PRELUDE: Infusion
She was too far along for this. Six childbirths gave her enough experience to tell her that much. In her second trimester, traipsing about the forest wasn't ideal. Not only was she feeling rather hot, but she was barefooted, and she'd left her children at home with only Arthur to look over them. Molly loved Arthur very much indeed, but she was realistic. Arthur couldn't even change diapers. So when her three-year-old twin sons went gallivanting about the countryside on a magically powered wheelbarrow, she had reason to fear.
Though it was late, the sun was just sinking down for the night. Fred and George were in for it when she caught them. They were by far the most mischievous of her children; Percy would never do something like this. But at the same time, she felt a great swell of pride in her brood. Fred and George were going to be master charmers when they grew up; the way they charmed the wheelbarrow into moving with no wand proved enough.
Unfortunately (but in a good way), Arthur's side of the family was cursed with multiple Showings, the wizarding term for when a child first showed signs of talent. These multiple Showings had started for Bill when he was only one, Charlie when he was sixteen months, Percy when he was ten months, Fred and George when they were thirteen months, and Ron had Shown when he was ten months as well. All had Shown surprisingly early (a good sign that all would be rather powerful) and often (a good sign that they would be an annoyance for long after their first Showing). But pride swelled in her all the same.
Now with her last ("No more, Arthur!" "But Molly..." "I said no!" "I wanted a girl too.") child in her womb, she trudged up the slope of the slow incline. The wheelbarrow tracks led that way. She sighed, rolling her eyes and wishing Arthur had volunteered for baby chasing. This was the fifth time this week, and though it was her turn, she really didn't want to.
Grumbling irritably, she thanked whoever was listening that Bill, Charlie, and Percy had come to Control (the wizarding term used for those who had begun to gain command over their powers) rather soon. She had a feeling Fred and George would hang onto their last bits of Showing until the very end. Maybe Ron would be well-behaved. Then she snorted. Since when were her children 'well-behaved?' Percy was, despite his age, bossy and cynical, and he was the best behaved of the bunch. Bill and Charlie were very close but troublemakers in their own right. They were leading Fred and George down the wrong path right quickly.
Molly stopped as she felt a kicking. She smiled, rubbing her belly. She always got a thrill out of this; it would be what she missed most about children. It made her feel whole to have children, knowing they would continue the Weasley legacy. All the things her great family would do... And this one especially, the one she was carrying. She was a girl, this much Molly knew. There was no test to see if children were boys or girls in the wizarding world, only that feeling a witch would get when she carried a child in her womb.
She had successfully predicted her first six children, knowing almost automatically they would be strong, healthy, little boys. She didn't fool herself; she was no diviner. In fact, Divination had probably been her worst subject, until it came to dreams, that is. She had a special gift in that particular field.
It had manifested when she turned sixteen, near the end of her sixth year. She had begun dreaming more frequently, sleeping less often, then more often, and seeing through a gauze-like film during the day, as though she was half-asleep. She had learned from her mother that summer that she, as her mother and her mother's mother before her, was a Dreamweaver.
"A Dreamweaver," her mother had explained, "is just that. You have the ability to create dreams, enter other people's dreams, change their dreams, and interpret what they mean. It's a very special gift, Molly, and I expect you to respect it and use it well."
And she did. Molly had always kept her power in check; though sometimes when she was stressed it would become unmanageable, and she would intercept other people's dreams on accident. It was something that happened when she was young, something that terrified her very much, mostly because she never had any control over whose dreams she invaded, however accidental it was. Arthur's dreams were always very simple, full of love and hope and invention and so many other wonderful things. But it was when she captured the dreams of scary people, people like Lucius Malfoy, that she regretted her ability.
It had happened her seventh year; she had been tutoring a group of first years in Potions, a class she was surprisingly good at. A skinny, blonde boy with sharp gray eyes and a wicked tongue was ordered into the group by the Potions professor, Marian Glamis. Truth be told, Lucius at age eleven was wretched and painfully insulting.
