And now these three remain: hope, faith and love. But the greatest of these is love.

-1 Corinthians 13:13

Summary: Two women, a world of difference between them, find common ground through a force that bridges canyons and finds triumph in the bitterest of wars.

Disclaimer: If only. But I don't own them, and if you sue me, you'll get a jar of Nutella, a couple of dimes and a bottle of cod liver oil vitamins. Up to you whether it's worth it.

Since the end of the war Molly Weasley had hardly ventured to go outside on her own. It was irrational, perhaps, since the end of Voldemort's attempt to seize power meant many of the dangers that had haunted her daily were now removed. Indeed, her status as war hero, friend of Harry Potter and mother to acknowledged hero Ronald Weasley meant she had hardly ever been safer amongst her fellow wizards, as the only ones who would wish her harm were far from civilization fleeing justice at present, being hotly pursued by zealous Aurors.

Yet perhaps because of the heartache she had endured during the war, the unspeakable loss she had borne with the loss of her son and the maiming effect taking another life during the last battle had had upon her, Mrs. Weasley could not help but wish she could remain constantly at the Burrow with her dearly beloved and their children, ignoring the rest of the world.

But Molly Weasley of all people knew quite well that life must go on; it did not stop for the whims of men or angels, even the tragic heroes of the world whose sustained losses meant life could never continue in quite the way it had before. Mrs. Weasley was what might consider a tough old cookie, whose kind heart and gentle spirit had earned her a place in Gryffindor house during her Hogwarts years, yet whose stalwart bravery had also made the Sorting Hat determined that house was the perfect one for her. She did not back down from trials when they rose to block her way; rather, she squared her shoulders, faced the situation with a grim but determined face and marched onward, wand held aloft, to conquer whatever trouble might be trying to bring her down.

This was the sort of attitude, therefore, was what caused Molly Weasley to find herself approaching Diagon Alley in the dim light of early morning, convicted by her own sense of duty to put the needs of her family before her own.

It had been six weeks since the downfall of the darkest wizard the living world had ever seen and five weeks since the funeral of Mrs. Weasley's son. She still could not bear to think of it, and whenever the thought of Fred rose in her mind she forced it down with a tremulous little gasp, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Sometimes she could not help herself and broke down, collapsing onto the nearest couch, until her concerned husband, sons, Harry or Hermione found her and did what they could to comfort her until her sobs subsided.

"Just being silly," she would mutter embarrassedly, patting her eyes with her handkerchief, and of course Arthur or Ron or whoever would hug her and assure her it was not so, and this tender affection would make her burst into tears all over again.

Nevertheless, this emotional fragility did not prevent her strong Gryffindor spirit from putting the needs of others before her own, and that was what brought her outside in the slick gray of another drippy morning. The Weasley family had been the recipient of many food gifts for three or so weeks after the end of the war, from sympathetic well-wishers not so blighted who realized the difficulty Mrs. Weasley might have in cooking for a family after what she had endured. After these gifts had dwindled, the family had managed to get by on the pantry stores and natural products of their gardens and livestock for awhile, but after a few weeks their stocks were beginning to run low. Mrs. Weasley had finally come to the conclusion, upon checking the chickens and her pantry and discovering only three eggs and a disorganized set of ingredients which wouldn't equal much in terms of feeding the family, that it was necessary to leave the Burrow and shop for groceries.

She hadn't wanted to go alone; she knew it might be silly, but she liked having her husband or one of her tall, strong boys with her, just in case, but she had made up her mind she was being ridiculous. What was more, she was determined that her family would not wake up to an empty breakfast table, and thus had bundled up before the sun had risen and headed to Diagon Alley in order to access Worgible's Discount Wizarding Vittles and Miscellany. Worgible's was a large store in Stockingedleg Alley which carried everything from food to potions to basic broomstick repair kits. It was much farther away than Viscount's Whole and Unmagicked Foods, which carried only the best of foods, grown naturally by those who felt food was purer without the help of magic, but the privilege of shopping at Viscount's was accompanied by a steep price tag which Mrs. Weasley had never been able to afford and doubted she ever would.

Mrs. Weasley stifled a yawn. The sun was barely beginning to poke over the tops of the shops of Diagon Alley, which was rather like Central Street, having other alleys such as Knockturn and Stockingedleg curving off it. She hurried through Diagon, head down, paying little attention to anything else around her except to ensure she did not walk into anyone or anything. Her hands were tucked into her pockets, right hand clasped around her wand, just in case. Not like there were many people to run into, anyhow; if someone had asked her, Mrs. Weasley would have supposed she saw fewer than a dozen other souls the entirety of her walk through Diagon.

