“You’re too young, you don’t even know what love is,” said her mother.

Ginny listened. Her mother continued, talking about adversity, temptation, seeing the world, not settling down before she’d had a chance to be free. She went on, and finally she told her daughter that, while she wouldn’t give up a single one of her babies and she loved her husband dearly, she’d always regretted not having a life outside of being a child or a wife and mother. She didn’t want her daughter to repeat her—not mistakes, never mistakes, but regrets, paths not taken, hardships shouldered that could’ve been avoided or delayed. Molly cried, and Ginny cried as well, as she listened.

Listened, but didn’t change her mind. When her mother realized that, she snapped some nasty comments and orders, forbidding Ginny to see That Boy, to leave the house, to even think of defying her mother.

Nodding politely, Ginny left the room, only the spontaneous shattering of various small objects testifying to the intensity of her rage.

That seemed to be the end of it. Ginny drifted through the days like a lost soul, quiet and compliant and nothing like her real, imperfect, self. She didn’t confide in her mother again, or anyone else for that matter.

Soon enough she started to eat again, and laugh, and take interest in the things around her. Her mother looked on smugly, sure that she had been proven right. The storm of emotions had abated, and soon her daughter would come around, and thank her mother for keeping her from making a terrible mistake.

Before that happened, Ginny was gone. Her clothes remained. Everything remained, everything except the few things that had been gifts from people outside the immediate family. It was as if Ginny had just stepped out, but her open window gave mute testimony about what had happened.

All the Weasley men were in an uproar, but Molly was quiet as she sat heavily on Ginny’s bed, rumpling the perfectly smooth sheets. She knew where Ginny was, or rather, she knew who Ginny was with. The only real question in her mind was how long it would be before she saw her daughter again, and how much of her potential would by then be irretrievably wasted.

It was a month before a letter came, anonymous and untraceable, and five years before any of the Weasleys saw Ginny again. The day after her twenty-first birthday, Ginny knocked on the front door of the Burrow. The family always used the kitchen door – the front door was for strangers. That Ginny knocked on that door made it clear she wasn’t coming home.

As a matter of fact, she was laying down a gauntlet. The former Miss Weasley had come to visit after having reached sufficient age that there was no legal way for her parents to interfere with her choice to be a Malfoy. It broke her mother’s heart to see how cool and formal her fiery daughter had become, calmly informing her parents that she would like to reestablish contact, but that she would not accept any criticism of her choices or her husband.

She left soon after, leaving her parents to alternate which was furious and which was attempting to be the voice of reason. A particular point of contention was the insidious pain and resentment of knowing that his parents had known for almost a year where the children were and what they were doing.

Ultimately they accepted her terms – what choice did they have? – and Ginny eventually started coming to the kitchen door again. That Boy was now referred to by name, at least if there was the slightest chance of Ginny hearing. He never quite got the ‘dear’ appended to his name, as Harry and assorted Weasley girlfriends got, but he wasn’t the type that would like that, so no one complained.

It was when Ginny was twenty-seven and anticipating the imminent arrival of her first child that she sat in front of the Burrow’s kitchen hearth and said, “I did know what love is. I still do.”

“What, dear?” Molly said absently, picking up a dropped stitch in the baby blanket she was knitting.

“When I left,” Ginny said. “We did struggle, you know. His parents weren’t any happier than you were. Both of us had to work, and there were some nights we didn’t eat.”

Molly didn’t know what to say. She’d feared that same scenario, over the years, but had comforted herself by thinking That Boy would have had money from his parents. Ginny shrugged and continued, “It’s past now, and I think it was good for us. We know we can make it on our own, and that what we have is strong enough to survive the toughest times. But…”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t want to fight, but sometimes you still treat us like we don’t know what we’re doing – like my marriage is something temporary. We may have been young, but that doesn’t mean we were wrong.”

“You ran away!” The cry came from Molly before she could help it. “You were seventeen, and you ran away from home! If that’s not wrong--”

“Mum!” Ginny pulled Molly’s knitting out of her hands before she could mangle it further. “You had locked me in my room, forbid me from seeing him, and you and Dad were attempting to cast the Fidelius Charm to hide me from him. Maybe you would have calmed down, but… I do come by my stubbornness honestly.”

Molly’s mouth drew into a thin line. “It was the right thing to do. If you’re really in love, it doesn’t make a difference to wait.”

Her temper sparking, Ginny snapped, “Oh, yes, and maybe if I’d waited a bit, I’d have found myself married to Harry before my head could spin. You weren’t such a fan of waiting when you were telling me all about how you’d fallen in love with Dad just like I fell for Harry, and how you married right out of Hogwarts. Well, so did I, and with the man I love, not the boy I had a crush on!”

The silence throbbed as the two women glared at each other. After a long moment, Ginny stood up, grimacing and clutching her heavy stomach, and Molly had the desperate thought that if she left this time, she’d never be back. “Wait!”

“Wait.” Ginny sat back down and Molly followed suit. “I-- I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Molly felt oddly liberated by the statement of what she hadn’t known she felt. The crooked smile on Ginny’s face just added to the feeling of lightness, and Molly laughed. “You’re right – you do come by your stubbornness honestly.”

