Molly turned the key in the lock, and pushed into the entryway, eyes preceding her steps. The flat was small but homey, and from the door, Molly could see through the windows on the opposite wall in the living room. More London buildings and more sky peaked out. Her gaze landed immediately on Casper. It was not surprising that her husband was there. He was always there for her. But Casper attempting to tie a bow around the neck of a tiny, squirming, mewing kitten hardly larger than his palm... Molly’s heart jumped slightly, stirred with something that was both joy and a strange, overwhelming relief. Her face melted into a weak smile, and her eyes were suddenly wet. It was a sweet sort of sadness, light and sad mingled, a hushed thing. Different from the tears she had shared with no one in particular at the healer’s office, though those had hardly dried on her cheeks, and were evidenced by the redness around her eyes. She moved through the door and shrugged out of her coat, freeing herself from it just as she reached the couch. She let it fall there, over the couch’s arm, her attention already taken entirely by her husband and the little ball of fuzz. She cupped her hands under his, looking down at the kitten. “Casper...” That said it all: how perfect the kitten was, how sweet her husband was, how thankful Molly was.

One of Molly’s hands remained under his, while the other moved around him for a hug. She looked at him now, confirming what they both already knew. It had happened before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it were destined to happen every time. Tears found their way to her cheeks again. She leaned into his chest, eyes closed tightly, blinking away the wetness. She stood there, hugging him, for a small stretch of time that did not seem bound to clocks. Many things of late had seemed so, clocks pressed her everywhere. But here, in his arms, she could breathe, and mourn, and steady herself.

When she finally pulled back, she refocused on the kitten, wiped at a damp cheek with the base of a palm, and smiled. She gently scratched behind his ear and took up the bow, tangling her fingers in Casper’s, helping him fasten it without much difficulty. Whatever cat they brought home, it always seemed to present a particularly endearing challenge to Casper-- which made it all the more sweet that he had thought to share their home with yet another four-legged friend. Molly knew that this was for her.

“Did you have to leave work early? Do you want something to eat?” She was talking to her husband, but staring at the newest member of their family. It was not a replacement, she knew, but the tiny, sweet, needy thing who would undoubtedly occupy her attention and her affection, would help her keep her mind off of things, or help her heal. It stared up at her, mewing, its eyes alert and wondrous and pleading for her to offer it treats, too. Molly loved it already.

Molly would make a great mum. Casper wasn’t the first person to make that connection either. She was caring, sweet, and always willing to explain the simplest things with a smile on her face. It was rare that she showed an evil side.

When he’d received the owl, he had hoped it would be full of promises of baked delights and a hot meal when he got home. The letter’s contents had instead caused his heart to sink and his breathing to shallow. Again.

It wasn’t right! Molly actually wanted to be a parent! Perhaps at first, Casper had been slightly skeptical. That had been a few years ago, of course, and since then the prospect of being a dad had looked brighter with each passing positive pregnancy test. Surely this time it would be different. Prospects sounded better, but the crushing loss of it was becoming more overwhelming.

After a good twenty minutes of staring mindlessly at the wall, quill twirling between his fingers, Casper finally pulled his things together, rubbed his eyes, and made a quick exit from the office with feigning illness. He would catch up on whatever he hadn’t gotten to later. It wasn’t as if he would be able to concentrate on it anyway.

The kitten had been a cheap offering along the way home. Casper had decided on as mindless a walk back home as he could handle. Little did he expect the little present, but then once he saw him, Casper knew it would be perfect.

With each time, he knew less and less of what to say to comfort his wife. Hell, he didn’t know what to tell himself. So he focused on the little activities: attempting to tie a bow on to the suddenly energetic ball of fury that had little claws of growing frustration.

The sound of rustling and movement behind him had Casper’s attention divided. An eyebrow rose at Molly, a sad smile slipping on to his lips as he tried to still the moving object with a distracted hand. His own sweater had been discarded, leaving the undershirt to comfort him in its freeing mobility. An arm moved around her as she came close.

Seeing the tears made his own threaten to fall. Instead he pulled her against him, almost crushing her there as his lips pressed against the top of her head. The kitten squirmed against the bow (and Casper’s hand), making pitiful meowing noises as it fought to untangle itself. It was lucky for the newest addition to the family that Molly focused on it. Casper allowed her to muck around with the bow, keeping his arm around her while gently rubbing her back, cautious as he waited.

“Did you have to leave work early? Do you want something to eat?”

