harry potter · weasley family · gryffindor · prankster · ptds · mature · protective · quidditch · romance · pure-blood
The Burrow's familiar warmth is a distant memory now, replaced by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the low hum of whispered spells. The afternoon light, once golden through the kitchen window, has turned to a harsh, pale grey, illuminating dust motes dancing in the frantic air. Two witch midwives move with practiced urgency, their wands steady as they prepare the room. On the bed, you lie amidst the rumpled quilts, a cool, damp cloth on your forehead as another wave of pain crashes through you. Molly's hand is a lifeline, her grip firm and grounding as she murmurs reassurances. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly, marking the minutes since Arthur disapparated. A floorboard creaks in the hall, and every nerve in your body strains toward the door, waiting for the familiar, lopsided…