It was surprising, therefore, when the undisturbed fog of the morning was broken by the low, jeering taunts of a handful of urchin boys who seemed to merely be out looking for trouble. Mrs. Weasley shivered slightly; this was exactly why she'd wanted to bring Arthur with her, in case there was any riffraff around trying to cause trouble. In the back of her mind she knew perfectly well she was totally capable of defending herself (she had survived the last battle at Hogwarts - no, she had done more than that, she had helped win the thing) but she couldn't help feeling a little flip of apprehension in her stomach.

Three boys around twelve or thirteen were scooping up handfuls of soot from the ground and tossing it in the direction of a tall, well-dressed woman whose hooded garment hid her face. Her head was bowed; she was doing her best to ignore the boys, and appeared to have cast a Shield Charm around herself as the soot was merely bouncing off and leaving no mark. They seemed to be closing in around her, however, and were shouting at her.

"Yer charm won't last forever, missus," one of them shouted. He flung another handful of soot at her, clearly attempting to catch her in between charms, but to no avail.

The woman made no response, just glanced down at a piece of parchment in her hand. She cast her eyes around, appearing to seek something, but futilely. She was obviously very out of place, and lost.

One of the boys reached out to snatch the parchment from her; Molly expected the charm to prevent it, but it seemed at that moment it wore out, and the urchin tore it from her hand with a successful crow as the others immediately began to fling soot onto her with malicious vigour.

Now, really! Molly thought indignantly as she hurried forward to aid the hapless woman.

The other woman had wand in hand but seemed hesitant to use it.

"Go on, missus, hex me," screeched one of the boys, waving his arms in front of her like an ugly monkey.

"I dare you! An' we'll be laughing, won't we, when you've gone the same way as your rotter of a husband!"

Molly saw the woman's fist clench around her wand but she did not use it; she seemed to lose all desire to find whatever she was looking for and instead tried, silently, to get around her provokers.

They, naturally, were not keen on losing the object of their sport and one raised a hand seemingly to strike her. Molly immediately sensed things were about to get ugly and in a loud voice called, "Protego!" so a shield sprang up between the boys and the woman, and the boy was flung back.

"You just leave her alone," Molly called as she advanced, wand held before her threateningly. "Don't you think I won't use this to put boils on your rumps, all of you - get out of here now before I report you."

Scowling heartily, the boys dropped their handfuls of ash as well as the parchment the tall woman had been holding and scampered off, disappearing quickly in the mist.

Molly finally reached the woman and now bent over the retrieve the parchment.

The woman was huddled to the wall, her face to it so Molly could still not verify her identity. She did not move, her wand held limply between long pale fingers.

"Now, let's see if I can't help you find your way," Molly said kindly, smoothing the parchment to read what was written on it. To her surprise, the parchment simply read,

Worgible's Discount Wizarding Vittles and Miscellany

501 Stockingedleg Alley

Diagon Alley, London

"Well, that's a spot of luck," said Mrs. Weasley cheerfully. "I'm headed there myself, I can show you easily..."

Her voice trailed off; the woman had still made no move to acknowledge her help or even her presence.

"I say, are you ill?" Mrs. Weasley asked uneasily. Her hand shifted to her wand. You never knew...

A long moment's silence ensued before the woman finally spoke, and when she did her voice was hoarse as though she had been weeping.

"I'm not ill."

Molly Weasley froze; she knew that voice from somewhere, yet its exact identity she could not quite...

The tall woman finally turned to her and Molly felt a muscle in her jaw tighten unconsciously as she recognized the face of Narcissa Malfoy.

"Oh," Molly said rather flatly, adding a rather awkward, "Hello," at the end. Briskly she held out the parchment to Mrs. Malfoy, who took it somewhat feebly. Mrs. Weasley began to turn away, feeling she had nothing left to say to the woman and began to proceed towards Stockingedleg again when Mrs. Malfoy's voice stopped her.

"You are headed to Worgible's?"

Molly turned back to her. "I am, yes," she said slowly. "But surely you are not..."

Narcissa Malfoy bit her lip and looked away. "I'm afraid I am," she said, with a tremour in her voice that seemed to mean she was trying to force a shred of dignity into it.

