April Fool's Day

March 31st

"Charlie! Bill! Leave poor Percy alone, or I'll make you de-gnome the garden! And come inside, it's getting dark."

A crying two-year-old Percy was clinging to his mother's leg. She dearly wanted to pick him up and give him a cuddle, but she doubted she could reach him over her huge belly. Eight and a half months pregnant, and bigger than she'd been with Bill at nine and a half months (Bill had been a few weeks late), she was beginning to feel the strain, and her older boys weren't helping in the slightest. Sitting down on a wooden chair, which gave an ominous creak as her weight fell upon it, she pulled the sniffling Percy onto what was left of her lap and hugged him until he stopped crying.

As usual, when it got to about this time of evening, the worry began to set in. Arthur's hand on the clock still pointed steadfastly to "Work", despite the fact he should've been home half an hour ago. Though she tried not to look at it too often, out of the corner of her eye it always seemed that the longest hand had moved to "Mortal Peril". Then again, maybe that was just her eyes.

Tearing them away from the darned clock, she gave her youngest - though for not much longer, she thought - a last cuddle and let him scurry up the stairs to his room. Heaving herself up again - the chair creaked warningly - she went outside, where five year old Charlie and seven year old Bill were playing on their toy broomsticks in the fast-fading light, their toes lightly touching the tips of the slightly-overgrown grass. Charlie was swerving around Bill, as fast as the toy would go, showing considerable skill as he avoided his elder brother easily and grabbed the ball they were throwing around. Bill grumbled and tried valiantly to keep up with his younger brother, but he lacked the ability to catch Charlie on the broom, and soon gave up. It was no wonder Charlie always wanted to play on the broomsticks; it was the only way the younger, stockier boy could ever keep up with the older and taller Bill.

Hopping off and wandering over to his mother, the older boy called, "Mum, what's for dinner?"

It was at this point, though, that Charlie sped between them, looped Molly and stopped smartly before them, grinning.

"When's dad back?"

"I don't know, Charlie," she said wearily, trying not to let the worry show too much in her voice. "You should come inside now, it's not sa-" she stopped quickly. "It's getting dark, you'll catch you're deaths out here,"

"But it's not cold, it's not even that dark," Bill complained. He was right, of course; the mid-spring evening was rather warm and, although the sun had set, the twilight cast a deep, purplish glow that might've been pretty if it didn't seem suddenly so deathly to Molly.

"Come on, inside, quick!" she said tightly, as irrational fear clamped on her heart. Complaining all the way, the boys were ushered inside the kitchen, where Molly locked and, several times as she cooked dinner, checked that she had locked, the back door.

The funny feeling as if something bad was happening refused to leave her, and, as the time ticked past six o'clock, she sat wringing her hands on the creaking chair at the kitchen table, trying fruitlessly to occupy herself first with cooking dinner - which ended up frightfully burnt - to serving dinner - her shaking hands made Bill's stew end up on Charlie's lap - to supervising her sons while they ate - Percy got a faceful when his brothers decided to start a one-sided food fight - to washing the dishes - she broke Arthur's favorite glass - to knitting - after she dropped five stitches, she decided it was pointless - and eventually to sitting, her head resting on her left hand, her right rubbing her belly where the baby had kicked her hard up the ribs a moment before. Her eyes were fixed on Arthur's hand of the clock, as she listened to the far-off sounds of Bill, Charlie and Percy playing Exploding Snap in Bill's room; their cries of "Snap", arguments over who'd gotten their hand down first, and periodical explosions reaching her ears.

At long last, just as she was beginning to dismiss the awful fear that had gripped her, Arthur's hand moved briefly to "Traveling", before slowly gliding on toward "Home". Relief flooded through Molly, and she looked towards the dying fire, which didn't turn large and green. She whipped back around to face the clock, and, to her horror, realized her relief had come too soon.

The hand didn't stop at Home.

It glided past the collection of four hands that were already there, and came to rest on the position Molly dreaded and feared most.

Mortal Peril.

Molly's heart stopped. Arthur! She wanted to scream, but she couldn't scare the boys, the three innocent young children who barely knew there was a war. She was trying not to think of what was happening to Arthur. An attack on the Ministry itself? Surely You-Know-Who was not that powerful? Then why was Arthur in such danger? Were they that low on Aurors? She knew he'd been pulled off his regular job to help with the war effort, but not to fight in it!

But why else would he be in danger?

Trying to calm herself, she listened for the vaguely comforting sound of the boys playing upstairs.

They were silent.

She had long ago learned that, when they were making no noise, they were up to no good. In her current state, Molly's mind jumped right past "Mischief" and landed on "Danger". Lurching to her feet, ignoring her protesting sore ankles, she half-ran up the narrow stairway and threw open Bill's door.

The three boys were crouched, silent as mice, as though terrified, behind a huge, nearly complete card castle of slightly singed cards - Exploding Snap cards. In Bill's outstretched hands were the last two cards, the two that made the triangular formation complete. Then she realized. It was not terror that gripped their faces - it was tension.

Bill slowly moved the cards towards the top of the castle, hands shaking slightly, eyes narrowed in concentration. Percy and Charlie's eyes were wide, pleading her not to move or speak, lest she disturb the fragile balance of the cards.

It's like this little family. The fragile force that holds us together. Arthur's in danger. Arthur's the base, the bit that makes us stand up. There's no two ways about it. It'll either be complete, it'll be safe, and he'll be safe, at least for now. Or the hands above us, fate above us, will tremble too much for us to stand. The base will falter, it will fall, and, as it tumbles, the rest will fall with it.

With a choking sob, Molly burst into tears. Bills hands, a fraction of an inch away from placing the cards, jumped back, scandalized.

"Mum!" he cried, and the cards fell.

"Bill!" she screamed. "Charlie! Percy!"

They stared at her as though she had sprouted a second head.

Undaunted and with her nerves at breaking point, she gathered the boys to her and hugged them tightly. Then, standing, she dragged them to their feet and shepherded them downstairs.

"Why're you crying, Mum?" Charlie asked, mystified. Percy was sniffling about the cards, too young to understand.

When they reached the kitchen, Molly mopped her face a surreptitiously as possible on a tea towel and made the boys a hot chocolate. She wanted - needed - them close at the moment.

They'd only been down there a few minutes when the clock's longest hand moved to "Traveling", and then "Work" and Molly, feeling utterly overwhelmed, hugged the nearest boy - an unfortunate Percy - very tightly.

The hand stayed for five minutes or so on "Work", before returning to "Traveling" and, at long last, with a crackle of green flames and a whoosh, Arthur stepped out of the fireplace as his hand juddered to a halt at "Home".

"Arthur!" she cried tearfully, getting up awkwardly and launching herself at her husband, tears pouring down her face again, and in her desperate relief, she failed to notice the worn, sad look in Arthur's eyes.