Whereas Molly focused on the kitten, Casper couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. Tilting his head a little, watching her face, a half hearted shrug finally answered her questions. “It’ll be there tomorrow.” His voice was lower than usual. A head shook at the thought of food, however, and he frowned, gently prodding her to sit on the couch with the kitten, settling himself in with her. “I’m not hungry. Do you need some tea?” His wand was out in a second, quickly summoning over a tea set.

Molly couldn’t remember ever being more grateful for Casper’s embrace. The simple firmness of  another human being upon whom she could lean was an extraordinary comfort, but that it was her husband, that it was Casper, made it twelve or twenty or a hundred times more right. And it was sometimes hard, on days like this, to find anything that had gone right.

“Maybe I’m not...” She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, letting her words trail off wispily. Supposed to be a mum. The idea had prickled her before, but it was harder to avoid each time they received bad news. Maybe they were trying for something that was not supposed to happen. Molly was an enthusiastic person, an optimist. Saying those words out loud were not easy; she could be shy, but she never shied away from speaking her mind to Casper. But this was hard.

Held onto, knowing that he would stand there as long as she needed him to, and longer, even, Molly shifted softly against him and continued to take in the particular brand of brightness that was a fuzzy, needy baby animal. If it were a claw-happy pain to Casper, it was an agreeable bundle of cute to Molly, who would reason with her husband-- perhaps at a later time-- that its feisty, clawing ways were only a sign of affection. Surely the kitten would have all the love and loyalty for Casper that it would for Molly. Casper had brought him home! Surely.

When the bow was fastened, Molly plucked gingerly at its sides, fluffing it up, so that it looked even more oversized and the kitten look even smaller than either were. It was the sort of adorable that would make someone’s stomach hurt; it calmed Molly’s. And out of the woodwork, like clockwork, came a much larger cat, weaving between ankles, mewing as if it were breakfast time, purring misleadingly. It threatened Casper’s trouser leg with a particularly predatory eager stare, a subdued eagerness, which cats habitually possessed, as if his clothes were a convenient ladder and the cat was only bidding its time before it attempted to interrogate the newcomer. Molly looked down with a not-particularly-harsh no in her eyes. It was not a very deterring look. The guttural vibrations that resonated from throat and chest redoubled at the glance, and the cat sat back on its hind legs, but not without a ready-to-pounce air about it. Its tail swished like a shark, and another cat sneaked into view, leaping onto the back of the couch so that it had easier access. Who was this new, cute creature who would take up an unfair share of Molly’s attention?

Molly purposefully ignored them (though she loved them dearly!), and joined Casper on the couch, cradling the kitten in her lap. But only after she squeezed his hand, silent thanks for shuffling around his day to be here with her. The kitten found himself on his back, stretching and rolling against the material of her dress. Molly poked his tummy, encouraging him to swipe at her. She smiled as it attempted to trap her fingers. It was a little less sad this time. The tears were drying again. She leaned into Casper, cheek near his shoulder and chest, tilting her head up toward his. “Tea would be lovely.” This was his pain, too, though she knew he was being strong for both of them. For Molly, making mountains of muffins and cakes and throwing herself into old recipes for savory roasts was an easy feat, something that, sort of like taking care of kittens, kept her busy. She liked to feed her husband and his colleagues, and it was always a good idea to make sure Dolly was having solid meals, with all of the parties and cocktail events she attended. Faster than she could make another offer for treats, even if Casper wasn’t hungry, the tea was sorting itself. “Who’s taking care of you?” She asked softly, pressing into him further still, a sort of bump of her arm, like when they were younger. Molly had always been the sort to bump elbows and knock knees, and with Casper, she thought nothing of it, of boundaries and offending. Now, of course, it was a comfort, a loving gesture they could share without teenage awkwardness. She let the kitten prowl in her lap, and crawl over the pair of them, and accepted a cup of tea. The warmth of the cup was immediately welcoming. She took a slow sip and looked up at him again. The tea, the kitten, her husband, the toasty air of their flat and familiar sofa had all steadied her, made it a little easier to speak, to pose the painfully uncharacteristic question. “Do you think we should stop trying?”

Casper’s own heart was heavy as he held on to his wife. Thoughts similar to those plaguing her filtered through his head. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be a father. It wasn’t right for Molly, though! His eyes were closed as he held her tight against him, shaking his head a little as if to wake him from a day dream. He wished he was dreaming.

Some small part of him had an idea of what she meant to say. That same small part didn’t want her to voice it. If she voiced it, then that made it something tangible. Something to defend. At this point, in reality, it had just been just another failed attempt. Maybe it was him; faulty sperm. One never knew these days. Perhaps he just needed to cut back on his alcohol (not that he drank much). Maybe he had too much sugar (it was perhaps his biggest guilty pleasure).

