The Sugar Quill
Author: Mullvaney  Story: Ginny's Song  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

Author's Note: I wrote this for the Songfic challenge on 87 Rolls . . . a couple of years ago; the song that inspired me was "Sarah's Song" by Sissel. Love and thanks go to the Queens of Awesomeness, who read this and liked it and encouraged me to keep going. Thanks also to J Forias, for being a swift and understanding beta.

Ginny's Song

The house is silent. Silent. She can't remember the last time that happened. She's alone; alone in the house with her new baby. Her new daughter. She can't believe it; she finally, finally has a daughter! She had hoped, and prayed. With each new pregnancy, she had insisted that this was the one, this was a girl. She had just about given up; they had decided that their last son was to be their last child. This baby, the girl she is holding right now, is a surprise, a happy accident. And here she is.

She looks at her, studying her perfect, rosebud mouth; her creamy, round cheeks; her fluffy mop of downy red hair. The baby stares back at her, her round eyes seeming to say "I am yours, I was sent to you because you wanted me, prayed for me for so long. Oh, mama, I'm where I belong." She leans down and kisses her girl's lips; she tickles her under her chin and lays her hand softly on her baby's tiny cheek. The tiny girl turns her head and insistently nuzzles her mother's palm. It's time to eat. She hums a sweet tune as she nurses her brand new daughter...

A little more than a year later, her amazing little daughter is toddling confidently around the house. Their oldest son is leaving for his first year at Hogwarts. The entire family is running around the house, trying to get him ready, trying to get themselves ready to see him off at the station. In all the commotion, the tiny girl is knocked over; she begins to wail loudly and piteously from the floor. Her mother drops what she is doing and sweeps the child up into her arms, rocking her and covering her with kisses; humming the same sweet tune she uses only to comfort her daughter...

A few more years have passed. Her three oldest sons are away, now, leaving her four youngest children at home. Her littlest one comes in, crying because the boys won't play with her. She gives her a freshly baked cookie and a glass of milk, telling her that her brothers still love her, but boys are just that way sometimes. Her daughter gives her a watery smile, grabs her hand and kisses it. The little girl tells her that she loves her mommy more than anything else in the world. As she takes the next batch of cookies from the oven, said mommy happily hums a familiar tune...

Now her girl is ten, and they are alone in the house together once more. Although the child is really too old for it, she still sits in her mother's lap. Mother hums the old, comforting tune as they rock and rock...

Today is her first day all alone in the house for twenty-one years. Yesterday she packed her last, precious baby off to Hogwarts. The silence is deafening, stifling. She doesn't know how she is going to make it through to Christmastime. She sits, pointlessly holding her knitting and softly humming her daughter's song as tears slip down her cheeks and wet her wool...

It is the middle of the night, and she has been awakened by a small tap on the bedroom door. Her daughter is in the hallway, in pain, with terrible cramps. She says she knew this was coming, was completely prepared, but it hurts so. Mother and daughter head downstairs for tea and a hot water bottle. They sit on the sofa, the girl curled around the bottle, weeping silently, her mother stroking her hair and humming the beloved song . . .

This night is the darkest hour she has ever known. The crisis has come, the battle they had been both dreading and wishing for. One of her sons has been killed, her precious Fred. Her family huddles over his body, trying to draw comfort from each other, from her, when she has none to give. They sit in the dark and hold hands, terrified of what is still to come. Her girl starts to hum the old song; she has taken on the role of comforter, now. . .

Molly Weasley is an old woman, now. Her children are all grown; she has many, many grandchildren. She and Ginny are sitting in the garden at the Burrow; Molly is holding Ginny's newest baby, a daughter who bears a startling resemblance to her mother. She kisses the baby's sweet lips, and tickles her under her chin; she lays her hand on the child's tiny cheek. The baby turns her head and nuzzles insistently at Molly's palm. It's time to eat. Ginny kisses her mother's cheek as she takes the hungry baby from her. As Ginny nurses the tiny girl, Molly leans her head back and closes her eyes. She hears Ginny humming the song that was theirs for so long; now it belongs to her daughter, too. It is the sweetest song in the world.

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