She had been stressed one day because of him and accidentally captured a dream of his. It was a nightmare; it had to have been. There was blood and terror everywhere. There were visions, very quick, of an older, blonde-haired man looking to be Lucius' father, beating him with a cane and cursing him, using Unforgivables even.
Molly shivered at the memory, hoping her child would never have to experience dreams like that. She rubbed her belly again, trying to calm her child with good dreams. That was the thing that had given her baby away as a potential Dreamweaver; she was very susceptive to early dream manipulation. She remembered her mother explaining it to her a few years ago, before she died. Her mother would have liked a granddaughter.
Smiling as her child settled, she took off once again, looking ahead of her at the setting sun and checking the path for signs of wheelbarrow. It seemed Fred and George had veered off to the left.
Then a chill ran down her back, and she stiffened. She knew that feeling. Her eyes flashed to the right, opposite the way of her boys. In the distance something was happening, something deeply magical. She felt it in her bones, her blood, her very cells. It was everywhere, a humming, deep, elemental sensation. Molly realized there could only be one thing happening. She had to run.
It would be a Meeting; there was no doubt about it. But there should have been a warning; there should have been reports. Couldn't they predict this stuff now? And her children were out when it happened! She had to get to them and fast. So she began to run. It was slow moving; she couldn't let the Meeting reach her. It meant saving four lives, the lives of Fred and George, her unborn daughter's and her own. Moving as fast as she could away from the charging Meeting, she let out a grunt of pain as she tripped and just barely landed on her back, shielding her daughter.
She clutched her stomach, hoping the Meeting would pass right over her. It was doubtful, but maybe. The humming feeling came closer, closer and closer until her whole body vibrated with it. The heat had become immense, too much for her baby to handle, she knew. It was almost too much for her; she felt like passing out. The fiery waves of heat whipped around her body, a scorching tornado.
She realized it was a meeting of Fire and Wind, and she forgot to tell herself how lucky she was. If it was Fire and Water or Earth and Wind, she would have been dead by now. The Meeting of polar opposites usually ended in catastrophe, death, and destruction. As it was, Meetings could kill tens to tens of thousands, but getting caught in a Meeting of, say, Fire and Water was lethal.
But just as she was sure that all would end, giving out one wish and prayer that at least her children were safe, everything stopped. She figured it was the eye of the Meeting, the central point where no activity occurred. Straining with the heat still, she opened her eyes cautiously.
It was bright, almost too bright. A red color was mixing with a clear, almost silvery color. It was vibrating all around her, the pure magic of the elements almost too much for her. It was like radiation, penetrating her soul and, she feared, the soul of her unborn child.
Then a deep, booming voice fell upon her ears. "Human of the Earth! You have been chosen as a vessel! Accept or die, it is your choice. Choose death, and you choose the death of your children as well."
Molly was stunned into silence. She had been chosen as a vessel for what exactly?
And as though the voice had heard her, it answered. "You will be a vessel for the Child; the Meeting of Fire and Wind has been completed successfully, and offspring has occurred. Accept your charge or die; it is your choice."
A moment of belligerence came over Molly, and she forced herself to stand, physically spiting the pressure caused by the magic around her. "And what of my child!? Should I sacrifice my daughter for the Powers?"
To her surprise, there was a silence. She wondered for a moment if she had gone too far and the Meeting was going to kill her. A few moments later, the voice returned. "A pact can be made with you, Human of the Earth. Your daughter will be a hybrid, a living, breathing combination of fire, wind, and flesh."
Molly's mouth fell. They would make her daughter elemental? How? Why? Oh, why did she have to be caught up in this? A sigh escaped her, and she felt like waving her hands in defeat. Oh, the life her daughter would live. And she would live, no matter what Molly had to do.
"And you will not harm my boys?" she asked carefully.
"Their safety will be ensured," came the answer.
Hanging her head, Molly agreed to the terms.