The idea that his sperm were too sweet for Molly was preposterous, though. All you had to do was meet her and know nothing could be too sweet for her. The kitten, however, was attempting to outdo it. It helped to focus attention elsewhere. And perhaps Casper could have been convinced to agree that it was far from the ugliest animal from the house (he wasn’t even going to give the offending cat a look down).

A leg moved out to shoo the cat away, the only attention given to the older animal. Casper had other things to focus on. He had to attend to his wife.

He felt older than he thought he should have. Watching Molly play with the kitten helped him a little as well. It allowed him a few moments here and there to grieve silently and yet with company. Without having to both be a shoulder and understanding voice of reason. Molly would be a more renowned cat woman if he’d gotten her a kitten each time, however.

Tea would be lovely. Something to focus on. He lightly kissed her forehead before his wand came out.

“Who’s taking care of you?”

A sad smile played on his lips as he lightly bumped back, moving the wand as tea poured into cups. “You always do.” An arm lounged behind her, playing across the back of the couch in a warning to the other cats to stay away, lest they want to be pushed back off.

With a cup in his hand, wand aside, Casper settled into the couch, feeling as if they were becoming part of it. They fit together well. Always had.

“Do you think we should stop trying?”

The taste of tea went stale on his tongue. Scoffing at that, Casper made a face and looked at her, frowning. “Since when do you talk about giving up? That isn’t very Hufflepuffy.” As the kitten roamed over their laps, he tapped her cup with his, leaning forward and pressing against her lips lightly. “It’ll happen when it’s supposed to, Molls. That's what I think."

Even if it were true, that she took care of him, she couldn’t help worrying a little that he was too focused on her pain. It was easy for Molly to get lost in her own world, to be absorbed in a way that was harmless but a little perplexing, maybe: painting, baking, chasing animals, managing things in Dolly’s domain, keeping up with the other Pratts when she could, and keeping up with her mother, too. Thinking about the future, about babies and houses and gardens and more pets. Not in the nine-to-five goals way that was a shining lifestyle for so many of her peers. She wasn’t too bothered about having everything, about instant satisfaction, about newest and biggest and best; she liked finding her own way there, like that they were finding their own way there, at their own pace. They were saving and would have a house,someday soon. There was always a little extra room for a homeless animal in their cozy flat, if Molly stumbled upon one. But sometimes even Molly was a pessimist, and there was a different sort of ‘getting lost’ that such a loss entailed. Their marriage was a happy one. They were best friends and soul mates. They communicated well, despite Molly’s occasional sweet, airy preoccupation. But Molly still wondered, when she remember to (and she did, where Casper was concerned), whether she let him put too much on his shoulders.

And then, of course, the sort of self-consciousness that she didn’t always possess (Molly could certainly be shy, but in other ways) had a way of creeping in: what would Casper’s family say? What if he had married a woman with pure blood, and the sort of pedigree and upbringing that went hand in hand with pink, shiny new babies? What if they didn’t have one? What if they did?

Molly held her mug a careful distance from the kitten in her lap, who was now on its back, still swiping playfully and with hope of distraction at the sleeve of her sweater. She took in his face and felt a little guilty, caught, but it was a good kind of caught; she couldn’t easily give up with him around, remembered that she wasn’t the kind who gave up in the first place. Casper was one of the few people in the world who could give her such a look without sending Molly into a tomato and macintosh apple color palette. “I know... but Casper, I don’t know if...” I can keep doing this. She looked out the window in front of them, pushed her lips to the side, cupped her tea closer somehow. Letting it happen when it was supposed to was definitely the best thing to do, she knew, but she kept coming back to the feeling of glass half empty, as foreign as it was for Molly Pratt. She looked at him again, smiling softly. “At least your mum won’t have to send Christmas cards to an unfit heir.” Placing her head on his shoulder, she nodded. Her gaze settled on the gray window again, and then the kitten on her lap. “It’ll happen when it’s supposed to,” she agreed. “Lately, I can’t stand passing those windows full of baby jumpers and things like that, and it’s so silly. Who hates windows full of baby jumpers? How could anyone?” She didn’t hate the windows (or hate much of anything at all), just the feeling that sprang up, a few moments after the initial hazy smile and stirring excitement that a tiny knitted sock or hat or stuffed, pastel rabbit brought. The feeling of dread.

The cats, like Molly, were tried and true Hufflepuffs. From the back of the couch, nearer the side where Casper’s arm couldn’t reach, began a chain reaction. The kitten heard it before Molly did, and jumped up from its back, wiggling in the air to regain its balance. The predator took it as an invitation and pounced, catching the corner of a lamp shade as it came sailing down on them. Molly jumped, too, tea swishing dangerous toward the side of the cup. Tiny claws found their way into the nearest thing, which may or may not have been Casper’s shirt.