That made Ginny laugh, too, and afterwards, while Molly was trying to think of the perfect thing to say, Ginny looked at her slyly and said, “By the way, Draco says that you can still call him ‘That Boy.’ He says it’s practically a nickname now, and he’d miss it if you stopped.”

Giving her a hard look, Molly shook her head, then sighed. “I suppose I’d miss it, too. And I’m sure he’d rather be separate than be lumped in with the boys in general.”

“Too right. Draco’s much too stuck-up to ever be part of the crowd.” Ginny smirked, her hand still resting on her belly. “It’s such a relief to have that settled. Now I don’t have to pretend to you that he’s perfect.”

Molly paused and lowered the knitting she’d retrieved. “You… I mean, you haven’t…”

“No, Mum.” Ginny grinned, showing her teeth. “Our love is perfect, it’s just life that isn’t. I never want to be without him, but I could do without the fact that he can’t seem to leave the house without half an hour of primping.”

It was Molly’s turn to look mischievous. “Oh, I think he will.”

Ginny protested, and Molly looked smug as she walked to the fireplace. Calling for Draco as she tossed the powder in, Molly knelt so her face was just barely in the flames. Ginny couldn’t see or hear anything other than Molly’s voice, but it was enough. “Draco? Do you know who Ginny’s midwitch is? She’s having some pains… Oh, probably nothing. I’m just being—no, that’s not necessary, we’ll be fine. You just go back to what you were doing; I’ll take care of her.”

Stepping back to break the connection, Molly then sprinkled a bit more powder onto the fire to block any new calls. “Five minutes, no more.”

“Not a chance,” snorted Ginny. She frowned then, briefly. “Although my back does hurt. The little devil’s been kicking the stuffing out of me.”

“Has he? Or she, of course.” Molly was completely calm as she said, “How often? You’ve been wincing a lot, dear, and rubbing your stomach.”

Ginny looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure. It twinges, but it’s not cramping at all. Maybe we really should call, just in ca--”

There was a series of cracks like rolling thunder, just outside, and they could hear Draco shouting, “There’s no time, you idiots! Just go in!”

He paused only briefly as Molly opened the door and showed them in. Ginny choked as she saw Draco, still in his pajama pants and nothing else, with his hair tousled and soot spotting his face and torso.

“I feel fine, really,” Ginny said, tugging her hand to retrieve it from Draco’s clutches. “I’ve got a backache, that’s all, I’ve had them for--” She broke off to glare at the stranger in Healer robes pointing a wand at her and lifting her robes. “Oy! If we haven’t been introduced, you keep your wand to yourself!”

“Now, darling…” Draco started, but trailed off at the glare she gave him. He cleared his throat and said, “Come on, Weasley, don’t be an idiot.”

He stopped talking in order to duck, and the Healer behind him started shrieking as his legs and arms turned to jelly. One of his arms flailed out and struck another Healer square on the back, knocking her into Draco, who pushed her away. She landed against Molly’s china cabinet, but as that had been under protective spells since Bill had first started to crawl, the woman bounced off again, careening into the jelly-Healer’s writhing limbs. The two fell to the ground, landing in a position entirely too suggestive for comfort, and coincidentally knocking the midwitch’s legs from under her.

Molly maintained a neutral expression throughout, and when the three medics landed on the floor, Ginny’s glare cracked and she started laughing. When the jelly-Healer’s arms flailed out to land on the midwitch’s chest, and his legs wrapped around the other Healer, Ginny had to clutch her stomach and gasp for breath.

Draco’s eyes went wide and he whipped his wand over the writhing medics until they were once again on their feet, albeit flushed and rumpled. He winced as Ginny’s nails sank into his other wrist. “Spells. Pain spells. Now.”

The three medics sprang into action, one Healer taking her vital statistics, the other monitoring the baby, while the midwitch hit Draco with a calming spell.

Molly stood by, smiling slightly as the bustle built around the shouting Ginny. Retrieving her wand from her knitting basket, Molly expanded the hearth sufficiently to accommodate the stretcher the midwitch had transfigured out of Ginny’s chair. She held out the Floo powder, then stood back to allow the entourage to pass through. Draco went last, looking around wildly despite the spell, and Molly patted his arm. “You go on,” she said. “I’ll bring you some clothes, and tell the family.”

“Yes, clothes,” he said distractedly. “Ginny’ll need her nightgown, it’s in the bag that the house elves have.” He turned to step into the fireplace, and only Molly’s speed with the Floo powder kept him from getting quite badly burned.

After restoring the fireplace she called the Malfoy house elves, and left a message for Arthur, then sat back and sighed – her baby was having a baby! Her eye roamed over the photographs on the mantel, and settled on one from Ginny’s last year at Hogwarts, a photo in which Draco would occasionally pop out of hiding to give her kisses and drag her back to sit with him behind the bushes.

“Ten years,” Molly said to herself, indulging in another heartfelt sigh. “I suppose they weren’t too young, after all.”