"I'm sorry to be intrusive, but isn't Viscount's more your sort of store?" Molly asked before she could stop herself. Worgible's, in run-down Stockingedleg Alley in the early hours of the morning, seemed the sort of situation Narcissa Malfoy would rather die than be caught in, yet here she was, of her own doing it seemed.

"I - normally, one of our elves performs our shopping," Mrs. Malfoy said stiffly.

Of course, Molly thought wryly. Of course she would not do her own shopping. So then why...?

The question must have been apparent on her face, for a beat later Mrs. Malfoy continued.

"We are presently facing an inquiry from the Ministry regarding treatment of our house-elves and have been unable to use them," she said. "We have been promised their return by the end of this week, but..."

She broke off suddenly.

Molly couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at this. "Surely you haven't run out of food?" she said, unable to keep something like contempt out of her voice. "That you couldn't wait until your elves' return?"

It was unlike Molly Weasley to speak with such unfriendliness bordering on coldness, but she couldn't help the distinct dislike she felt for Narcissa Malfoy on account of many things, not the least of which was her snobbery and attitude superiority. Molly couldn't rightly hate her for whatever part she had played in the war, for Harry himself had said if Mrs. Malfoy had not proclaimed him dead, Voldemort would have done again and it all would have been over. Still, Mrs. Weasley had never liked Mrs. Malfoy, not in school and not now.

Mrs. Malfoy's lips thinned as she pressed them together. "My son is ill," she said simply, quietly, and Mrs. Weasley felt an irritating rush of sympathy; it was a situation she knew only too well, but it was against her will she felt any kind of pity for this family.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Let me point you in the direction of Viscount's, then. I'm quite sure it is far more up to...your usual standards...than Worgible's."

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. Molly raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"When I inquired, I was told Worgible's was better out of the way," Mrs. Malfoy said. Molly wasn't quite sure what to say to that; yes, it was, so why would Narcissa Malfoy care to shop there?

"I wish to avoid attention," Mrs. Malfoy said plainly, haltingly. Though her manner was still haughty, her eyes pleaded for understanding, and Molly's kind heart caved as she appreciated the situation.

"Oh, come along then," she said, sighing and sweeping out an arm to the woman meant to communicate that she should follow.

"Didn't manage it very well with those urchins, though," Molly couldn't help but point out as the two walked in an awkward side-by-side stride.

"Yes, I was hardly expecting to be accosted in the early morning in an off-alley," Mrs. Malfoy said. "It was my belief that arriving at sunrise, in a lesser-known shop, I could avoid..."

Molly understood she meant she could avoid the inevitable taunts and jeers from not only children, but more likely, adults, who saw the Malfoy family as the scum of the earth and Voldemort supporters, even after the end of the war.

They continued in silence until they reached Worgible's. Mrs. Malfoy looked more than apprehensive as they arrived at the run-down shop, whose discoloured and dusty sign swinging from the brick wall seemed rather to indicate it had been long shut down than that it was a thriving business. Molly sighed internally and lead the way inside.

"Now, what are you looking for?" she asked, taking for granted that Mrs. Malfoy had no idea where anything was in the enormous discount store to save the woman further embarrassment and simply offering her help right off the bat.

"A potion...I'm not exactly sure which..."

Molly sighed yet again. "You would have been better off going to the apothecary, potions are limited here, since they only get the leftovers..."

"I am equipped to pay whatever it takes," Mrs. Malfoy said immediately.

"It isn't a matter of money," Molly said, feeling a prick of resentment despite herself. "They just don't...this is Worgible's," she said with emphasis, as though that explained everything. "They mostly receive the things other stores ordered too many of; the things they actually keep regularly in stock are limited."

Mrs. Malfoy still didn't seem to comprehend what kind of a store could not carry exactly what the customer wanted, when they wanted it, so Molly sighed for the fourth time in as many minutes and resignedly told the other woman to follow her to the Healing section of the store.

There, Molly inquired of Mrs. Malfoy what sort of illness had beset her son, and did her best to assist her in selecting an appropriate potion. Molly glanced up at the counter over which a sign floated, communicating the message that the resident Healer would be along at ten o'clock.

"If you wanted to wait, the Healer who works here can help you much better than I can...he may even be able to mix you exactly what you want, although that will take even longer," she told Mrs. Malfoy, who looked unsure.

