Disclaimer:
This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. I do not own any of the characters, settings, or events from the original books. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes and no copyright infringement is intended.
The sun peeked over the hills, casting a golden hue across the Burrow's crooked walls. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. Birds chirped merrily as they fluttered between the trees, and the garden was alive with vibrant blooms swaying in the gentle breeze. It was a perfect summer morning—serene, safe, and warm.
Molly Weasley hummed softly as she bustled around the kitchen. Her wand moved gracefully, guiding a knife to chop vegetables while a pan danced over the stove, sizzling with the promise of breakfast. Plates floated out of the cupboard, arranging themselves neatly on the worn wooden table. A smile played on Molly's lips as she glanced out the window, watching her daughter zip through the sky on her broomstick.
Ginny's hair was a fiery blur against the clear blue sky, her laughter echoing as she performed daring loops and dives. She maneuvered with ease, confidence radiating from every movement. Occasionally, she would look towards the house, a mischievous glint in her eyes, no doubt planning to drag Harry out for a match before the day was through.
Molly's smile widened. It was rare to have such peace. Harry was here, safe under her roof, and for a moment, she could pretend that the war was a distant nightmare.
She turned back to the stove, her wand flicking to adjust the flame. As she reached for a dishcloth, an icy shiver ran down her spine. The room suddenly felt colder, the sunlight dimming as if a cloud had passed overhead. Molly frowned, rubbing her arms. It was summer—there was no reason for such a chill.
Before she could dwell on it, a plate slipped from its place in mid-air, shattering against the floor. She jumped, her heart skipping a beat. "Oh!" she gasped, placing a hand over her chest. "Honestly..." She waved her wand, the shards gathering and vanishing with a quick Reparo.
Molly shook her head, scolding herself for being so jumpy. "Just nerves," she muttered, her voice echoing in the otherwise empty kitchen. "You're getting paranoid, Molly." Yet, she couldn't shake the unease that curled in her stomach.
Outside, Ginny was mid-dive when a chill ran through her, causing her to shiver. She faltered, her broom wobbling before she steadied herself, shaking her head. "Weird," she murmured, glancing around. Everything looked normal—the sky was clear, the garden untouched. Yet, a prickling sensation of dread lingered.
She shrugged it off, attributing it to the wind as she resumed her flight, flipping upside down with a triumphant laugh. Nothing could ruin a morning like this.
Inside, Molly began setting the table. She hesitated, her gaze drifting towards the stairs. Harry was still resting, no doubt exhausted from the battles he constantly faced. She felt a pang of sympathy for the boy who had been through so much. Here, at least, he could have a semblance of normalcy.
The thought brought her comfort, her shoulders relaxing as she placed the last plate down. The Burrow was safe. They were safe.
And yet, as she turned back to the stove, a shadow passed over the window, darkening the room for the briefest moment. Molly looked up, her heart skipping a beat, but nothing was there. Just the clear blue sky and the garden bathed in sunlight.
She shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. "Paranoid, indeed." But the unease remained, lurking just beneath the surface.
Outside, Ginny landed gracefully, her broom tucked under her arm as she made her way inside, her face flushed with exhilaration. "Mum, is breakfast ready?" she called, her voice bright and carefree.
Molly turned, her smile returning. "Just about. Go wash up, and tell Harry to come down as well."
Ginny grinned, nodding as she dashed up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house. Molly watched her go, her heart swelling with affection. Her children were safe. Harry was safe.
Nothing would change that.
Or so she believed.