She didn't clearly remember what happened next. She remembered feeling very light, and a bright glow everywhere. It was like a metallic red, and it was everywhere. She remembered fire and wind, lots of wind and even more fire, and then spinning.
When she woke, she was on the ground, her head pounding and her belly aching. Two high-pitched voices were crying at her, red-headed children. It dawned on her; they were Fred and George.
"Mummy! Mummy!" Fred wailed.
"We want to go home, Mummy!" George reiterated.
They were on the ground next to her, both with tears rolling down their cheeks and blotchy red spots on their faces. Smiling, but with tears in her eyes, Molly hugged both of her boys close to her. She began to stand, feeling the ache in her belly and deciding to check on her baby. Her dreams were soft and content, a child's dreams. It seemed as though the Meeting had no lasting impression on her. Molly smiled wanly; she was going to have a lot to explain to her baby girl.
Her hands went to her belly, and she rubbed it absently. Then she stopped and looked down. Her belly was a lot larger. And she meant a lot. She looked like she was ready to burst! While Fred and George had been big for twins, they were nothing like this. Molly felt as though an anvil were in her stomach, not a baby. She groaned as she walked, taking the hands of Fred and George.
"Mummy?" Fred asked, looking up with big, blue eyes. He appeared to be over his fear now; being with his mother soothed his worries. "You're big, Mummy."
"Bigger than this morning," George added.
"Mummy feels big," Molly said labouredly, going down the hill at a steady, but slow, pace. She saw the Burrow and wanted to cry. Home at last! The first thing she was going to do was sleep, that was, if the aching in her belly ever stopped.
Fred and George ran to the house, calling loudly to their father, something Molly was happy for. But when Arthur came out, his jaw dropped at what he saw. Molly couldn't blame him; she would have done the same thing. She knew she looked like a balloon, and she certainly felt like one.
"Molly?" he said to her, obviously confused. He said it slowly, the voice he used when he didn't understand. "Molly, what happened?"
"I got caught, Arthur," she said tiredly, falling into his open arms. He held her soundly, kissing her forehead, his strong arms wrapping around her, comforting her. "The Meeting came upon me too fast."
Arthur stiffened. "It should have been me, Molly. I don't even know how you survived. Oh gods, what have I done? What happened to you?"
"I..."
Then Molly stopped. It had happened. She looked up at Arthur with her big, brown eyes, face telling all. "Arthur...my water broke. We have to go...NOW!"
"We're not ready! Oh Merlin! Okay, Molly, can you Apparate?" he asked, looking frantic.
"Not this time," she ground out. This was magically induced; she knew it! Damn interfering Elements! Merlin! The contractions weren't supposed to come yet! "Get me to Mungo's now, Arthur!"
"All right! All right! The Floo, the Floo! We'll take the Floo!" he said excitedly.
Molly wanted desperately to punch him, but knew he was just excited about the baby. Why did men get like this? And her husband, of all people? Six childbirths! "Call Meredith Diggory to take care of the boys," Molly said as calmly as she could.
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Arthur said frantically, going inside to use the Floo.
Bill, Charlie, and Percy, who had come out of the house by then, looked up at her. Well, Bill, who was twelve, could almost look down on her. "Charlie and I can take care of Percy, Fred, George, and Ron, Mum," Bill volunteered.
Molly smiled in spite of her condition. "I'm sure you can, Bill," she said gently.
"I don't need to be taken care of!" Percy pouted, standing closer to Molly as he said it, his bottom lip puffing out. "I'm old enough."
"I'm sure you are, Percy," Molly said, another, magically induced contraction coming and passing. At least they weren't that bad...yet.
"Oh, Molly!" a blonde, blue-eyed woman said in a matronly voice. Molly sighed in relief. It was Meredith. "I just came; I'd be happy to take care of the boys for a few days. Go now! And good lord, Molly, you're huge!"