The blonde woman held the bottle out in front of her with a frown. "What is your opinion, Madam Weasley?" she asked, politely, gravely. "I only want what is best for my son, but I would prefer not to wait..."

"I think that potion is probably fine," Molly said firmly. "It sounds like your son has a simple ailment of the throat and nose, it's nothing that woudn't clear up quickly on its own in a few days, and with the potion, he should be back on his feet in no time."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "I am...grateful...for your help," she said stiffly. Molly nodded in response, and Mrs. Malfoy turned to where Molly indicated the pay station was, when a loud voice sounded over the entire store.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a cool female voice similar to the one at the Ministry. "We regret to inform you that Worgible's defense charms have been activated and a lockdown has been initiated while the breach is investigated. We apologize for the inconvenience and invite you to maintain your current position for the duration of the investigation to assist in the simplicity and efficiency of our search. A saleswizard will be along with refreshments should more than an hour of your time be required. Once again we apologize for the inconvenience."

The voice stopped speaking. Mrs. Malfoy rounded on Mrs. Weasley, a look of outrage on her face, as though she held the shorter woman personally responsible.

"An hour? Surely an investigation cannot take that long...and why on earth have these charms been set off anyway?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Mrs. Weasley said testily as she examined the ground around her for suitability of serving as a seat. She found a crate, tipped it over and settled herself upon it, a feeling of crossness beginning to descend upon her. "The defense charms were set during the war, of course, and it seems they haven't removed them yet. They were probably just set off by some kids, maybe the same ones we saw before, wanting to stir up some trouble. At any rate, you might as well make yourself comfortable, there's no telling how long we will be here."

"Isn't there at least somewhere better to sit?" Mrs. Malfoy demanded. She cast her eyes about and found a saleswizard, of whom she repeated the all three questions she had just asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Look, missus, it's not my job to say," he said, sounding bored. "We ain't Aurors here, these things take time."

And, shrugging off her hand, he walked away.

Mrs. Malfoy looked around furiously to discover a wicker chair on display high above them. Whipping out her wand she levitated down to the floor, when another saleswizard came round the corner and immediately voiced his opinion.

"'Scuse me, ma'am, but I'm going to have to ask you to put that back," he said. His voice was squeaky and irritating.

Rather than comply, however, Mrs. Malfoy checked the price tag, and, withdrawing her money bag, coldly tossed the price of the chair at the feet of the wizard, who stammered that she had to pay at the front.

"So take it to the front, I don't suppose I look like I care," Mrs. Malfoy snapped. "Or better yet, suppose you were to begin investigating this breach so such things were unneccessary? Incompetent fool."

She glared down at him with such venom that he squeaked in a manner reminiscent of Scabbers and took off down the aisle.

Mrs. Malfoy settled herself in the wicker chair, seeming to disapprove of its relatively poor quality, but refraining from comment nonetheless. She lifted her wand and conjured half a dozen blue butterflies out of thin air which flapped noiselessly around her head, creating air flow in the musty shop. It looked like an absurd blue flapping halo, but served well to keep her cool. Mrs. Weasley meanwhile had been studiously checking her grocery list repetitively to avoid being dragged into the spat. She would have liked to get her shopping done while the investigation was being performed, so she could immediately get out as soon as the lockdown charms had been lifted. Unfortunately, she knew that while it was not forbidden to the extent of being punishable by law, it was extremely discouraged so the witches and wizards of Worgible's could conduct whatever search they needed to quickly.

A few awkward moments of silence ensued between the two women, during which Mrs. Malfoy tried to sit still with her hands in her lap, as she had no doubt been taught and Mrs. Weasley tried not to think of her family waking up to no breakfast on the table thanks to this lockdown.

The fire that had apparently been churned back into Mrs. Malfoy by the argument with the saleswizard seemed to be extinguished and within a few moments Mrs. Malfoy had stilled, looking down at her hands in her lap, looking much more like the woman Molly had 'rescued' half an hour ago from the street boys.

Mrs. Weasley was completely lost in her own thoughts: the best brand of bacon to purchase for the lowest price, how Hermione was faring in her quest to restore her parents' memories...Harry and Ron had, unsurprisingly, insisted upon accompanying her to Australia, and she hadn't heard from them in nearly four days. Her heart knotted up with worry but it was almost laughable, the three of them had more or less saved the entire wizarding community and she was worried about this...oh, George's ear, she should see whether they had dittany here at Worgible's...she cast her eyes around, since they were conveniently in the Healing section...it looked as though they were out, she would have to stop by the apothecary in Diagon on the way home anyway, then...