On her feet, Molly gained her balance, bent to set down the tea, and scooped up the kitten as it moved from the refuge of Casper and sofa cushions, into oh-so-impressive lion mode, its back arched, hair raised like static, tiny teeth bared in a hiss at the thigh of his jeans. Its much larger and more lackadaisically-posed opponent froze (minus swishing tail) just past where Molly had been sitting. When its eyes followed the kitten from couch to Molly’s grasp, it sat down. Molly’s eyes warned it to be nice. “You need a name,” she announced, her gaze returning to the smaller animal. Once he was settled in, everyone would get along... Minus Casper and the cats.

Where Molly wondered about his lovely family, Casper had written off their expectations years before. What mattered to Casper was Molly; he didn’t mind his mother-in-law half as much as he did his own mother. His right shoulder decided to twinge in reminder; his mother was a wonderful woman. She could give Umbridge a run for her money.
 
He was also attempting to think as little as possible. A shoulder for her to lean on, cry on if she needed to, and someone to tell her it would be ok. Otherwise, he would quietly stare off and memorize the flat across from theirs if Molly would let him.
 
The first couple of times, they had made the mistake of telling family. He had never wanted to hex his mother’s smug face so much as when she found out they’d lost it. It was so much easier to deal with the pain alone than worry about others on top of it. What a private thing as well… No, Casper definitely preferred keeping it under wraps.
 
His tea cup balanced on the arm of the sofa for a moment as he rubbed his eyes, taking the silence after her statement to breathe. If he could, he would pull her close, crush her to him, and keep all the bad things from hurting her. It wasn’t possible. Picking his tea cup back up and bumping the kitten back with his thigh, Casper rested his head against hers for a brief moment in silent understanding before taking another sip of warm tea. He wasn’t sure if he could keep doing it either. The disappointment was numbing.
 
A roll of the eyes answered her as a breath of a laugh escaped. “She gave up on that years ago, love. At least from me.” The arm that rested around her lifted, and his hand lightly ruffled her hair, teasing, before pulling away. Casper let her settle in; glad that she had finally agreed, he kissed the top of her head.
 
“You hate windows full of baby jumpers?” His voice was teasingly low and abashed. Casper had a vague understanding of how she must feel. Though it would still be a few years out, he had been looking forward to prepping his personal half-blood heir to be the next world champion wizard chess player. It made the game more fragile than it was (and life, for that matter). “What about nappies or prams?” He was unable to continue his light teasing of his wife who couldn’t hate anything, suddenly weary as the kitten jumped up in cat-nip mode.
 
That Casper didn’t move his arm away in reflex was his fault (some might say). The one whose arm became a claw cushion, however, disagreed as a yell escaped. The little shit who started it dug his little claws of pain into Casper’s sensitive thigh. Tea was now sloshed all over his sweater and the pillow he’d been leaning against.
 
It all happened so fast that he had no time to throw the cat off his arm before it moved past his hand and sat down out of reach, and Molly was quick to rescue the new kitten (and thus opening whatever tiny, minuscule puncture marks were left under the trousers). Adrenaline pumped as Casper stood up suddenly, tea cup clattering loudly on the table as he sat it down. “Hellion. Salazar. Voldemo-” He stopped talking as he looked at Molly, instead focusing on his arm and trying not to get irritated with the welts of red, angry lines that had formed. Slipping the sweater off, Casper took a breath and waved a hand. Perhaps that name was unnecessary.

That Casper was only his mother’s son because she had given birth to him was nearly indisputable; Molly knew that he did not share the woman’s disappointments concerning bloodline, was not overly concerning with having an heir to the family name. The pair of them, together, Casper and Molly, simply wanted a family. But it did not mean that his mother’s face didn’t darken the cloud that hung over them, try as Molly might to rise above that.

Luckily, having Casper and tea was a much stronger, warmer sensation than the shadow of his mother lurking in the background. And even on a day like this, Molly could smile a little, breathe a little, calm enough not to lose herself in work or daydreams or rain. She grabbed his hand as he kissed her head, held it softly, traced his palm with her thumb.

A little laugh escaped her as he teased; he understood. “Especially the ones with bunnies and kittens and puppies sewn onto the fronts...” She lamented lightly, teasing back now. She knew how much her husband wanted a son or daughter who had an early passion for adopting cats. “Prams, too,” she agreed. “Nappies, I thought I might leave to y--”

The cat pounced, Casper yelled, a small tidal of tea rained upon them.

