001. Wind
Title: Wind
Rating: PG, maybe.
Words: 289
It isn’t safe to Apparate pregnant, not even Side-Along, and Floo or Portkey can leave you retching from all the spinning, even at eight months along, but the baby was coming and Arthur had just popped to Diagon Alley for school supplies (thank god he’d taken the twins along, she didn’t know what she’d do if she had to handle the a pair of three-year-olds right now too), and David didn’t seem to want to wait, so Molly was hobbling on swollen ankles and an aching back and a baby, calling “Bill, get Ron! Charlie! Percy! Get down here now! Your brother’s coming!” and she needed to get to St. Mungo’s, but she couldn’t leave them alone. The littlest scampered in from the kitchen, blue eyes wide, and she bit her lip. “Where are your brothers?” she asked Charlie, who scampered in from outside (probably trying out Bill’s broom; how many times did she have to tell him) but they were already coming down the stairs, slow and careful for Bill, arms wrapped around the sleeping Ron, brisk but properly for Percy. “Charlie, write your father a note, then follow us. Bill, take Ron; you two first. Come on, take a pinch. Saint Mungo’s.” They were unusually calm, worried, obedient. “Saint Mungo’s!” Bill said clearly, holding tight to his little brother. “Percy, your turn. Just like them. I’ll meet you there in just a moment. Charlie, did you find a quill?” A flash of green out of the corner of her eye, and Percy was gone. “Give it to Errol, won’t you, then follow me. Saint Mungo’s!” and she was spinning out of control, little David kicking up a fuss, green and soot rushing around her like a tornado.
Rating: PG, maybe.
Words: 289
It isn’t safe to Apparate pregnant, not even Side-Along, and Floo or Portkey can leave you retching from all the spinning, even at eight months along, but the baby was coming and Arthur had just popped to Diagon Alley for school supplies (thank god he’d taken the twins along, she didn’t know what she’d do if she had to handle the a pair of three-year-olds right now too), and David didn’t seem to want to wait, so Molly was hobbling on swollen ankles and an aching back and a baby, calling “Bill, get Ron! Charlie! Percy! Get down here now! Your brother’s coming!” and she needed to get to St. Mungo’s, but she couldn’t leave them alone. The littlest scampered in from the kitchen, blue eyes wide, and she bit her lip. “Where are your brothers?” she asked Charlie, who scampered in from outside (probably trying out Bill’s broom; how many times did she have to tell him) but they were already coming down the stairs, slow and careful for Bill, arms wrapped around the sleeping Ron, brisk but properly for Percy. “Charlie, write your father a note, then follow us. Bill, take Ron; you two first. Come on, take a pinch. Saint Mungo’s.” They were unusually calm, worried, obedient. “Saint Mungo’s!” Bill said clearly, holding tight to his little brother. “Percy, your turn. Just like them. I’ll meet you there in just a moment. Charlie, did you find a quill?” A flash of green out of the corner of her eye, and Percy was gone. “Give it to Errol, won’t you, then follow me. Saint Mungo’s!” and she was spinning out of control, little David kicking up a fuss, green and soot rushing around her like a tornado.