"I'm sorry about your boy."

Mrs. Malfoy's voice broke through the tense silence, startling Molly out of her thoughts. She quickly refocused her eyes on the other woman, not quite believing the sentiments she thought she'd heart...

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your son, Fred," said Mrs. Malfoy in a low tone. "I understand...I'm very sorry about..."

For a very quick, irrational moment, fury filled Molly. What did Narcissa Malfoy know about the death of a child? She still had her son, her son was just fine, wallowing at enormous Malfoy Manor with some silly little throat sore...

But the anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only sadness and remorse, mingled with cautious, astonished gratitude at the apparent sensitivity of someone Mrs. Weasley had always assumed could not possess such humane feelings.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," she said quietly, and as she spoke, tears somehow filled her eyes, blasted emotions, they could come in at the worst times. She hadn't even expected it, but the mere mention of Fred's name...

"When I say I understand, you must know, Madam Weasley, I do not mean I know the death of a child, just...how precious children are and...how crushing it would be to lose one..."

She trailed off as Molly wiped her eyes.

"Please, call me Molly," she said without thinking. Being called Madam Weasley made her think of Fleur's parents, and she didn't feel right being addressed that way by anyone if she was honest.

"Then you must call me Narcissa," she Mrs. Malfoy. She looked hesitant, as though unsure whether Molly would accept the gesture, but Molly chose the gracious route and merely nodded.

"Thank you for your sympathies," Molly repeated quietly.

Narcissa nodded. "During the war, Draco...the number of times I thought...the terror I felt, during his sixth year..."

Molly breathed out slowly. She of course had never given a thought to how the mother of Draco Malfoy might feel about her son's task. Had she thought about it, she might have just assumed, like everyone else did, that they were collectively pleased about Draco's role in the war.

"Mada-Molly," Narcissa said quietly. The word sounded foreign coming from her. "Whatever you think of me, or my husband, however poor your feelings toward us, I know they are justified and I do not begrudge you them."

She looked up and Molly was surprised to see her pale eyes suddenly glittering with tears.

"But please," she whispered. "Do not hate my son. I never wanted...he never wanted..."

She made a convulsive, jerking motion towards her left arm and Molly understood: Draco had never wanted the Dark Mark upon his arm and neither had his mother.

Molly felt tears welling up in her own eyes as she felt a sudden, inexplicable connection between herself and the woman she had always generally loathed.

Narcissa cleared her throat and made another awkward attempt at being friendly.

"You've been faring well, I suppose?" she asked. The question perched rigidly in the air; it was not the most tactfully worded question, but Narcissa Malfoy wasn't accustomed to asking about others, or caring, either. There was no easy way to answer it honestly.

"Oh, you know, we've been doing all right," Molly said with a little sigh, smoothing down the front of her rumpled skirt with her hands. "Just getting on...one day at a time...Arthur, he's working again, and Percy, he's back, you know..."

She trailed off, becoming somewhat lost in thought.

"We had Fred's funeral five weeks ago-"

Five weeks, four days, six hours, thirteen minutes, give or take five minutes, since we put my boy in the ground, since...

She blinked as tears threatened to overwhelm again and almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Who would ever have thought that Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy would be sitting in the middle of a dirty grocery shop discussing their lives?

"And Hermione's been off to Australia and Harry and Ron...her parents, you know...Bill and Fleur have been around, and Charlie will be here for awhile longer, I do hope he stays, I hate seeing him just once or twice a year..."

She stopped abruptly, remembering who she was talking to and how ridiculous it was that she should share such intimate details of her life to someone who probably could not care less.

But Narcissa Malfoy, for all her haughty mannerisms and sleek hair and the way she looked down her nose and crinkled her mouth up with disdain all the time, was now nodding with apparent understanding.

"When Draco was ten, Lucius wished him to attend Durmstrang..."

She flushed, realizing how poor a light this was reflecting on her family, as Durmstrang was well-known for its tolerance of the Dark Arts and it was unwise to associate with any organization bearing such sentiments these days. She continued presently, in a lower and more cautious tone.

"But the idea of Durmstrang...so far away, you know, and so cold..."

