Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made.

HMWSB

Her good humor evaporated the moment she walked through the Burrows front door. It was utter chaos.

Ginny had her wand in hand and was continuously casting the Bat Boogey Hex- a spell she knew, though they didn't know that she knew, that William had taught her to terrify her soon to be classmates- at both Ron and Harry. Rather than defend themselves, the two boys were running away in ever increasing circles, waving their arms about while screaming their heads off at full volume. Fred and George were standing in the stairwell, egging their sister on. Percy was nowhere to be found.

Arthur was, of course, true to form, standing in the middle of it all. Her poor husband was trying to be patient, but his pleas for calm were being ignored. He couldn't even be heard over the din, despite standing in the center of all the chaos.

Long experience had taught her that there was only one cure for the kind of madness that was taking place before her.

"WHAT IN MORGANA'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?! YOU SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!. . . ." She went on in a similar vein until she was red in the face, and didn't stop her verbal assault until her children, including the missing Percy and Arthur, were lined up before her.

Arthur was, as usual, entirely too understanding. "I was just asking the same thing, Mollywobbles," he began in a tone that tried to be both jovial and placating. "From what I can tell, dear . . .".

She cut him off. "That's nice, sweetheart," she informed him. "I think you should go to the shed and check on your plugs, don't you?" she smiled sweetly, so that he knew it was more command than request but could pretend it wasn't.

Many thought that Arthur was a whipped man. That he bowed to his wife's commands without question, that he never asserted his authority as pater familias.

They were partially correct, though Molly thought it would be a fairer statement that they had a division of labor. He handled matters outside the house and she handled those within. The recent insanity was definitely subject to her jurisdiction and he knew it.

Arthur had sometimes watched the children when she was feeling ill. It never worked out, despite the constant opportunities she gave him.

She knew her husband would be the first to confess that he was entirely unsuited to running a household or maintaining discipline. As present circumstances proved.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You're right dear. There has been a bit of moisture in the air. I should really check to make sure the plugs aren't rusting." He gave the children a warning look. "I'll leave you to sort matters out here."

As he left, Ron and the twins looked as if they desperately wanted to follow. They didn't, of course. They knew better.

She turned to Percy. "Do you have anything you'd like to share?"

Of all her boys, Percy was most likely to inform. More correctly, he was the only one who would play informant. Sometimes she despaired. It must be from the Weasley side, she lamented. A Prewett would never turn on family or friends.

But that never stopped her from acting on the information he offered. If it had, she wouldn't be able to defuse half the chaos her children inflicted upon her and the house.

Percy looked contrite. "I'm sorry, mother, but I was upstairs revising last year's Runes and had silencing charms up to avoid distractions. It never is too late to prepare for one's OWLs," he added pompously, giving a pointed look toward his younger siblings, none of whom appeared to take the hint.

She sighed. Of course, it couldn't be that simple. Still, he was a good boy, diligent with his studies, so she fussed with his collar and hair before sending him back up to his room.

She smiled fondly at him as he vanished from sight. Percy would be Minister someday, she was sure. Or Head Unspeakable. One or the other.

And that left five. The twins wouldn't crack. Worse, they'd do their best to add to her confusion. She needed them gone.

"And what were the two of you doing out of your room?" she demanded. "I thought I'd sent you there until further notice?" Fred, she thought, opened his mouth to say something, but she knew that way lay chaos. "WELL?" she screeched, using her best Howler voice. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? MOVE!"

She sometimes thought Fred and George were the most reckless of her boys, but even they knew to vacate the premises when she was in a mood. They bolted up the stairs like the Devil himself was on their heels.

And then there were three. Ginny had a stubborn, defiant cast to her mouth. Another Weasley trait, she knew. Ron was looking everywhere but at her. She suspected he was the weak link, but she didn't want to push him. It might break his confidence. He always had a bit of an inferiority complex and she didn't want to add to it.

That left Harry. Her adopted son of three days looked stricken. Perfect.

"Harry, dear, come over here."

When he did, she crushed him in a smothering hug. "You know that you aren't in trouble, don't you? Everything is going to be fine," she reassured him as she stroked his black hair, searching for the highlights she'd noticed during yesterday's backyard Quidditch match.

