A/N: I've seen Sunday Brunch at the Burrow in so many fics, that I just assume it's a regular part of the Weasley-Potter clan's lives, so I'm not trying to steal anyone's idea!
Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling, I'm only borrowing the characters!
Bill Weasley steps out the back door, Charlie Weasley close behind. They let it bang shut behind them, as they levitate two long wooden tables to the backyard, lining them up so there's room for a few more. They remember a time, long ago, when they'd only needed two. They remember being naive and wild, banging the tables together in an attempt to knock a leg off. Now Bill's long hair is thinning out, and the amount of Charlie's scars have only gotten higher.
Percy Weasley steps out the back door, closing it firmly behind him. He straightens his rectangular glasses and remembers a time, long ago. He remembers two sets of eyes flashing behind their horn-rimmed glasses, he remembers a mother sobbing as he stepped out the door with his bag on his shoulder, his cauldron-bottom report carefully placed in a folder. He remembers there were no goodbyes, and he remembers never expecting to see this place again.
George Weasley steps out the back door, letting it bang shut behind him. He's taking a walk in the Sunday morning sunshine, taking off before his mother noticed him and set him off to do some task. He sticks his hands in his pockets, and he remembers a time, long ago. He remembers walking through these same woods, when there was still a barren, dirt path, without overgrown brush crawling all over. He remembers discussing candy and jokes and tricks, "where can we get money" and "what should we make," with another boy. A boy just like him.
Ron Weasley steps out the back door, letting it bang shut behind him. He remembers a time, long ago, of a light blue car flying over the mountains, passing over this messy, colorful little garden. He remembers embarrassment about a lopsided, mismatched house and holey sheets. He remembers, "It's not much, but it's home."
Ginny Weasley steps out the back doors, carrying plates of eggs and bacon and sandwiches, pausing to hold the door for a gaggle of young children with red and black and some brown hair running by, giggling. As she steps out, she remembers a time, long ago, of running in the dark to the shed. She remembers standing in front of the brooms, perusing over which one had the most even twigs and cleanest handle. She remembers swooping through the the air, flying heigher and higher. She remembers diving down and pulling up at the last second. She remembers flying until her eyelids started drooping, then landing and placing the broom back carefully, the exact way she'd found it. She remembers slipping quietly up to her room, crawling into the covers with dew-covered pajamas.
The tables have been put down, and so has the food. A twin has returned from his walk. The husbands and wives have sat down. The children have been collected from all the many places. And the Weasley children smile, thinking of times long ago.