Molly gritted her teeth. Meredith smiled knowingly, the swell of a second child in her already. "All right, Meredith," Molly said in a strained voice.
Arthur came up behind her, leading her to the fireplace, and they took the Floo to Mungo's. Almost immediately, she was on a bed, the contractions wracking her body. She found herself wishing adamantly that she had never been caught in the Meeting and that she wasn't so pregnant. She felt slightly stretched, like all the nutrients had been taken from her body and given to her new child. She figured that was what had happened and wanted to wreak havoc on any person who said childbirth was easy.
It wasn't long after that the nurses told her they were going to have to put her under; the childbirth would have been too hard on her otherwise. Having gone through six childbirths already, she wasn't happy about this. But having no other choice when they actually did put her under, her opinions weren't voiced.
It was hours and hours later that Molly woke. The familiar soreness of her back, legs, stomach, and vaginal path, combined with her feeling of tired contentment, reminded her that she had, of course, just given birth and wanted to see her baby, her baby girl. Asleep in the chair next to her was Arthur, his glasses pushed on top of his head and a Muggle mechanics book on his lap. He looked rather wretched, his hair a mess, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, and his robes tossed over him like a thin blanket. Molly sighed, reaching over and putting a hand on her husband's to wake him.
Arthur jumped lightly, snorting and looking around. Molly smiled at him, suddenly feeling rather dirty; dried sweat perforating her nose. But Arthur's big, blue eyes smiled, and he got up, kissing her on the forehead and clasping her hand with his.
"She's a girl, Mol," he said quietly, his eyes looking shiny with tears. "I named her Virginia - Virginia Anne Weasley."
"It's a beautiful name, Arthur," Molly replied. "But I think I'd like to see her as well."
Arthur smiled and stood, but when he reached the door, he stopped and turned, an uncertain look on his face. "Molly, will you be ready to receive visitors in the next hour or so?"
Molly turned to him, her eyes frowning. "Yes. But...but why? Who?"
Arthur nodded. "Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody...and," at this, Arthur licked his lips and ran his hand through his hair nervously, "Duncan."
Molly gasped. "Duncan? Are you sure? Are you quite sure, Arthur?"
Arthur nodded, closing the door behind him. In a few minutes, he returned with their daughter Virginia. Molly temporarily forgot all her questions as she caught first sight of her daughter. Arthur placed Virginia in Molly's hands, smoothing the white birthing towel down so Virginia's face was showing. Molly took Virginia, astonished at how heavy she was, but smiled anyway.
"Five and a half kilograms, Mol," Arthur said, recognizing her dismay. "Bigger than Fred and George combined. I'm so proud of you, Molly."
Molly nodded dumbly, placing her hand on the forehead of Virginia and marveling at her hair. It wasn't like the rest of her family's hair, more orange than deep red. Virginia's hair was red like roses, red like blood. Then she noticed something, a strange mark on the back of Virginia's head where her hair was still very light.
"The doctors don't know what it is," Arthur said, sitting on the edge of the bed lightly. "They think it is in the shape of some ancient rune, one we don't have records for. But given the Meeting you were caught in, it's probably Fire and Wind."
Molly looked up at Arthur. "Why is Duncan coming, Arthur? We haven't seen him in...in years. Not since I was twenty at least."
Arthur ran his hand through his hair again, looking to the door. "He is the head of the Department of Mysteries, Molly. This is what he does."
Molly frowned. The last time she'd seen Duncan he had wanted her to participate in some research, genetic-altering, scientific thing. He wanted her to be a guinea pig of some sort. He wanted to do something to her children; in Molly's book, that made him mad.
It had all started in school; he had been in her and Arthur's year, a Ravenclaw so smart he made most of the teachers look like fools. He had deduced her secret, her Dreamweaver's secret, and had questioned her mercilessly. She thought if she gave him a glimpse, inserted a dream here and there, changed one here and there, he'd leave her alone. But he'd become obsessed, and she'd told Arthur to keep him away from her. She and Arthur had been dating since they were fourth years and had liked each other since they were children living in the same neighborhood. But back then, Arthur was much more territorial of her and was known to beat up people on sight.