She'd been extremely pleased to see that since the adoption, his midnight black hair had picked up some auburn, barely noticeable, highlights. But if the sun struck it just right, a coppery-red sheen reflected off the messy, dark mop he called his hair.

She thought it beautiful and told him so, which caused him to blush. What she didn't say is that it would be even more beautiful with a respectable haircut. She'd take care of that later in the day.

He'd also begun to stretch out a bit in height, but she wasn't sure which potion was responsible. Was it the nutrient potions she'd taken to lacing his food with? Or had the adoption passed on some of her Prewett height? Either way, it was a good thing.

"Harry, dear, why don't you tell me what happened?" she cajoled, casting a warning glance at her other two miscreants. Ginny glared back defiantly as Ron gulped and looked down at his shoes.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley . . .," he began.

"Mum," she said, cutting him off. "I'm your mum, dear. Call me mum."

She didn't mind the mistake. After all, it took time for adjustments to sink in. Especially for young men. And old, she thought, remembering Dumbledore.

He smiled at her then, a bright, beautiful thing, and her heart almost melted. Not quite though. If a mother's heart melted every time one of her sons smiled at her, their homes would turn into an asylum.

Though he'd be a heartbreaker, she was sure. Or would be once he got some meat on his bones. He'd have no trouble finding the right witch and filling a house full of his own beautiful little hellions. She couldn't wait.

"You were saying . . .," she finally prompted, refusing to be distracted at the thought of her youngest handsome son and the possibility of grandchildren.

"Well, mum," he said hesitantly, as if tasting the word. She smiled and kept stroking his hair. Reassured, he leaned into her and kept talking. "Ron and I were under my Invisibility Cloak exploring. We found Ginny outside the barn writing in a diary. We looked over her shoulder and saw it was writing back. . .," as he continued, he warmed to his story, his arms wildly gesticulating. "And so Ron snatched it out of her hands and we ran to Arthur . . ., err, I mean, err, dad. And you know the rest," he concluded awkwardly.

As he finished speaking, Molly was sure of three things. First, Harry was honest to a fault. She trusted that exposure to the twins would cure him of that in due time. In the meantime, she'd be confiscating his Invisibility Cloak. It was too great a temptation to leave in the hands of a small child.

No doubt she'd received constant reports of mischief if she left it in his hands. Worse, what chaos could the twins spread if they ever got their hands on it?

What did concern her were the other two things. First, Ginny needed wand practice. She had cast hex after hex after Ron and Harry without connecting even once. Though in fairness, Harry had appeared to her to be very agile and would be a difficult target for even a well trained caster.

Regardless, her Prewett pride was offended. Gideon and Fabian would disown her as a sister if she didn't teach their niece how to at least cast accurately.

She'd start practicing with Ginny tomorrow. Remembering Ron and Harry's most recent adventures, she added them to the list of her children who needed some training.

Her brothers had been school champions, when Hogwarts had still offered dueling, both in singles and doubles. They'd even enjoyed considerable success on the professional dueling circuit before the war interrupted their careers.

Her brothers had made it a point to teach their little sister everything they knew. She, in turn, passed her knowledge to her own children, spending several weeks going over the lessons their Prewett uncles had taught her.

Only after they finished their NEWTs, however. Teaching hot tempered children- a definite Weasley trait, most likely from their Black ancestors- how to duel before their NEWTs was asking for trouble.

Her mother's intuition was telling her she shouldn't wait for NEWTs to teach her youngest children one end of a wand from another. All of her angels should be trained up just a bit by way of an insurance policy.

Common sense dictated that even if she'd be in school and better able to watch over them, she couldn't be everywhere. If she wanted them safe, and Voldemort's wraith seemed to have an unhealthy interest in her youngest boy, it was better for them to be as prepared as possible than sorry.

Her third concern was that her daughter was writing in a diary and it was writing back. That wasn't a good thing under any circumstances. Arthur's job involved cursed artifacts being foisted on unsuspecting muggles. He'd drilled into his children, including Ginny, that you never trusted something if you couldn't see its brain.

She was certain a diary was definitely covered by that admonition.

"Ginny, dear," she began calmly. Well, calm for her, anyway. "Where is this diary?"

When it was handed over- it had fallen under the kitchen table with all the chaos- she turned it over in her hand. T.M. Riddle, it read. She frowned. She didn't know any Riddle family.

