A/N: Ah, chapter 3 arrives! You get to find out where Molly went, a few clues as to her crime, and more about how the poor Weasley family is holding up. Enjoy!

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Cornflower blue was the sky, and its stately presence seemed to make each green tree stand all the taller; each delicate purple flower all the more lovely. A gentle wind ruffled the trees, their leaves being softly caressed. Wildflowers were everywhere in the clearing, but it was on a particularly large clump that a figure suddenly appeared.

According to witnesses, Molly Weasley hadn't been missing more than three days, but if anyone would chance to see her, they'd remark that this was a woman who'd been on the run a good while.

Molly's wren brown hair, always perfectly kept in a bun and held perfectly in place with potion, had transformed into a grizzled rat's nest. She had always taken pride in her clothes, even if they were years old. Old they might well be; but dirty they were never. Yet now her clothes were caked with a layer of grime and mud.

Her face, too, seemed different; sharper. The soft motherly lines around her mouth now were determined. This same mouth, always grinning, now twisted into a different sort of smile. The smile of a criminal who knows she's won. Who knows she's fooled them all.

Still grinning that twisted smile, she began to walk up to the cottage concealed in the nearby grove of trees. Her leg muscles, now tight as a marathon runner, pulled uncomfortably; but Molly had made it so far, and she'd be damned if a mere twenty meters would keep her from her goal.

She stepped up to the familiar grass walkway to the door. Molly knew it well; it had been her family's hide-out for several years. Here, she'd learned the truth about her parents. And from here she'd run away, leaving the foul memories alongside the lovely flowers. She half-laughed. It was ironic, she thought, that such a beautiful, beautiful place could house such evil. To her, every last smiling lavender flower was a sinister reminder, as if each one harbored guilt.

Finally, exhaling slowly, she knocked on the musty door gently. The heavy door slowly, oh, so agonizingly slowly, opened to reveal a graying man, no longer tall, but bent with age.

"...Dad?"

And the knowing flowers just laughed.

***

Everyone agreed, the Douglass's were one of the richest families in town. It took but one glance at the lovely, Victorian style mansion they lived in to destroy any fleeting doubts about their wealth. The family business of selling tea had not been weakened by this generation, but rather strengthened by the new addition of the brisk, cool-headed Mrs. Douglass.

At least, that was what was believed. But only Johnston, who was the family accountant, knew the true tale.

The Douglass business was going down the tubes. Sales had been slacking dramatically and tempers were running high. Secretly, several meetings had been conducted and different methods tried, but it seemed as if nothing could save the business Mr. Douglass's grandfather had begun. Perhaps Douglass Tea had become unpopular; its logo was hardly chic. The Douglass's had always depended more upon the secret blends they used than advertising. But in an age of commercials and quantity rather than quality, this was a fatal flaw. Even Mr. Douglass's last ditch attempt at coming up with enough money for the next shipment failed; in his anger he lashed out at the person who had been unable to get the money. Johnston.

"Johnston..." In a flash of understanding, the stately Mr. Douglass got his first bad idea. He knew how he would keep his family afloat. And the scapegoat was someone nobody cared about, someone who would appear to all as the culprit. The Douglass's would never be suspected. "Yes," Mr. Douglass chuckled to himself, "it's perfect."

Johnston, poring over documents in his home, little realized the trap had been set for his downfall.

***

Black coated Ministry workers coated the Burrow, searching every last corner for a clue of Molly's whereabouts.

"No sign of a break in, sir. Oddly enough, there not a speck of evidence of a struggle..." the chief investigator trailed off, and Ron, overhearing, felt his head go numb.

"No sign of a struggle..." Ron gave a strangled laugh. Oh, this was rich. His good, sane mother gone without reason, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes here was trying to convince him she hadn't been kidnapped.

"If it had been kidnapping, we would have had a ransom note by now," said the investigator in an undertone, answering Ron's unasked question. "All we could find as a clue was this." Tightly clenched in the man's muscular hand was a dirty, torn piece of fabric. Even from across the room, Ron could make out the telltale checkers.

The investigator little knew how much this bit of cloth would affect the family, but his face displayed his sympathy to the family who was obviously shocked. Ginny, only thirteen years old, hugged her knees and cried in a corner not covered by the ever-present yellow police tape. It was truly a sign of the anguish felt by all that none of the seven remaining family members even took notice.

Suddenly, a sinister thought implanted itself in Ron's red head, and his stomach lurched with a sickening coldness. 'What if she...meant to leave us? What if she hates us?' Losing his self control, the tall, strong, teenage Ron gave in to a cascade of salty tears. Patting his back while staring blankly into space was Arthur. He seemed to have taken the hit the hardest; before, he was seen as an irresolute mountain. But as this situation had shown, even mountains can crumble.

Truly, this was a family who missed their mother.

Many kilometers away, her family was the last thing on Molly Weasley's mind.

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A/N: Hopefully you are beginning to get un-confused now. And if you aren't, never fear! All will be revealed in time. I'd love to see what you guys think is going to happen -- please include all theories in the review which hopefully will be allowed by ff.n. *ahem* (If ff.n won't let you review, just e-mail it to me at Leven5@aol.com.) I hope you like the series! Viva la METMA!