

"No no, and they won't let me has no birthday cake either!" He said with a pout.

Ginny and Harry paused slightly, they had both been deep in their own feelings during the short floo trip. Neither one of them were actually willing to face Molly at that moment either. They set down their things to look at their son. Ginny had grown exceptionally pale and Harry kept his furrowed brow aimed to the floor.

"Birthday cake?" Molly trilled with a raised eyebrow, "But darling, who's birthday is it? It's certainly not yours." She said with a smile tickling the boy. He squealed with laughter and gently pulled on her apron to keep from falling as he squirmed.

"Dey said is some special person's birthday." He nodded matter of factly. Molly turned with confusion on her brow and looked between the two, very silent and very guilty looking adults. It took her only a few moments to realize what the two children before her had done, and her confusion turned to deep shame for the both of them.

Ginny winced inwardly at the deep disapproval in her mother's eyes and slowly moved to try and busy herself with something mundane. Harry however, felt a deep rise of anger welling in his chest. He swallowed thickly and looked to Ginny, a deep sadness and anger brewing deep in his soul. It had been festering for years, even before he had counted the casualties. Over and over in his head, night after night. His dreams filled with screams, of people he'd loved. People he'd never wished to die for him.

Molly said nothing as she set the toddler on the counter, though the air in the kitchen was growing exceptionally thick. How many times had she had this exact conversation with Ron? How many temper filled screaming matches had they both participated in? The ache was still there in her heart, but she knew, she had hope, she just wished those around her were able to hold onto something. She could see the weight of all the pain they'd been through at such a young age, weighing down their steps and bowing their heads.

"Ginny?" She turned to her daughter who swallowed thickly and pretended to busy herself the mail. Her mind was turning grinding through it's gears. "Harry ?" Her voice held a hidden edge only those who'd been in her extended company would ever able to identify. As she moved between him and the doorway he was trying to escape through he felt an anger he hadn't felt in a long time welling up through his entire being.

Harry felt his heart thumping in his chest as he stared down at the soft features of the woman who had treated him very much like her own all these years. A woman who by all accounts had never forgotten a birthday or Christmas card. A woman who took such care in creating each one of them a sweater every year. Of course, he really couldn't have faulted a woman who had just lost her son, to have a foggy memory of the events that followed. Harry had watched her move through all the stages of grief and even tried to help her at times. He knew the loss of Fred had rocked the entire family but none more than Molly.

Slowly he licked his lips, the guilt inside him kept his voice small as he addressed her question with avoided eyes, "We-." His words were drown out however, as Ron and George came into the kitchen hollering about a quidditch match they must have been listening to. He scrunched his nose as Ron passed him; the smell of alcohol was strong and his stomach turned just a bit.