All that combined with the fact that she really didn't trust Duncan Welsh made her uneasy about seeing him again.
"Mol," Arthur said quietly.
He was looking at Virginia, and Molly turned to look into her daughter's eyes for the first time. Molly smiled. They were brown, but not any brown, a metal, bronze color with gold flecks. Her red eyelashes fluttered delicately, and her pink lips opened slightly to breathe. Molly felt her eyes tearing. She had never seen a more beautiful baby in her life. She smiled and wiped away her tears.
"She's beautiful, Molly," Arthur said. "She's so beautiful."
"I know," Molly whispered. Molly let her mind reach Virginia's, delving lightly into her daughter's young mind, sending happy feelings and dreams her way. Virginia fell asleep, a content look on her face. "I know," Molly repeated, holding Virginia closely.
She looked up at Arthur, who was taking off his fogging glasses and cleaning them, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Her eyes are so beautiful. They're like magnets. She'll be a real looker when she grows up."
Molly smiled, and would have said more, but there were loud voices coming from outside her room. A frown touched Arthur's lips, and he stood, reaching the door as it flew open. A man about his own height burst in, two other men following.
Molly recognized the first as Duncan Welsh. He hadn't changed much since she'd seen him nearly a decade ago. His black eyes and black hair still dark, but his hair had a few grays about the edges. He was broad, broader than Arthur, but a bit shorter. The next man Molly recognized as Alastor Moody, his black eyes flying about the scene wearily and taking a quick drink from his flask. After Alastor Moody was Albus Dumbledore. Molly smiled at him only, for his grandfatherly face and cheerful eyes went first to her and then her daughter.
"Arthur, Molly," Dumbledore said mildly. "How glorious to see you both. I see you have a new addition to your growing family; she's a beautiful little girl."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Arthur said; Molly could tell he felt a little uncomfortable.
"Weasley," Moody barked. "Good to see you, boy." He extended a hand, something he did for very few people, and shook Arthur's soundly. Arthur had been one of Moody's main Aurors when Moody still trained Aurors. They had remained good friends, and Arthur, the head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, had gotten him off in a few accounts of enchanting a Muggle item for wizarding use.
"Arthur, Molly, pleasant to see you again," Duncan Welsh said, his voice the same as Molly remembered. It was deep and almost terrifying. She wanted to shiver, but she didn't. "A new bundle of joy to take home, I see."
"Duncan," Arthur said stiffly, being a man and extending a hand.
Duncan looked at it and sneered. "Charmed, Arthur, charmed."
Molly clutched Virginia closer to her, and an uncomfortable silence occurred, broken by Dumbledore. "Molly," Dumbledore said kindly, extending his arms, "do you mind?"
Molly shook her head, and Dumbledore took Virginia, holding her paternally in his arms. She cooed lightly, grabbing at Dumbledore's silvery beard in her tiny, pudgy fingers. Dumbledore smiled at this, the whole sight making Molly and Arthur smile. Dumbledore put a hand on Virginia's forehead, closing his eyes for a moment.
Then a smile appeared on his lined face. "You have a very beautiful daughter, Molly and Arthur, and a very powerful witch I think. I'd watch out for this one; she'll Show very early."
Moody snorted. "What else is new? Are you done, Albus?"
"Ahem!" a deep voice barked. "I'm not done." It was Duncan. "I would like to perform an experiment of my own."
"I'm sure you would," Arthur spat. "Too bad you won't come within three feet of Virginia. I want you to leave, Duncan. I don't ever want to see you near her, not ever. That goes for all my children."
This earned a slow, evil smile from Duncan. "Well, if that's how you feel, I'm sorry, Arthur..."
"Don't worry," Arthur growled. "It is."
