The storm had begun.

Something was going on – something strange – and though significant developments had yet to take place, a feeling of foreboding was settling over the Wizarding community, not unlike the fog reported south of Kent.

The numbers of deaths and disappearances were escalating quickly, despite what the Ministry and Daily Prophet insisted, and those who were aware of the circumstances lived on edge.

Life had to go on. Normal routines continued in hopes of maintaining some semblance of regularity, but beneath the surface, there was always an underlying fear, an air of uncertainty.

Still, it was something of a shock when, one night in early June, Molly Weasley was startled into awareness by a small scuffling outside her front door.

It was late. She'd been alone in the cluttered sitting room of the Burrow, working on next Christmas' jumpers with the Wizarding Wireless playing in the background and, for a moment, thought that she hadn't heard correctly.

Perhaps it was the gnomes; they grew restless, sometimes, and threw things across the garden at each other.

Thump.

But there it was again. And it certainly wasn't a sound made by anything that was three feet tall.

She snatched her wand, knitting needles clattering to the table in a tangle of yarn as she crept the short distance to the entryway.

She'd never get used to this. Even after so many years, even after all that had happened during the First War, even after staying at Grimmauld Place with the children over the summer, she was uncomfortable.

It seemed so easy for the young Aurors, rushing into battle without a second thought, risking their lives, yet here she was, fifty-three years old, crouched behind a rickety end-table, heart beating madly.

Arthur had stayed at the office after hours again, and in spite of everything she was struck by the bizarre notion that if she were to be killed, no-one would be left to tell him that his dinner was waiting with a warming charm on the kitchen counter.

Oh, she wished he were here. Arthur always knew how to handle himself in situations like this; she felt so much safer in his presence.

There were voices approaching now. They sounded oddly familiar, even if she couldn't quite understand what was being said….

There wasn't much time – not if the intruders were planning on breaking in. She chanced a glance at the clock on the opposite wall. Arthur was, apparently, at the headquarters for the Order now, if she could hold out for just a little longer….

Her eyes traveled automatically over the other hands. Bill: Work. Ron and Ginny: School….

And then she froze. The clock never lied, and yet….

She moved as quietly as possible toward the door, stepping over creaky floorboards.

There was another muffled thud, and she could suddenly make out the words being spoken.

" – was my foot, you great git! I told you we should've apparated!"

Fear turned instantly to anger, and she threw the door open, glaring onto the now-lit front stoop.

Two identical faces blinked owlishly back, mouths agape.

"Mum –" stammered the one on the left. "Er…fancy meeting you here –"

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" Both winced instinctively. "What, in Merlin's name, do you think you're doing?!"

"See, now, that's a funny story –" Fred began.

"You should be in school! In bed! Why aren't you in school? In bed?!"

"Well, yes. We were headed that way, you know, but missed our beds here, and erm…you, so we thought we'd just come home a few weeks early –"

"You should be taking your N.E.W.T.s!" she shrieked.

"We were bound to only get two, anyway –" George muttered uncomfortably.

"And riding BROOMSTICKS! In the middle of the night! At a time like this –"

"One of us thought it'd be best –" said Fred sourly.

" – on the front porch, of all places! Do you know what could have happened? Who might've been waiting for you? How I almost reacted? What were you thinking?! That you'd waltz through the front door and I wouldn't notice?!"

"Hadn't quite gotten that far…."

"You must get back to school at once!"

"About that…"

"Can't."

"Where're your things? I'll floo the Headmaster right away, and –" her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"…Can't?" George looked almost apologetic.

"What do you mean, 'you can't'? Of course you can, and you will. I'll have your father take you to the train station first thing tomorrow morning –"

"Mum." Fred backed away slightly. "We've, er, you see, the thing is…"

"We've left Hogwarts." George finished, ducking.

"You've left Hogwarts."

"…Yes?"

"You've left Hogwarts."

"Mum, please don't –"

"Don't? Don't? Don't what? Tell you that you're ruining your lives? You're ruining your lives! Your father and I haven't scrimped and saved for the last seventeen years for you to throw it all away!"

They'd gone too far this time. Molly Weasley was, on the whole, a patient person. Had to be with a houseful of boys. Granted, she lost her temper on occasion, but this – this – this was too much. For the twins to do this to her, when they'd been so close to finally completing something, when it seemed as though they'd begun to take things seriously, for them to scare her like this….

Where had she gone wrong? Their family wasn't wealthy by any means - she'd accepted that long ago - but she'd tried so hard to instill values and morals in its members. Arthur didn't make much money at his job with the Ministry, but he sincerely enjoyed what he did – was good at it – and he was a hard worker. Really, that was all she had asked of the children. For the most part, they'd come through. Charlie had been Quidditch Captain. Bill and Percy had both held the position of Head Boy during their Seventh Years. Ginny'd always received good marks. Ron tread the line, but he'd been made Prefect, and that showed some sort of initiative, didn't it?

