Author's Note: I wrote this story earlier this year and have just been sitting on it. Aside from a few (really bad) drabbles and random scenes, this was the first thing I really wrote in a really, really long time. So, for that reason, it's special to me. It started out as two images and grew into seven chapters. It is finished, so don't worry. I will post one chapter a week every Tuesday. I hope you enjoy…

Thank you to slenderpanda597 for her great beta work!

This is dedicated to my best friend, Lori, who was so encouraging as I was returning to writing. And, you know, for 25 years' worth of being besties and all that entails (most of it disgusting and had better never be repeated to another living soul.)

Disclaimer: The world and characters (most of them) belong to JK Rowling.

The Year of the Weasley Scarves

Part One: At Loose Ends

It took some time for the dust to finally settle. In fact, it was exactly September 2, when it finally did. Ginny and Hermione had been sent off to Hogwarts. George, Ron and Harry were living above the joke shop in a flat meant for two, but it was no matter as Harry was beginning Auror training soon. Ron, on the other hand, was helping George run the shop. That's where Percy says he wants to be, but he has been persuaded (temporarily, he claims) to return to the Ministry to guide it through the reorganization. Bill and Arthur had been back at their respective jobs for months now, but the work load was never ceasing as it seems the whole world was in chaos in the wake of the war. Charlie has been back to Romania for months, although more than the dragons had called him back this time. Even Audrey had found some new crusade to serve. So, only two were left at loose ends.

Fleur had spent the summer organizing the return of the Muggleborn refugees she had spent the previous year smuggling out of the country, but that job was over now. She did not fancy returning to Gringotts. She had never particularly liked the work there, it had never called to her. And truly, she knew she could do greater things than be a secretary to the most unpleasant goblin in all of England.

"Take your time," Bill had said one night in late August as she made the final arrangements for the return of the Cattermoles. "With the kind of overtime I am putting in lately I doubt you'll ever need to go to work again if you didn't want to."

Fleur had looked up from her parchment. Her poor Bill, still the weight of the world on his shoulders. She wished she could say that he no longer feared for the safety of his loved ones, but she knew that was not so. Secretly, he feared that George might never recover from Fred's death. Fred's death was hard on everyone, of course, but George was devastated. She put aside her quill and went to straddle her husband's lap and massage his scalp.

"Rich as Midas, oui?"

Bill's hands came to rest low on her waist and he closed his eyes.

"Something like that." He looked at her then with sleepy eyes. "So, do you have any idea what you want to do with yourself now that there is no war to fight, Mrs. Weasley?"

Fleur shook her head.

"I do not know. I did not know at seventeen and I do not know now."

"You're brilliant, you could be anything you like."

She gave a very Gaelic shrug.

"It is silly, non? Zat we are supposed to know what we want to do so young? My great-grand-pere lived to be 175, he had five careers and six wives."

"Six wives?" Bill asked, astonished. "How many children did he have?"

"Eighteen, but zat is not zee point."

"Blimey, and I thought us Weasleys were prolific. How old was he when the last one was born?"

Fleur smiled fondly, content to allow him to take the conversation in a different direction, albeit a silly one in her opinion. She liked it when Bill was in a frivolous mood, he was not allowed these moments often. "He was 146, it was mon grand-pere and he was born zee same day as his fifty-second grandchild."

As September rolled on, Audrey dropped in for tea in her whirlwind fashion.

"Percy says 'hello,' by the way."

"And tell him 'bonjour,' from me," Fleur responded, stirring milk into her tea.

"I was thinking, Fleur, that you should come to work at the orphanage with me," Audrey announced as she leaned against the worktop and took a sip of tea. "The war has left so many orphans and we could use all the help we can get settling them and getting them treatment."

Fleur watched her friend silently from where she sat daintily at the butcher's block, saucer in one hand, cup in the other. Her mind latched onto the word 'treatment.' Fleur wondered if that referred to physical needs or mental ones. Sadly, she suspected it was both.

"I have been telling Madam Spreewell about you," Audrey continued, she was always so excited when she was developing a new plan. "About all the work you did during the war. You know you have a right good hand for organization and planning. Plus you and I already know that we work well together. We could really use people…"

But Fleur wasn't listening. Maybe it made her a bad person, but she did not want to work at the orphanage. She was tired of misery.

