Cumulus: a heap; pile.
May 22, 1986
Warm rain washed over the windows, fell softly on the summer-green fields, made the stove seem warmer and more inviting. Molly Weasley clutched her mug of tea and peered out the droplet-flecked window at the muddy yard, the seven bright raincoats moving about in it. She had not felt so chilly and alone in a very long time. A part of her had never really believed her father could pass away.
It had happened five days ago, now. It was hard to believe that five suns had risen and set and her father had missed all of them. Molly was no stranger to grief, but life had rolled along so wonderfully normally that she had forgotten to brace herself for it and her mother's letter had been like an iron fist to a soft stomach. He had been ill lately. Her brothers' deaths more than six years before had taken a lot out of him. He had never been quite right after that. But a small, childish part of her had refused to believe anything could bring down the stout, strong, grinning man who had once swung Molly up onto his shoulders as if she were made of nothing but feathers.
Bill and Charlie had come home for the funeral that morning. It had started to rain halfway through the ceremony. The twins had jumped in every mud puddle between them and the church fireplace they'd used to floo home. She had let the seven of them loose into the yard so that they might blow off the energy that had built up sitting quietly in the church all morning. But the empty house and the rain and the memories of summer afternoons spent tucked by the fire, listening to her father read aloud above the swish of a good summer storm made her feel suddenly empty and alone.
A crack of thunder rang across the blackening sky and lightning flashed jaggedly in the distance. Molly set down her mug and moved to the back door, sticking her head out into the damp chill outside to call her children in before the lightning drew any closer.
Percy was the first through the door, his yellow jacket the only one without a spot of mud on it. He squinted through his fogged up glasses as he fought his way out of the wellington boots that had once been Bill's and set them neatly in the corner.
"Have we got tea?" he asked hopefully, looking toward the stove.
Molly smiled in spite of herself. "Will hot chocolate do?"
Percy accepted the offered mug with a sigh that he supposed it would have to just as Charlie came stomping through the door, shaking like a wet dog and sending water droplets everywhere. Percy squawked as he was spattered, but Charlie paid him no heed as he kicked off his own boots into the corner with Percy's, knocking them over into a heap.
Right behind him were the twins, plastered in mud from head to toe so that the red of their coats was barely visible. They imitated the storm brewing outside as they pulled off their jackets and launched their boots into the growing pile beside the door, spattering mud in all directions.
Bill guided the littlest bright rain jackets into the kitchen as Charlie ushered the twins through to the sitting room, joining in with their sound effects much to Percy's irritation. Bill pulled the door closed behind him with a gusty breath and began to peel his soaked jacket off (he was too old for yellow rain coats, he told his mother).
Molly knelt down before the littlest two, pulling Ron's dripping hat off and kissing the top of his damp head, hearing his teeth chattering.
"We made pies," Ginny informed her mother delightedly, squirming out of her jacket as Bill helped Ron to unbutton his. She displayed her filthy hands for her mother's approval.
As Molly cleaned off Ginny's hands, Bill gathered up the little ones' discarded jackets and boots and added them to the pile now surrounded by a moat of a puddle seeping from all sides. Then he chased Ron out of the kitchen and Ginny tore after them, pausing only long enough to straighten her flowery pink boots at the top of the mound.
Molly poured six more steaming mugs of hot chocolate, listening to her children in the next room, a healthy whirlwind of noise. She carried the tray into the cramped sitting room where all seven of them were heaped around the crackling hearth as Bill began to relate some tall tales about Hogwarts to the awe of the five who had yet to walk its halls and the amusement of the one other who had.
A warm feeling settled in her for the first time in five days. For every memory lost to the eddies of time, new ones would come along in their place. An ongoing collection to save for a rainy day.
A/N: Two updates today because FF wouldn't let me post yesterday! I don't know if any of you have read Septimus Heap by Angie Sage but the Weasleys remind me of the Heaps and this word reminded me of both of them :) Hope you liked it! Thank you ever so much for your lovely reviews!