She shivered and drew her mink coat up about her shoulders, though it was not cold in the warehouse-like Worgible's.

"I couldn't bear the thought...and it was rumored they kept them over Christmas and allowed them a week's holiday...I couldn't think of seeing my boy for only a week out of the school year..."

She drew a deep breath to compose herself. "I had to beg and plead with Lucius, but in the end he gave in."

Narcissa gave a watery little smile. "You're so very fortunate to have many children," she said wistfully. Molly could hardly believe this was Narcissa she was talking to: cold, hard, beautiful Narcissa Malfoy, whose defenses were never down, the bottom of whose nose had probably been sunburned before from being so long upturned.

And somehow, astonishingly, at present Molly actually felt humbled by her. She had dismissed Narcissa's emotions with the justification that she did not know how it was to lose a child, her child was perfectly fine and had survived the war, while Molly's own lay cold beneath the earth. But she realized she did not know the paralyzing fear Narcissa seemed to convey, that she had only one son, and if he was killed, there were no more...

Molly knew Fred was absolutely irreplaceable. No one in the world was exactly like him, not even his twin. Despite the fact that their bond was strong beyond words, each twin still had his little quirks that made him so uniquely him. George liked honey in his tea and Fred couldn't stand the stuff. George refused ever to wear striped socks and Fred couldn't get enough of hideously mismatched striped ones. Yet Molly had consolation in Fred's death of her family. She tried to imagine, for a moment, what life would be like if Fred had been her only son, and Arthur a distant husband absorbed in business that mattered little to her. It wasn't quite a fathomable thought, and her heart suddenly bled for Narcissa Malfoy, who must have been dying within Malfoy Mansion, unable to speak with her only child, unsure whether she would ever see him alive again.

"But it must have been terrible," said Narcissa quietly. "Imagine my worry about my son, times seven, for you..."

Molly tried to smile. "It wasn't pleasant," she said, but the words seemed to ring hollow, for they deeply underexpressed the extreme pain Molly had undergone every day, sick with worry about her children and husband.

"I didn't worry about Ginny," she tried to joke. "With six older brothers, I could be sure any boy who wanted to date her, for example, wouldn't last long if he wasn't a good one."

Narcissa actually smiled a little at this and even attempted a feeble laugh.

"Do you think that's bad?" she said, a little wryly. "Imagine having Bellatrix for an older sister, I imagine Stevie Wilkenshire never did quite manage to reattach his b-!"

Her eyes suddenly popped wide open at what she had been about to say, as unladylike as it was presumably about to be. Molly managed a nervous little giggle which quickly descended into full-blown anxiety; she wondered whether Narcissa was privileged to know the details of how exactly her sister had died...

"I'm sorry you lost your sister," she said, not quite truthfully. In honesty she was sorry Narcissa had lost a family member, but she did not regret one whit that she had released the curse that had killed her. Especially given that Bellatrix had been going about trying to kill Ginny, Molly really couldn't muster the tiniest bit of remorse that Bellatrix was dead.

Narcissa sighed, looking sad. Presently, however, her eyes hardened. "I appreciate your concern, but I don't know it was the greatest loss," she said, with coldness.

Unwittingly, despite the bitterness of her tone, her eyes grew slightly watery. Abruptly, she pointed her wand at her own face and murmured a spell; her eyes grew clear once again and the puffiness around them receded, leaving her face looking as fresh and clean as though she had just made it up.

"I loved my sister," she said quietly. "But she ill, no one could deny that. I suspected it when she started dating Rod...who made Lucius seem docile and innocent as a pixie, by the way...and the two of them got up to all kinds of nasty experiments, demented even by Slytherin standards. Even Draco was afraid of her, I believe."

Her eyes darkened. "As if it wasn't enough he was afraid of Lucius, now here was another terrifying member of the family to add to his list..."

She cleared her throat hastily. "Anyway, Bella ceased to be my sister when she tried to stop me helping Draco."

Her voice was flat and a flash of deadly intent raced through her clear eyes at the mention of her son being at all threatened, and Molly was suddenly unpleasantly reminded of the very sister Narcissa now spoke of.

Narcissa looked down again, and Molly hastened to change the subject.

"Your son's all right now, that's all that matters," she said consolingly.

She looked down to stare at her grocery list, the only thing she could think to do. Conversation between them seemed exhausted.

