cxradoc:
Location: The Burrow Date: October 23rd, early morning For: ( @mmollyweasley )
It still feels strange to be living in somebody else’s house. Molly has been too kind to her, too welcoming and too gentle in her careful attentions. She always seems to know when to leave Caradoc alone and when to push. Beyond all her pain and the occasional bout of frustration that she has to swallow past, Caradoc is grateful for her.
Today, in the early morning light, Caradoc finds herself hungry for some company. It’s the worry, really. Ben being out there, in the woods, where Caradoc can’t help him if he needs it. She couldn’t sleep a wink, she couldn’t drift off even for a minute. She’s aching with the worry of it, and she thinks it might be nice to make some small attempt to get her mind off it. For once, she seeks Molly out in the living room. In her hands she holds her merger offering, a mug of tea brewed for once by someone other than Molly. She does so much looking after everyone else, maybe she’ll enjoy the gesture.
She perches on the armchair near Molly’s spot, quiet as a mouse, and offers the mug for her. “I hope it’s okay I took the liberty.” She says, still sounding quiet and tired. “But I thought we could both use one.”
Moments to rest are few and far between. She’s never got the time to rest, not truly, though she pretends at it here and there: sitting down for breakfast, calling the family for supper, a cup of tea with Arthur some nights before bed. Days like this, though, she has work to do and so she rises early, a quiet time of the morning just before the children wake up. Molly rarely assigns essays--potions is a practical subject, and she’s kept a careful balance of keeping her classwork at the castle so she can maintain a focus of family at home.
She’s on the threadbare couch, where she can lean toward the light, eyes dancing over words scribbled by teenagers. It’s boring, frankly, and she’s skimming for certain points and ignoring the fluff. Requirements of the curriculum her arse. Caradoc’s arrival is a cheering thing--Molly looks up with some surprise but breaks into a soft smile when her eyes shift to the mug her guest is offering.
Caradoc is a dear thing, a quiet mouse amongst all the children and chaos, a gentle shade that drifts through walls, it seems. She owes nothing to Molly and gives it anyway, a cup of tea in a silent room of secondhand things. Things chewed on by teething toddlers and hastily repaired after preteen tantrums. A house that has been thoroughly lived in but has years left in it, has years more of children laughing and running and breaking and mending.
“Of course, dear, thank you,” Molly answers, low and quiet, taking the mug in ink-stained fingers. “That’s very kind.” She doesn’t ask why Caradoc is up so early, doesn’t question her impulse to brew the tea--some things don’t require attention drawn to them.












