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Reasons why this scene kills me: Molly. Her baby is there, right on the floor. He’s staring at her, but he’s not seeing her like she seems him and there’s a light missing from his eyes that looks sick and wrong. The fact that she’s seeing her son, dead, before her own time - that in itself is sick and wrong. For a brief moment, maybe she’s reminded of her own twin brothers. Maybe she’s imagining Fabian, or Gideon, and that makes the loss ten times worse. She has seven kids, and she’ll always have seven kids figuratively, but to others now it’s be “those six Weasley kids.” Her little baby bouncing boy, half a twin, is dead. Died fighting like a hero. And what of George now, she must wonder. She can hear her other baby, sobbing his half-heart out because the other half has stopped beating, and she doesn’t know what else to do other than comfort because how does one go about mending something that’s been split in two; one beyond repair? Whenever something got broken in the Weasley house before, it was bippity boppity boop and bam. Fixed. But not this. Not Freddie. I wonder if in this moment she’s thinking of how she’ll never hear his snarky comments. “I’m George, woman! Honestly! All these years and you still can’t get it. What’s taking you?” She’ll never see his wedding. His kids. His wife. See him get his first gray hairs. Listen to him talk of his own children with such fondness and pride. Or maybe her mind is blank. Maybe, because she has to be strong for her children now, her mind is screaming in agony. No mother should have to grieve over their children because they’ve died. Not ever. And the way she ever slightly pets his hair is heartbreaking. Like maybe the time when he was young, and sick, and to wake him for medicine she’d just brush the fringe from his forehead…

Reasons why this scene kills me: Molly.

Her baby is there, right on the floor. He’s staring at her, but he’s not seeing her like she seems him and there’s a light missing from his eyes that looks sick and wrong. The fact that she’s seeing her son, dead, before her own time - that in itself is sick and wrong. For a brief moment, maybe she’s reminded of her own twin brothers. Maybe she’s imagining Fabian, or Gideon, and that makes the loss ten times worse. She has seven kids, and she’ll always have seven kids figuratively, but to others now it’s be “those six Weasley kids.” Her little baby bouncing boy, half a twin, is dead. Died fighting like a hero. And what of George now, she must wonder. She can hear her other baby, sobbing his half-heart out because the other half has stopped beating, and she doesn’t know what else to do other than comfort because how does one go about mending something that’s been split in two; one beyond repair? Whenever something got broken in the Weasley house before, it was bippity boppity boop and bam. Fixed.

But not this. Not Freddie. I wonder if in this moment she’s thinking of how she’ll never hear his snarky comments. “I’m George, woman! Honestly! All these years and you still can’t get it. What’s taking you?” She’ll never see his wedding. His kids. His wife. See him get his first gray hairs. Listen to him talk of his own children with such fondness and pride.

Or maybe her mind is blank. Maybe, because she has to be strong for her children now, her mind is screaming in agony. No mother should have to grieve over their children because they’ve died. Not ever. And the way she ever slightly pets his hair is heartbreaking. Like maybe the time when he was young, and sick, and to wake him for medicine she’d just brush the fringe from his forehead…


“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”
Mrs. Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.
“OUT OF MY WAY!” shouted Mrs. Weasley… Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.
[…]
“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?”
“You — will — never — touch — our — children — again!” screamed Mrs. Weasley.