Not my daughter.
AN: Ok, MAJOR DH SPOILER WARNING. If you're still reading DH, do not read this if you want the ending unspoiled.
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"
There had been many fine furies the Weasley family has seen from Molly, but this was something new and terrible to behold.
She was not the disciplinarian. She wasn't scolding, disappointed or hurt. There was no frustration or her usual innate kindness and compassion.
She was rage personified, deadly vengeance, and George watched in awe struck horror as she effectively shielded the three girls from harm and launched her attack with an aim and agility he'd never known her to possess.
He'd seen it before, just never from her. He'd watched, once, as a small snake had tried to raid the nest of a bird, watched the way the mother bird fought desperately, a fearful madness in her actions, a finality that bore witness to the ideal if I die, you come with me, bitch.
Molly Weasley was a sight to behold.
He felt a stab of pain that Fred could not enjoy the view of his mother effectively kicking the arse of the highest ranking Death Eater still alive. It was, he fully believed, one of the better moments in his family history.
"No! Get back, get back! She is mine!" There was an awful finality in her words, in the very thought that his mother was preparing to kill. She wasn't happy, or excited, as Bellatrix was. She was the war goddess of old, smiting those in her path, bloody and wondrous to behold.
Every movement, though undoubtedly instinctive, was infused with careful control. The same control he'd used while preparing to prank, though until now he'd never realised this trait was hers. He watched her eyes, the way she seemed to watch not the spells that came lunging towards her, though she dodged them easily enough, but the movements of her opponent, waiting for just the right moment to cast the Unforgivable.
Bellatrix said his brother's name in her taunting sing-song tones, and he felt the bile rise to his throat, even as he turned and Avada'd a Death Eater so furiously the man slammed into the wall, the man unprepared as he watched the two duels. Calmly, George Weasley turned, watching the moment his mother shouted the killing curse, her eyes vengeful and triumphant as a cold, cruel smile flickered across her features.
She caught his eye for the barest of moments, and he knew, without doubt, that his twin had been avenged.