A/N: Hi, all! This was written for Round 5 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. As beater 2 of the Caerphilly Catapults (who chose the Weasley box), I chose to write about the pairing Molly/Arthur. My optional prompts were:

3. (word) Labyrinthine

11. (word) Atmosphere

For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 1,560.

Poultry in Motion

Arthur hated chickens.

They were loud, dirty, and not overly pleasant. All the same, for the sake of his new marriage, nobody had to know that, even if he was feeling slightly bitter about the fact that his "honeymoon" (time alone with his new wife after their elopement) was being taken over by said new wife's favorite pets.

They had been at their new abode (a three-room cottage that Molly had fondly coined her Burrow) for less than twelve hours when Molly had decided that it was time for some new additions. While their home was small and would require renovations in the future, the surrounding land was more than they could ever find use for. As such, Molly decided that she wanted chickens, and they got to work. When the feed and water bins were finally set out and the beds for egg-laying were constructed within the modest coop, Arthur and Molly chose a sunny Saturday afternoon and Apparated to a local farmer's market that they had spotted during their search for a house. A short while later, they arrived back home with a dozen hens of various colors shut tightly in their cages, ready to be introduced to their brand-new coop; Molly was beside herself with happiness. All had gone quite well, honestly, until they set the cages on the lawn and charmed them open.

Arthur wasn't even entirely sure what happened. All he knew was that as soon as he flicked his wand at the farthest cage, the runt of the brood panicked at its newfound freedom. The chicken squawked loudly, darting between Arthur's legs and bolting away from its companions. Arthur pelted after its receding figure but caught only feathers between his fingers. He watched for a moment as the beast fled to the vast fields of Ottery St. Catchpole. At Molly's distraught cry, Arthur took off running, realizing after the fact that it wouldn't have been a bad idea to put up a chicken wire fence before releasing the creatures.

He chased frantically after the chicken, itching to use his wand but also knowing that it would be fruitless. Summoning Charms were only truly safe with inanimate objects. With a panicked chicken, the best-case scenario would be that it flew directly at his face in a flurry of scrabbling claws.

Multiple times during his sprint, Arthur thought he nearly had the chicken only to miss it by inches when he flung himself after it. The last time this happened, Arthur spat out a mouthful of dirt and feathers, looking at his empty hands in disgust for a moment before he spotted the chicken. It was sprinting as fast as it could toward the labyrinthine collection of trees just a meter away from him. Arthur scrambled to his feet and plunged in after it.

He hoped to use the many turns and twists of the small wood to one-up the chicken; it was making quite a lot of noise and still seemed frantic, but every time Arthur changed direction, the feathered beast did so faster. It didn't even flinch when they reached the small creek running along the edge of the property—it scampered across the shallow waters and continued running on the other side. The hen's clucks could be heard with mocking clarity as it disappeared from view. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur chalked it up as a bad job and stumbled home.

Molly was waiting at the back door when he arrived, a kettle on the stove and a sad smile on her lips. Her eyes were bright with hope as he drew nearer, but at the shake of his head, her smile fell to a grimace. She nodded her head in acceptance as Arthur shrugged his shoulders, and when he drew close enough to pull her to his chest, she let out a huffed sigh.

"Well, that didn't go as planned, did it?" she asked after a moment.

"What? The runaway chicken?" Arthur leaned back and raised a brow. "I think it's the smartest of the bunch, honestly. It knew it was only a matter of time before we ate it for dinner."

He laughed loudly as Molly pulled back to smack his arm.

"Arthur Weasley! I will sooner eat you than one of those chickens. Keep your dirty paws off them."

Arthur held up his hands in surrender. "Well, I mean, if that's really what you want to do for the evening—"

He was cut off when Molly smacked him once more.

"Don't be crass," she said with a laugh.

"It's not my fault that I find neglectful chicken-mothers quite attractive."

Molly rolled her eyes and turned away to enter the kitchen. Arthur could see traces of a grin on her face.

"I don't even know why I married you," she tossed over her shoulder.

"For my outstanding good looks, of course!" Arthur stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind him. He heard Molly pouring tea from the kettle as he glanced out the back window. The silhouette of the chicken coop was visible in the distance, and he took a moment to huff, still annoyed at their recent escapee. When he heard his wife set two mugs on the table, however, he smiled in contentment.

Arthur hated chickens, but he loved his Molly.

— — — — —

Molly sat at the kitchen table the following morning, cradling fresh tea in her hands as she watched the sun rising at the edge of their property. She pulled her gaze from the window as a firm kiss was pressed to the side of her head. When she looked up, she took in the sight of her husband and sighed. His face bore scratches from the previous evening's adventure, and she could still see remnants of soil under his fingernails despite repeated cleansing charms and showers. His eyes were tired, but there was a light in them that Molly hadn't expected to see after the night they had just had. If she was honest, she felt rather silly now for being so sad about their runaway chicken. It was just a chicken, after all, and she should have expected it. She had no experience with livestock—her own parents had a difficult enough time feeding their own flock, much less another one that took up twice as much room. Yes, Molly felt awful that she had lost that poor bird, but she was determined to do better. She had kept track of Gideon and Fabian all throughout their childhood; she would get the hang of this.

"Molly, dear," Arthur said softly, kneeling down in front of her. "What atmosphere are you in?"

Molly started out of her musings. "What?"

"What are you thinking?" he asked kindly.

"No, what did you say before?"

Arthur chuckled. "It's just a Muggle phrase—an obscure one, if my readings are correct."

"Oh, Mr. Weasley," Molly muttered. "I love when you talk Muggle to me."

The two lost themselves to a fit of laughter after that, only to stop when Arthur leaned in to kiss Molly once more.

"I have something else that you're going to love."

Molly couldn't ignore the leap within her stomach as she watched Arthur smile. Even after marrying this man, she was captivated by his passion and perpetual cheerfulness. She leaned in to rest her forehead against his.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Come see."

Molly allowed Arthur to put her mug down and take her by the hand before leading her out the back door. The summer air was warm on her freckled skin, and she studied it as the aroma of wildflowers was gradually overtaken by the musk of feathers and droppings coming from the chicken coop. Arthur stopped just a few meters from the coop's door, and she did as well. It took her a moment to realize why they were there. She did a quick headcount.

"Arthur!" Molly squeaked. "Arthur, we have twelve! The little one is back!" She turned to launch herself into his arms before rushing over and seating herself in the grass as close to the chickens as they would allow. She looked back and, after a moment, saw Arthur coming to join her. "How did you get her back?" she asked fondly.

"Turns out they have an instinct for returning home." Arthur smiled. He leaned over to nudge her shoulder with his own. "I was reading over that book you bought at the market—Madame Peruchi's Guide to Chickens and Other Fantastic Creatures—and it mentioned that chickens tend to wander off, but they usually come home in the end." He stopped to let out a low chuckle before continuing. "Actually, I think I kept it away for longer than necessary by chasing it off."

Molly leaned in to kiss her husband's cheek.

"You're a good man, Arthur Weasley."

"A good man who hates chickens," he added with a grin.

"A good man who loves me."

Molly turned her face and let him kiss her once more, loving this easy affection, this freedom of caring for each other without boundary. She loved Arthur's tolerance and encouragement of her farmhouse dream; she loved his obsession with Muggles and his willingness to read whatever book crossed his path. She returned to the present as he pulled out of their embrace.

"You've got me there," she heard him say.