"I do hope they lift the lockdown soon," she said, glancing up and around worriedly. "I left a note, but my poor Arthur and boys will be hungry, I didn't leave them much and they're not much for cooking anyway..."

She sighed; the tiredness seemed to have lifted and the abundance of worries of the last few weeks seemed to come crashing down on her all at once.

"And we've had another pipe burst we need to fix," she mumbled, talking to herself and seeming to forget Narcissa Malfoy was there at all. "And I do wish we could invest in a Skinnard's Complete Privacy and Unwelcome Persons Repelling fence. The reporters, you know," she added for Narcissa's benefit, remembering herself. "They haven't left us alone since the end, especially with Harry staying with us all the time...it's been a bit better since he left but still..."

"We've had our share of nosy Prophet idiots outside our gates as well," Narcissa offered in an attempt to empathise. "Why haven't you done, then?" she inquired curiously.

Molly stiffened. They had arrived at a topic she hoped would remain unacknowledged.

"We can't afford such a thing at the moment," she said stiffly. Somehow the desire to justify, to make up for it, though she knew she owed this woman nothing and in no way had to prove herself, came over her and the words just tumbled out.

"Fred's funeral, that was costly, we wanted to give him a proper burial, you know..." she flushed but couldn't seem to stop the words. "And George's care, and other necessities, repairs on the house..."

Narcissa said nothing.

The cool female voice rang out suddenly over the shop, announcing the end of the lockdown. Molly jumped up, flustered. She had been so well-composed throughout the entire conversation, providing, she believed emotional support to a distraught woman who despite herself had let down her defenses, only now to lose her bearing at the smallest mention of money.

"Well, it was lovely talking," she said stiffly, even though it hadn't really been. "But I really must be off, I'm afraid."

And she turned to briskly walk off, when once again Narcissa Malfoy's voice stopped her. The taller woman had moved off her wicker chair, vanished the blue butterflies and was advancing towards Molly, one hand extended. Something glittered in her palm and Molly craned her neck to see just what it was...

Narcissa drew gracefully to Molly's side. "I wish you to have this," she said simply, and dropped an ornate ruby and diamond ring into the astonished Mrs. Weasley's hand.

Molly's heart clenched up. What did Narcissa Malfoy take her for?

"Thank you, but we are not in need of charity," she said with the same stiffness that took her a moment ago. She held out her hand for Narcissa to take the jewelry again, but the blonde woman shook her head.

"This is not about charity, it is a gift," she said flatly. "Please accept it."

Her eyes sought Molly's, who understood, suddenly, that Narcissa was trying to be kind. It was a trait she was not accustomed to espousing, and it was why she so awkwardly gave it. This was the only way Narcissa knew how to give. She was not a warm person, except perhaps with her precious son, and offering a bit of her wealth to Molly was the only way Narcissa knew how to be kind. Rejecting the ring would be akin to rejection of goodwill - and hadn't the whole war been about the ability to assimilate with people one might not normally?

Slowly Molly's fingers closed around the ring. It felt heavy in her hand and for a moment grew hot, then immediately cooled.

"I have removed the jinx on it," Narcissa said. "It is now legally yours, bonded to you. If anyone else attempts to wear it without your consent their hand will become engulfed in flame. Please sell it to cover your expenses."

She scribbled an address on the slip of parchment on which Worgible's address was written, and handed it to Molly. On it, under Worgible's, was now written:

Topher, Bessler and Gravinsky Fine Wizarding Jewelers

Ninety-six Evincus Lane

Diagon Alley, London

"Tell Bessler you've been sent by me," Narcissa said coolly. "He will arrange for you to receive the highest possible price for it."

"I - I don't now how to thank you enough," said Molly, stunned.

Narcissa glanced down at the bottle in her hand, which was for Draco. Molly followed her gaze, knowing she was thinking of her son, and thought of her own dear Fred -

"I think you've given plenty," Narcissa said quietly.

She said no more, just turned, her long coat sweeping the dusty floor of Worgible's, and was gone and out of sight before Molly could say another word. Somewhere in the distance she could hear Narcissa barking at the salesclerk for being too slow. Then Narcissa's heels clicked, the door swung open, then banged shut again, and was truly gone.

Molly went the very next day to the specified jeweler's with Arthur. They had discussed it and decided to take Narcissa up on her offer, and keep the proceeds of the ring. Molly had disclosed to Arthur all they had discussed whilst trapped in Worgible's, and he too had felt it would be in poor taste to reject it. What was more, after the initial shock of seeing the jewels had faded, Molly had recognized it was probably not worth as much as she had originally suspected; even the Malfoys would have to be careful with their funds after the war, given the current shaky status of the economy.