Dumbledore gave Molly back a happily, gurgling Virginia, smiling at her and seemingly taking no interest in the words between Arthur and Duncan. Moody, however, took a keen interest in it, his eyes gauging and judging speculatively.
"Congratulations, Molly and Arthur," Dumbledore said. "I cannot wait for the day when young Virginia attends Hogwarts."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Arthur said. "But we've had a long day, and Molly is very tired. If there's anything else, I'd love for you to come over for tea if you're not too busy. It would be our pleasure. And Alastor, I still have some paperwork I need to give you, so I'll see you on Monday."
Moody grunted, nodding and moving Duncan out of the room with his eyes, following quietly. Dumbledore smiled kindly and nodded to Molly and Arthur.
"Congratulations again, and I think I will stop by for some tea, next Wednesday perhaps?"
"That would be wonderful, Headmaster," Molly said, cradling Virginia gently, Virginia's little hands reaching up. "Goodbye."
Dumbledore closed the door, leaving Molly and Arthur to look over a very complacent Virginia.
"Ginny," Arthur said softly, sitting on the bed again. "Ginny..."
Molly smiled. "Yes, we'll call her Ginny."
"What are you thinking, Alastor?"
A sigh. "She's powerful all right. Weasley and Molly probably couldn't feel it because they'd become accustomed to it. But the elemental power in that room went off the Benson's Scale."
"We've been having problems with that scale though. It should have picked up the Meeting days and days before it did, especially one that powerful. It's a wonder indeed that Molly lived, Molly and the baby."
"Albus, we didn't know that one was coming. There was no way; it was completely spontaneous. It happens sometimes."
"I know, Alastor, I know."
"What did you feel in her? Does she have the gift?"
"Does she have the gift? Yes, she has the gift. It is stronger than Molly's, stronger than Eva's even. She will cause problems in Hogwarts; I can feel it already."
"An Elemental at Hogwarts. An Elemental and Dreamweaver. Has that ever happened before, Albus?"
"We've had a few Elementals. Minerva, if you remember, is a child of Fire. Her mother was raped by a Fire Spirit. And Narcissa Black - well, Malfoy now - she is a pure Wind Elemental."
"I thought she was just part Veela."
"No, Wind Elemental."
"I wondered why that bastard Lucius Malfoy would choose a Ravenclaw as a wife. The Malfoys were always so Slytherin based. I wonder how he found out."
"She saved his life, Alastor. She saved his life using her gift. But in answer to your other question, no, we've never had an Elemental Dreamweaver, though we've had Dreamweavers, most of them Tuckers, Molly's mother's line."
A silence.
"Then how will you deal with her, Albus?"
Another silence.
"When the time comes, I think I will know."
A snort. "Well, isn't that handy? What are we going to do about Duncan Welsh then? You saw the way he looked at the girl. She'll be in danger of him for the rest of her life."
A sigh. "We will put up very powerful charms and barriers, Alastor. Flitwick will help. We will protect her as best we can. But I fear she is not only in danger from Duncan Welsh. I fear the worst of her dangers are not yet realized."
"Voldemort."
"Yes."
"But he's dead."
"You should know better than that, Alastor."
"The Potter boy did a rather convincing job then. We couldn't find a trace of the bastard."
A nod. "I rather suspected you wouldn't."
"So now what?"
A lemon drop plucked from a bowl. "We'll wait."
NEXT TIME ON ELEMENTAL:
"N - n - no, My Lord," came the nervous reply of Wormtail.
"This, Wormtail, is how I know."
Slowly, as though he were moving though water, the dark master of Wormtail reached into his black robe and fingered his wand with care.
"This, my dear Wormtail, is how I know.
"CRUCIO!"
Ginny woke with a start, her sweat plastering her crimson hair on her forehead and making her bed seem like a sauna. How did it get so hot in here? She rolled out of bed, her thin shirt and short pajama shorts clinging to her like a second skin in the moist air. It was summer; it was to be expected. She wished she could take a quick dip in the waterhole round the back of her house.