The sun climbed higher, casting warm rays through the kitchen window as the Burrow buzzed with life. Harry joined them at the table, his hair messier than usual, eyes still glazed with sleep. Ginny teased him about his "morning look," and he shot back with a playful grin, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
Molly watched them with a fond smile, her heart swelling at the sound of laughter echoing through her home. She hadn't heard such joy in so long, not since the war had taken over their lives. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay.
But the shadows in her mind were persistent. As she poured tea into chipped cups, her gaze drifted to the window again, a frown etching itself between her brows. A crow sat perched on the fence, its beady eyes fixed on the house, unblinking. Its feathers were black as ink, and the way it watched them sent a shiver down her spine.
She quickly looked away, scolding herself for being so jumpy. It was just a bird. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching them... waiting.
"Hermione sent an owl this morning," Ginny said, breaking through her mother's thoughts. "She and Ron are safe at Shell Cottage. They'll be here by the end of the week."
Harry's face brightened, relief evident in his eyes. "That's good. I've been worried about them."
Molly reached over, giving his hand a reassuring pat. "We're all worried, dear. But you're safe here. All of you are." She forced herself to smile, willing herself to believe her own words.
Harry nodded, his shoulders relaxing as he took a bite of toast. "Yeah... I know." But his eyes flickered to the window, his guard never truly down.
The crow let out a shrill caw, its wings flapping as it took off, disappearing beyond the hills. Molly felt the hair on her neck stand on end, but she remained silent.
Later that day, while clearing the dishes, Molly heard a faint whisper. Her head snapped up, eyes scanning the room, but nothing was there. She glanced towards the door, where sunlight streamed in, dust motes dancing in the warm glow. Everything was as it should be.
"Mum?" Ginny's voice jolted her back to the present. She turned to see her daughter standing in the doorway, brow furrowed. "You alright?"
Molly forced a laugh. "Just daydreaming, love." She moved to the sink, hands trembling as she scrubbed a plate. "Just daydreaming..."
But the whispers continued, so faint that she almost thought she was imagining them. Words she couldn't quite make out, lingering just beyond her grasp.
That night, Molly lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She could hear Harry's soft snores drifting from the room down the hall, Ginny's rhythmic breathing from the other side. They were safe.
And yet...
She sat up, her heart racing. A shadow flickered across the window. She froze, her breath caught in her throat. It was there just for a second, but it was there. A silhouette, slender and graceful, its robes billowing as it disappeared into the night.
Molly scrambled out of bed, rushing to the window and throwing it open. Cold air blasted her face, the night eerily still. Nothing moved. Not a whisper of wind, not a rustle of leaves. Only the moonlight bathed the garden in silver.
She stood there, shivering, her hands gripping the windowsill so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes scanned every shadow, every corner. But there was nothing.
Just her imagination.
Just her paranoia.
Molly shut the window, locking it tight. She crawled back into bed, her heart still pounding. It was nothing. She was just tired. The war was getting to her, that's all.
But as she lay in the darkness, her eyes wide open, she could still see the shadow. Still hear the whisper.
And in that moment, she knew.
They were not alone.