As her brothers played in the field beside her, practicing Quidditch with their brooms, she was occupied with her own things. Molly Weasley, at four years old, played with her dolls in her room. She loved to mother them, and pretend they were her kids. She wanted to get her life in order, but she loved the idea of her and her husband, and kids. Her mother always made her and her brothers feel better, and made everything bad go away. She wanted to do that for her family. She wanted to have lotsof children. Maybe about four. Definitely not seven. Her family produced more twins than nothing.
Fabian and Gideon , her Aunts Norberta and Muriel. As she wiped some stray dirt off one of her "children's" noses, she heard a bang. It seemed to be from not far away, maybe even down the road, in the muggle village. She walked down to her garden, and looked down the road. A meter away, was a crup. A struggling crup, shot with something that resembles a muggle gun.
Oh the poor creature! How could anyone do this? Her heart broke at the sight. Splayed out in front of her, was a Jack-Russell Terrier look-alike. Crups, are very magical creatures, aggressive towards muggles, and loyal and friendly with wizards. This, she thought, was probably why it was shot. The forked tail was in plain sight, and muggles must think it some beast. If they were indeed muggles, it displayed hostility, and was shot.
She cried a single tear, and it plopped! on the ground, making a wet spot where it touched the earth. Before her eyes, something very strange began to happen; very strange, but wonderful. The bullet that injured and wounded this magical animal was lifted out of the wound, its skin glazing over it as if it was a blanket passing over a sleeping body, and fur grew upon this new skin. In the end, the Crup looked cleaner. Like something just out of a factory. As she hugged it, and laughed in joy, she started running up the road to her home. The crup followed her, and as she turned up at home, she asked her mother:
"Can we keep him?"
A/N: I don't know, but there is something very off about this chapter, and I don't know why. I like it, I really do, but I can't help feel strange. And if you haven't noticed, I've included Aunt Muriel, the bitter old bag. I thought, (and this is only my theory) that to be that bitter, or mean, or spiteful towards other people, on that level, something bad must have happened in her life, and I thought, maybe she lost someone. And the more I thought about it, I realized: Fabian and Gideon were twins, Fred and George were twins... maybe it was a recurring thing? Maybe she had lost, a twin. Now, I'm not saying that someday, George will become bitter old Great Uncle George, because he's too... George for that. I would like to supply some more adjectives, but if you know George, you will know what I mean.