"What did you say to it, Ginny?"

Ginny had never stopped glaring at her. And Ron. And Harry. If looks could kill, her sweet girl's glare would be the Killing Curse.

She smiled fondly. Her little girl had inherited a temper, that was for sure. And the ability to hold a grudge. She suspected it was something she got from Arthur's mother, Cedrella Black. The Blacks were famous for their tempers and ability to hold a grudge.

She sighed again. "Ron and Harry, you aren't in trouble. But can you go to your room for a bit? Ginny and I need to talk."

Ron looked like he'd protest the unfairness of it all, until Harry tugged on his arm. "Come on, mate," he said. "You can beat me at chess again."

And just like that, Ron's frown turned into a smile. It did her heart good to see the two of them racing upstairs, laughing.

It hadn't escaped her notice that Ron had seemed a bit more carefree, a bit less petulant, since Harry had joined the family. Maybe being an older brother was agreeing with him, she mused.

Pulling her attention back to her stubborn-as-a-mule daughter, "Let's have a bit of tea, dear," she offered. "We can talk things through, see what all the trouble is all about."

Of course, she placed a drop of the Forge Special into her daughter's drink. It had worked wonders for Harry, so why wouldn't it help Ginny get things off her chest.

She almost wished she hadn't. She'd known that Ginny had a tiny crush on the Boy Who Lived- years of bedtime stories would do that to a young girl- but she didn't know how deep that crush had grown. Ginny had been devastated that her Prince Charming had turned into another brother. As if she needed another brother, she'd cried.

Then she cried more, feeling guilty that she wasn't happy that Harry Potter, the sweetest, bravest boy ever, had joined the family. That made her a terrible person, she'd wailed.

She'd written about her upset and guilt in the diary she'd found among her books after their school shopping trip. She thought it might help to get everything off her chest. And it did.

But even better was that the diary contained a memory of Tom, its previous owner. Tom was wonderful. He was kind, caring, patient, sweet, and smart. He'd offered her advice. A shoulder to cry on, metaphorically speaking. He was quickly becoming her best friend.

Molly listened, and smiled, and gave her reassuring hugs when needed. Once Ginny had cried herself out, she gave her one last hug, before saying, "Ginny, I'm not going to punish you. But I am disappointed. Do you remember your father's words? 'Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain'."

"But mum," Ginny protested. "Tom wouldn't do anything . . .".

"Nonsense," she said, cutting her daughter off. "You don't know Tom. You do know your father. Who are you going to trust, a smooth talking stranger or your father who's an expert on dark artifacts and loves you to bits?"

Ginny refused to meet her eyes and instead mumbled something indistinct under her breath.

She tapped her finger on Ginny's forehead. "Speak up, young lady."

Ginny glared. "My father," she half spat.

"Exactly," Molly replied smugly. "Remember his words in the future. He's very good at his job. Who knows what trouble that diary might have caused."

"Yes, mum," came the sullen reply.

She contemplated her little girl. She was a bit out of sorts and would doubtless be a bear to deal with for a bit, but she'd be right as rain sooner rather than later. Especially if she gave her a bit of a nudge.

"I'm also disappointed that you didn't manage to land at least one jinx or hex on your brothers." She waved off Ginny's surprised look. "It has nothing to do with right or wrong. It's a matter of pride. Prewett's don't miss. So starting tomorrow morning, you and your brothers will start dueling lessons. I'll show you some tricks your uncles taught me."

Ginny sat stunned as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. After a moment she burst out of her chair and embraced her. Molly almost laughed. Poor Ginny's arms didn't come half way around her, but it was a fierce hug despite her lack of reach.

"I can really hex Ron and the twins?" Seeing her nod in the affirmative. "You're the best!" she squealed, forgetting for a moment she was eleven and not six.

She let Ginny babble on and made cooing noises at the appropriate times, before finally sending her off to wash up. She needed to start lunch.

But first, she had something to take care of. Molly Weasley was many things, but a fool was not one of them.

If a boy was too good to be true, then he was likely rotten to the core. Arthur would know what to do with this nasty book that had doubtless been trying to take advantage of her littlest angel.

Picking up the diary, she headed out to the shed.