And then there were Fred and George. They were clever - extremely smart, even - and perhaps that was the reason that their disregard for their studies bothered her. They had immense potential – she'd seen it early on – yet for whatever reason, did nothing to pursue it.

Why?

"We're not 'throwing it all away,' Mum – honestly." Fred protested adamantly. "If you'd just listen –"

"You need a good education," she insisted. "How else do you expect to get a job at the Ministry with your father? Without the proper schooling and qualifications –"

"We don't want to work 'at the Ministry,'" George cut in. "We're not Percy, Mum, in case you haven't noticed –"

"Thank Merlin for that," Fred muttered. She shot him a Look.

" – and we have our own special…erm, qualities."

"Go on."

"We, er, well. That is to say…ah…"

George was looking increasingly uncomfortable, as though there were something he was hesitant to say. He hadn't stuttered this much since the Fur Incident, and that'd been because he hadn't wanted to tell her that she had a tail poking from the back of her robes.

"Out with it."

"We wanted to…to –"

" – We want to open a joke shop." Fred blurted out. "Er, we have opened a joke shop, more or less…"

Have? "Have?"

"Yes," said George, looking a bit relieved. "have."

She stared. "A joke shop."

They'd spoken of it for years, claiming that their pranks were 'all for a good cause, Mum, we swear.' And she'd never truly listened, until now….

"A joke shop." Fred said, the slightest hint of defiance in his tone. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"Weasley's Wizarding…" She trailed off, dumbfounded.

"Haven't been to Diagon Alley lately, have you?" George asked curiously.

"Well, no, not for a month or two. You – you…you've opened a joke shop."

"Yes." Fred said exasperatedly.

"A joke shop."

"Mm-hmm." George seemed to be resisting the urge to roll his eyes. She couldn't summon the energy to snap at him. "Look – we know you want us to make it through our last year at Hogwarts, Mum, and we understand – really, we do. But there's nothing for us there, anymore –"

"– Umbridge cow –" Fred put in helpfully.

"– and this is…this is what we want. It's what we're good at, Mum, you know that. And we've thought it through – honestly, we have. We've got a down-payment on the space, enough money for the next month's rent, supplies to get us off the ground, word seems to be spreading…"

"We've already advertised at Hogwarts." Fred said, grinning.

"Bloody brilliant, that was." George grinned back. He glanced at her and sobered. "Everything's too serious, right now. No-one knows how to have fun anymore, and we can't stand it. Please, Mum, please, just…don't be angry. We'll do it no matter what – we're of age – but if we knew that you were happy or proud or…not mad, at least, it'd be so much better…."

"All right."

"But it's not a stupid idea, we've – what?" Fred gaped.

She sighed. "All right, then."

George's eyes widened. "You mean you're…okay with it?"

"I mean that if it's truly what you want to do, I approve."

"And we still get Christmas presents?" Fred inquired hopefully.

"I've already started on your sweaters," she said, gesturing to the abandoned knitting by the armchair, "so yes, I suppose."

"Can I have blue this year?" George asked, batting his eyelashes.

"You'll take maroon." She said, smiling.

He grinned and adopted a pout. "But it clashes so terribly with my hair."

"You've a charm that will change hair color, I've seen it listed on your order sheets. I'm sure you can find something to match. Perhaps a nice plum…."

"Mu-um."

"You know, now that you mention it, we've got that lovely shade of green in the storeroom…" Fred gazed shiftily at George's ginger locks. "It'd be like having my very own Christmas tree. You could stand in the corner and greet the customers…"

"Maybe sing a carol or two on the hour," Molly agreed.

"Enough!" George shrieked, ducking as she reached out to ruffle his hair. He straightened in an effort to preserve a bit of his dignity. "I'm going to bed."

"You should too, Fred," she said, shooing him in the direction of the stairs. "I'll wait up for your father and tell him what's happened. He'll be pleased, I expect…"

"Just as you are, Mum." Said Fred, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Even if you don't quite know it, yet." He leaped up the narrow staircase, taking the steps two at a time. "Oi, George! Get your scrawny arse out of the loo!"

Molly chuckled, propping their discarded brooms against the wall before heading back to her seat by the lamp. The clock on the wall showed three hands pointing to 'Home' and she shook her head, smiling slightly. They were careless, those two. And certainly unpredictable. But it seemed that, after all these years, they were, at last, beginning to grow up.

And as much as she wanted to discourage their lack of appreciation for learning, she couldn't hold back a surge of pride. These were dark times, and more than anything, the world needed a bit of light. Something to laugh about. The kind of fun she remembered enjoying as a young girl.

O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were important, she wouldn't deny that, but perhaps what Fred and George were setting out to do was even more so. They were going to make people happy, and she was glad.

The storm would come; the winds would blow, the thunder would roll, and lightning would strike - there was no doubt about that. But eventually, the rain would stop. The clouds would clear out. The sun would shine once again.

Until then, visits to a joke shop would do.