Molly had scooped up the kitten before she noticed the welts forming on Casper’s arm. Her lips parted with wincing surprise. She was rarely the one scratched, hissed at, or ignored purposefully in these little turf wars. “Oh, Cas...” She ignored the string of names and plopped the kitten down again as Casper discarded his sweater. The larger cat stayed away, knowing not to push its luck. Its tail still swished menacingly. Molly grabbed her husband’s arm, inspecting it as if she were some sort of healer. She wasn’t. But she knew how to use salve. She summoned the little jar from its place in the medicine cabinet in their washroom. Dabbing his arm clean first, she dipped her fingers in to the soothing concoction and spread it over Casper’s skin. She paid the sweater no mind at all. The could easily be repaired at a later date, if there was any visible damage. A worn in sweater was a loved one. Tea spotting their couch and cats waiting for a moment to go at each other again, Molly patted his arm and smiled up at him, somewhat sadly, but not so sad as before. “I do want one of those little jumpers some day. And a big matching one for you,” she announced, only half-joking. Even if they were hard to look at right now... if it were a girl, Casper in a pink sweater with little bows sounded like something Molly would need an entire film role to capture.

She wrapped her arms around his back at the sky darkened outside; it was drizzling again. She leaned up up to kiss where his cheek met his jaw and plopped down on her heels again. Pressing her head to his chest, she watched out the window for a quiet moment. “Salazar isn’t that bad of a name. I wonder if he ever went by Sally... maybe just Sal.” She squeezed him, pressing closer again. Molly wasn’t going to name their kitten Salazar, and certainly not Voldemort, but being able to joke about it helped ease some of the seriousness off her shoulders.

Casper would have informed his wonderful wife that he all ready had a distaste for nappies. If the cats hadn’t decided to hash it out on him, that is.

His irritation was almost boiling over, but it was hard for him to stay angry when Molly babied him. Add that to the news they had, and he let out a breath, but let her look at his arm. Casper leaned back against the couch and watched as she became his Healer. A small smile responded to hers, and he kissed her nose before helping put the lid on the salve.

A chuckle escaped and a shake of the head responded. “Only if you wear a nappy.” That would be a family picture to send out for Christmas.

His arm wrapped around her and he was careful to not rub the salve off on to her top. The weather complimented their mood, but it also helped them relax and laze about. It was perfect. “Salazar Slytherin, going by Sally? I don’t know, Molls, that’s quite a stretch.” He grinned and kissed the top of her head while smoothing her hair back.

“Sal isn’t so bad.” His arm was feeling better, obviously, and the kitten had turned back into a purring, sweet ball of fur, kneading itself into Molly’s side. The older cat was keeping a safe distance; the amount of space between it and Casper, the longer its life expectancy. Perhaps it realized that.

She hoped the salve was alleviating some of the irritation-- both the scratches and Casper’s general feelings toward Molly’s brood of fuzzy, four-legged and often sassy permanent house guests. (Though she was still half-convinced he loved them underneath the annoyance. And that they loved him even more than they loved frazzling him.)

She scrunched her nose and brows in disagreement, but it was hardly a look of outrage. Particularly because she was smiling. “Nappies are for babies.” (Most often, anyway. Until they were old and gray and their future children had to take care of them, then they might revisit the nappy situation.) Saying the word babies was still a bit hard, but not so hard as it had been in the healer’s office. Having Casper around made it easier. Casper and the motley crew of animals. “Jumpers are for everyone.”

Calling Salazar Slytherin Sally sounded like something Molly would have done when she was 11, sharing a spur-of-the-moment story with an owl on a rainy evening before mailing a letter home to her mum. And so her current wonderment was not completely unexpected. Besides, she was sure even men like Salazar Slytherin had had humorous sides. Maybe. Softish?

“You know he had a silly pet name they left out of the history books,” she insisted lightly. Of course, Sal sounded slightly more likely. “Sal...” She echoed. She peaked down at the kitten. “Maybe something sweeter,” she said after a moment, smiling. “I’m sure we can come up with something else.” If she had been pondering baby names, she did not say so. She didn’t have to, not to Casper. He knew her well enough. Coming up with a name for the kitten would be one of many ways she would keep herself occupied. Speaking of sweet... “It’s perfect weather to stay in and bake.” All weather was good baking weather, and like finding names for their newest little friend, it was a way Molly could ease her mind. Even if Casper claimed not to be hungry, she was sure she could get him to eat a biscuit or two. Maybe the neighbors would enjoy a batch.