With the orange summer sun grazing the crowns of the apple trees in their orchard Molly Weasley´s most desired time of day was just about to start. Settling down at the perfect suntrap to enjoy the warm afternoon air she shaded her eyes against the dazzling light and beheld the endearing sight strewn out before her.

Bill, her oldest and almost most diligent son, sat at her bare feet peeling a truly monstrous mountain of potatoes for dinner. His younger, and only, sister, -already four-years old- Ginny, had nestled herself between his outstretched legs to more or less patiently await the return and reunion with her father, Molly´s, by an allowedly small margin, favourite Weasley and husband Arthur.

Their second oldest, Charlie, she knew to be flying around somewhere against the setting sun, knowingly making it impossible for her to spot him again recklessly high up in the sky. Leaning back and closing her eyes against any distractions she reveled in the peaceful lack of grumbling coming from the freshly de-gnomed garden and focused instead on the chirping of birds picking seeds in the adjoining fields hidden behind the still luscious green hedges. Early on she had learned to cherish these rare moments of perfect illusion, the calm awaiting a storm.

Sometimes such ignorance could be absolute bliss, and at least until she found out what the silence from Fred and George could possibly mean she would remain content with a day well spent in preparation of Percy´s upcoming birthday. Currently she knew he was taking her youngest son Ron to the chicken pen, privately reveling in the role of being the most reliable escort. Merlin alone knew what those two hoped to accomplish at this time of day with a flock of hens scurrying and scrabbling all over a large muckheap.

However just when her laid-back mind began to wander towards her freshly baked apple pie the peace was shattered abruptly by the sudden squawking and fluttering of wings behind their old hen-coop and the alarmed cry for help from Percy. Instantly she hauled herself up over both Bill and Ginny, barely missing the piled potato peelings spread out beside them. Half the yard she had crossed when the unmistakable heavy “thunk” of a body hitting planks and Ron´s joyful giggle could be heard from within the wooden henhouse.

Belying both her age and figure she only further accelerated, bolting over rusty tools and stray toys completely ignoring the irritated shout of “What´s goin´on?” from Bill. Cutting hard she skidded around the coop ready for hell and high water, however the sight which presented itself to her was enough to stop her dead in her tracks. Her youngest son, both hands an unmistakable red and outstretched towards a franticly fleeing hen, zig-zagged between already stunned and still running chickens in pursuit of this most elusive one.

A massive smile split the smudgy face and borderline insane laughing bubbled from his mouth the moment he finally brought the chicken to a fluffy fall. As if only now noticing he turned around to see her standing there, both hands on hips and stern expression on face. Exactly like the mother she knew she had to be, despite inwardly fighting down every instinct screaming to hug him close and rejoice in that very first bit of magic he had ever accomplished. Ron on the other hand at least had the courtesy to slightly hesitate before throwing any previous caution to the wind.

The last thing Molly Weasley saw of her relaxed afternoon was her happy-go-lucky son storming towards her before the world went dark around her.

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