CHAPTER ONE:

The Slippery Slope To Stupidity

Part IV

Hemlock Potter's P.O.V

She'd lost them in the confusion. Through the wind and sleet and cackling Death Eaters, she'd lost them in the flashing lights of hexes flung. Hermione. Ron. Alastor. Fred. George. Remus. Tonks. Shacklebolt. Gone.

Seven Potters had taken flight that night, behind the protective backs of Order members, over the small town of sleepy Little Whinging, and Hemlock, the real Potter, was, so far, the only one to make it out of the ambush waiting for them in the cloud cover.

The only one to make it out to a fretting Molly Weasley wringing her hands in the sheath of her apron, pacing the crooked floorboards of the safe house.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us."

Hemlock said in a way of breathless greeting, drenched from the rain pouring outside.

"We were surrounded the moment we took off. They knew it was tonight. I don't know what happened to anyone else. Four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us and-"

She could hear the self-justifying note drifting in her pallid voice. The plea for Molly to understand why she did not know what happened to her sons.

Why it wasn't Ron standing before her right now, as it should have been.

Or George.

Or Fred.

Any body but her.

Because, again, this was her fault.

All Hemlock's fault.

No matter what she did, where she went, what she said, a Weasley was always put in danger.

Molly's children were always put in danger.

What if only two walked through that door behind Hemlock?

One?

None?

How would she ever meet Molly's eye again, knowing it was her who put one or all in the grave too soon?

Merlin, her chest felt tight. Tight and wheezy and-

Molly Weasley spotted her in the doorway, sodden and shaking, and she smiled. Beamed. Bright tooth and crinkled and with her eyes a little wet, and in three short strides, Molly was before her.

There was two different types of hugs, Hemlock found. One was full of gentle arms, barely there, that leaves space to breathe. More perfunctory than emotional. A certain pat, pat, there, there, don't worry because then I will have to deal with it, so I give you this creature comfort, contact, in hopes you don't drag me into your mess.

Hemlock had one or two of those before, as rare as they were.

A pacifier for the screaming baby.

Then there was a hug like Molly Weasley's hugs.

It was strong, arms enclosing around her, breast to breast, heartbeat to heartbeat. An embrace that was more than body, but mind and soul too. I'm here, through it all, I'm here with you. It was the most powerful thing Hemlock had ever been given. As if holding her wasn't quite enough, feeling her there wasn't enough, Molly had to know Hemlock was alive, breathing.

And she felt it then.

Alive.

Awake.

Safe.

The safest she had ever felt.

As if Voldemort himself could pop up behind the worn living room couch, bold head gleaming, red eye glinting, and Molly, Molly Weasley in her paisley dress, would beat him away from Hemlock with her spatula. Swat him like a fly with her wooden spoon poking out her pocket.

Hemlock had never, in her short life, felt safer.

Love.

Hemlock Potter felt loved.

And it was that love, a mother's love, that made everything else possible.

It was that hug, short as it was, that showed Hemlock that love was always the answer.

"Thank goodness you're all right."

Molly whispered into her soaked curls, giving one last long squeeze before pulling away, idly brushing the drooping locks clinging to Hemlock's soggy forehead.

Hagrid coughed into a tight fist.

"Haven't go' any brandy, have yeh, Molly?"

Quickly, at the sharp look Molly shot him, Hagrid tacked on a shaky reasoning.

"Fer medicinal purposes, o' course."

Fred came in moments later, wet, but no worse for wear. Ron followed suit with Hermione. George came back too, though he was one ear lesser.

They all came home, every single one of them.

There had been laughter.

Jokes.

Love.

There had been love, that night, thick in the air. Hemlock watched it bloom in the small space between Ron and Hermione, shot like arrows in their shy glances. In Molly's smile, dipping in her dimples. Speckled between Fred's freckles. Woven amongst the sheets of George's bandages.

In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, sitting amongst the dead, so many dead, of the Final Battle, Hemlock Potter swore an oath in the crushing silence.

There would be love again.

Thoughts?

A.N: There's been a bit of confusion about updates, and really, it's my own fault for not saying anything before now. So I thought I would take just a moment to clear things up. When I say daily updates, I really mean from Monday to Friday, as at the weekends I work on my other fics. So, this fic will not be updated on Saturdays and Sundays. Sorry for the misunderstanding.