Then, one day in mid-September, Fleur Apparated to the Burrow with a surplus of lettuce from her fall garden. She rather hoped to trade it for some potatoes or maybe some canned tomatoes. But as she walked up to the garden, something did not seem right, but she wasn't sure what exactly. Cautiously, she drew out her wand and approached the back door.

Only to find Molly sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

Fleur let herself in and set her basket on the counter, which still held dirty pans from…breakfast? But it was past lunchtime. She looked about shrewdly. A thin layer of dust covered every surface. There was a pile of laundry in the corner, washed, folded even, but not put away. The windows were closed up, despite it being a lovely day outside. Then, she realized what was wrong with the garden. It was overrun and overgrown.

And the woman before her seemed in much the same state.

"Bonjour, Mum," Fleur trilled, pasting a smile on her face.

Molly did not respond, so Fleur kissed her cheek and reached in front of Molly to take the cup of tea. It was full and cold. Fleur Vanished the liquid and rinsed it.

"Have you had lunch yet? I brought lettuce from my garden, it is doing very well zis year. I can make us a nice salad, oui?"

"That would be nice, dear."

So, that afternoon, Fleur went about putting the Burrow back to the state that Molly Weasley kept it. Fleur put the clothes away and dusted the furniture. She did the dishes and opened the windows to let in the breeze. She even cut some late roses and put them by Molly's bed. She prepared a quiche and resolved to tackle the garden the next day if the rain held. (But this was blasted England and she did not hold out hope.)

Finally, she brushed Molly's hair. This seemed to comfort both women. When Fleur was finished, Molly stood and gave her a wan smile. Then she drifted upstairs like a ghost. When she didn't return, Fleur went to check and found her mother-in-law in bed fast asleep.

So, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Finally, at half nine, Arthur strolled in looking haggard and exhausted. He was shocked to find Fleur sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. But he found a smile for her and sent his things off to their rightful place.

"Good evening, my dear," he said pleasantly. "Is Bill here with you? Where is Molly?"

"Bill is at work still and Molly is in bed."

His face fell.

"Oh."

"Wash up," Fleur instructed. "I made a quiche."

A few minutes later, Arthur sat at the head of the table enjoying Fleur's cooking. It didn't go unnoticed that the house was cleaner and fresher than it had been in weeks and he suspected that it had more to do with his daughter-in-law than his wife. He hadn't missed the bouquet of roses by the bed when he'd gone up to check on Molly. That was the work of Fleur's hand.

"How long has she been like zis?" Fleur asked quietly, she had a cup of tea in front of her. Normally, it would amuse Arthur to see how this very French girl had picked up this so very English habit.

"Since we sent the girls off to Hogwarts," he admitted.

"Zat was weeks ago!"

Arthur hung his head. He had nothing to add to that.

"Why didn't you tell—" Fleur stopped. She had been about to demand why he hadn't told her, but why would he tell her? She was only the daughter-in-law. "Why didn't you tell Bill?"

Arthur sighed heavily.

"At first I thought she would come through it quickly enough…" He shut his eyes, he was so very tired. "I suppose I didn't want to worry any of you. Especially Bill, he has been so strong for all of us in the wake of…It's not fair that he should shoulder such burdens at so young an age."

Fleur's lips thinned.

"Zank you, I suppose. It has been hard for Bill. He zinks zat he has to be strong all zee time, but it takes its toll, non?"

"Yes, that is so like Bill."

"But I cannot keep zis from him," Fleur insisted. "He would want to know zat his mozzer is…" She looked at the stairs as if she could see all the way up to the third floor and around the corner to check on Molly in her bed. "What is wrong wiz her?"

"Grief."

"But she was doing so well zis summer. What changed?"

"Can't you guess?"

Fleur cocked her head to one side.

"Everybody left," she stated. "Zere was no one left to take care of."

"Nothing left to do," Arthur agreed sadly. "She's at loose ends."

He reached out and squeezed her hand. Fleur was amazed at Arthur's capacity for empathy. Here they were, talking about his wife's crushing grief, and Arthur was comforting Fleur. He was such a special man and she felt sorry for the world that so often overlooked a man as humble as Arthur Weasley for it was truly missing something great.

A/N2: Thanks for reading. Hope to see you again next Tuesday. And, psst, don't forget to review…