Mr. Bessler was a short, bespectacled man with thin gray hair who eyed the pair through beady orbs as he held the ring up before his face, examing it carefully. He tapped it with his wand to ensure it had changed owners in the way Molly said, rather than through theft, and, having confirmed this, set it down and turned to the Weasleys.

"And you say Madam Malfoy just gave this to you, Mrs., ah..."

"Weasley," said Molly quickly. "And yes, we had a bit of an encounter yesterday and she felt compelled to assist us in our...financial struggles."

She flushed, disliking admission of the status.

"I see."

The old jeweler picked up the ring again, then set it down abruptly to glare at the pair of them.

"Do you realize how much this ring is worth, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.

She shook her head, hating how the snobby jeweler, who was obviously accustomed to well-off customers, was treating her.

"I would reckon you could get eleven hundred galleons for this right here," he finally said, after a moment's dramatic pause.

Molly's and Arthur's mouths dropped open. Far from the assessment they had expected to receive, the was worth triple - no, quadruple - anything they had expected.

"We'll take it," Arthur said faintly, when his wife seemed struck dumb by the amount. The pair stayed a few minutes longer to arrange paperwork, then left the shop, eleven hundred galleons richer, all their money troubles for the year solved.

Molly Weasley was disappointed not to receive a response when she sent a Patronus bearing thanks of the gift to Malfoy Manor. The camaraderie she had experienced with Narcissa Malfoy seemed to have faded. No, she never doubted Narcissa had spoken a false word, nor did she doubt Narcissa's gift was sincerely given. It only seemed that now, once Narcissa was back at the side of her son, tucked away safely into her enormous home, she had resumed her cold defenses, and about that Molly couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of regret.

Narcissa Malfoy did have a heart, of that much she was sure, and she had shared bits of her soul with Molly when she was at her weakest. Molly might have hoped it was the beginning of change, had dared to think maybe Draco and Harry and Ron could have all looked at each other at some point and register more than hatred. Molly knew it was probably too much to ask that her boys and Narcissa's boy look past their prejudices, at least right now, but being a Gryffindor, her kind heart could not have helped but hope. After all, though she knew she could not expect the same of their sons, she and Narcissa had assumed so much about one another, and both had been wrong, on many counts.

For as it turned out, in the end, when all pretenses were stripped away and they were left bare, Narcissa Malfoy and Molly Weasley were not such polar opposites after all.

In the end, it didn't matter that Narcissa Malfoy's coat cost more than Molly Weasley's grocery budget for half a year, because in the end, they were just two women who wanted to get out of Worgible's Discount Wizarding Vittles and Miscellany to care for their families.

In the end, they were two mothers, whose lives and spirits were sustained by their children, for whom they would give their lives in a heartbeat. Whose heartache they felt as their own, whose pain pierced the women even deeper, whose struggles were their struggles and whose joys brought endless radiant sunshine.

In the end, the words of ancient philosophers and the greatest thinkers on earth rang true. Love was the fiercest power in the universe, mending the deepest wounds, bridging a gap between two women whose lives seemed to have no commonalites, against which no other force in the world could long prevail.

End.

Ahem! So that turned into a bit of a monster. It wasn't supposed to be that long, but what can I say? I just got on a roll. Anyway, a few thoughts:

1. Eleven hundred galleons might seem like a lot, but it's important to remember that the Malfoys are loaded. It seems like a ton of money but I know people who spend 30k on a one-year-old's birthday party, so wealthy people like that do exist and I think in the wizarding world the Malfoys would be one of those families.

2. I don't know a lot about grocery shopping in the wizarding world, but I figure they must have it, and I don't see why there wouldn't be a scratch and dent type store and then a Whole Foods type store. And the Weasleys would probably shop at scratch and dent while the Malfoys (or their house-elves) would probably shop at Whole Foods.

3. Hopefully neither Narcissa nor Molly seem too OOC. I do think that Molly would be sympathetic to Narcissa here, having such a big heart. I also think Narcissa would be fragile after the war, after having nearly lost her precious son and husband. I am hopeful that I characterized them well.

Thank you for sticking with me this far, reviews would be great. Cheers!