Morning dawned bleak and cold, clouds hanging low as a chill settled over the Burrow. Molly busied herself in the kitchen, humming to distract herself from the lingering unease that clung to her like cobwebs. The events of the night before haunted her—shadows dancing outside her window, whispers in the dark.
She told herself it was just exhaustion. She hadn't slept properly in weeks, worrying over her family's safety, over Harry's well-being. That had to be it.
Yet as she glanced outside, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
"Mum, are you alright?" Ginny's voice startled her, the teapot nearly slipping from her hands.
Molly forced a smile, wiping her palms on her apron. "I'm fine, love. Just... a bit distracted today."
Ginny didn't look convinced. Her eyes flicked to the window, then back to her mother. "Are you sure?"
Molly hesitated, considering sharing her fears, but quickly dismissed the thought. She didn't want to worry Ginny. "Yes, yes. Now, sit down. Breakfast is nearly ready."
As they ate, Molly noticed Harry's quiet demeanor. He barely touched his food, his gaze distant, fingers idly tracing patterns on the table. Ginny nudged him playfully, but his smile was faint, eyes still clouded with worry.
"Harry, dear, is everything alright?" Molly asked, her motherly instincts flaring.
He looked up, clearly startled. "Oh... yeah, I'm fine." He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just... thinking about Ron and Hermione."
Molly's chest tightened. She knew how deeply he cared for his friends, how much he worried about their safety. But was that all it was?
Harry's fingers twitched, his hand instinctively moving to his pocket, where his wand was always kept. The movement was subtle, but Molly noticed. He was on edge, just as she was.
The crow was back. Perched on the same spot on the fence, its black eyes gleaming as it watched them.
Molly shivered.
That afternoon, as Ginny and Harry went outside to practice dueling, Molly found herself alone in the kitchen, the silence pressing in. She began cleaning up, hands moving on autopilot as her mind wandered.
A faint laugh echoed through the room.
She froze, the plates clattering in the sink. Her head whipped around, eyes searching for the source of the sound. But the room was empty, sunlight streaming through the window, casting golden patches on the floor.
Molly's heart pounded. She could have sworn she heard it—a cold, mocking laugh, so familiar it sent shivers down her spine. But no one was there.
The floorboards creaked behind her. She spun around, wand at the ready, breath caught in her throat. But again, nothing. Just an empty room.
The laughter echoed again, fading into a whisper.
A whisper that sounded like her name.
Molly staggered back, her hand gripping the edge of the sink for support. She shut her eyes tight, forcing herself to breathe. It wasn't real. It was just her mind playing tricks on her.
The air grew colder, and she swore she could feel eyes on her, watching, waiting.
She turned toward the window and saw the crow again, perched on the fence, staring straight at her. Its head tilted, beak opening as it let out another shrill caw.
Molly stumbled back, her chest tightening. Her foot hit something solid, and she looked down to see a dead rat, its body twisted and broken. It hadn't been there before.
Her blood ran cold.
She backed away, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her heart raced, the whispers growing louder, surrounding her.
A flicker of black robes, just outside the window. A flash of pale skin. The gleam of wild, maniacal eyes.
Molly screamed, her wand aimed at the glass. "Protego!" she shouted, the shield charm erupting from her wand, surrounding the kitchen in a shimmering barrier.
The vision vanished. The garden lay empty, the crow gone. Only the dead rat remained, lifeless and cold.
Molly sank to the floor, shaking, her breathing ragged. It was impossible. It couldn't be. But she knew what she had seen.
Bellatrix.
Somehow, she was here. Watching them. Toying with them.
Molly scrambled to her feet, bolting out of the kitchen. She had to warn Harry and Ginny. They weren't safe. None of them were.
As she ran outside, her heart pounding, she swore she heard that laughter again, echoing in the distance, carried by the wind.
Cold. Cruel. Familiar.