Timeline/spoilers—set after Deathly Hallow
Disclaimer—Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling, I am just a fan.
Characters/Pairing—Molly centric; some Harry/Ginny
Word count—695(minus the A/Ns)
Summary—When she and Harry start having marital trouble, Ginny turns to Molly for advice and comfort.
Author's note—Written in response to homework giving by Professor Kara of Hufflepuff House at the Hogwarts Online forum. I had to write a Molly centric fic using the prompts Lied and onetime, and the quote "Ginny, if you're crying over a boy, it means he really means more to you than you think. Talk to Harry, he's more understanding than you may realize."
Arthur and Molly were enjoying one of their rare quiet evenings alone together when the peace was interrupted by a light tap on the door. Exchanging a look with her husband, Molly set her knitting aside and wasn't all that surprised to find Ginny standing on the porch, knapsack in hand.
"Hi, Mum," she said, starring at her shoes. Molly, for her part, acted as though this hadn't become a common occurrence, ushering her daughter into the living room with a cheerful greeting. When she was alone in the kitchen, however, putting the kettle on, she frowned. Every couple went through their rough-patches, but this was getting to be a bit much. What Ginny had sworn would be a onetime thing soon turned into a monthly, and finally weekly, event.
'If they both weren't so darn stubborn,' she thought, pouring the tea and setting a few biscuits on a plate. Putting it all on a tray, she carried it into the other room, giving Arthur another meaningful glance as she did. He immediately understood, and promptly excused himself, but not before patting Ginny's hand in a comforting manner.
Molly seated herself in his former chair, and trying to sounds as casual as possible, asked what brought the unaccepted visit on.
"Oh, nothing," the young woman lied through her teeth, "I just thought I'd stop by and—"
She sighed, "Harry and I had a row."
"Something stupid," she took a nibble on a small piece of shortbread, ignoring the growing lump forming in her throat. Molly waited patiently for her to go on. She had learned over the years that when it came to her strong-willed youngest it was always best to let her go at her own pace; if you tied to push her, chances are she'd just shut you out. "It wasn't much of a fight, really."
"Have you and Harry talked—"
"He doesn't want to talk to me; that's the problem!" Ginny snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. As if in response to her outburst, the ghoul in the attic started wailing and banging on the pipes. For once, Ginny was glad of the commotion, because it gave her a moment to calm down, and un-tuck her hair to hide her redden ears.
"I know something's bothering him," she said quietly, "He's been so closed off lately. We used to tell each other everything, and now it's like living with a stranger. And I'm so lonely. . ."
The lump had grown bigger, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Putting her cup down, Molly closed the distance between them and put an arm around Ginny's shoulders. Like a small child, Ginny lend into her mother, and sobbed. She was in such turmoil, torn between hating Harry for shutting her out, and being worried sick over him. And then she'd feel awful for hating him, when he was obviously distressed, which made her worry even more, and then get annoyed at him for making her worry, and then the cyclical would start all over again. It was all so confusing. She thought she and Harry loved each other, but maybe . . . maybe . . . .
As if reading her thoughts, Molly brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Ginny, if you're crying over a boy, it means he really means more to you than you think. Talk to Harry, he's more understanding than you may realize."
"But—but what if he doesn't want to talk to me?"
"Then you keep trying. You keep trying until you get through to him. Don't give up on him, love. Harry needs you right now, and I think a part of him knows that. "
"How do you know?" Ginny sniffed, trying to stop her nose from running.
"Mother's intuition," Molly replied, only half in jest, handing her a napkin. Ginny gave a small chuckle, and shifted so her head was on Molly's shoulder. She was exhausted after her emotional outburst, and she felt so warm and safe.
"Thanks, Mummy," she muttered, eyes fluttering shut.
Molly kissed the top of her head, "You're welcome, darling."
Thank you for reading this, and reviews are greatly appreciated.