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It started on Friday.
Molly and Arthur were sitting in the kitchen, enjoying the remains of the roast chicken she had prepared, and talking idly about the family plans for Christmas.
Molly straightened up. “The clock.”
“What’s that dear?”
“The clock. There’s another hand.”
Arthur squinted at the Weasley family clock. Last year, they had moved it from the living room to the kitchen, so Molly could consult it more regularly. Percy’s hand pointed to Work, Bill’s to Home, Ron’s to Traveling, Ginny’s to Quidditch and then…
A small gold hand without a name.
“So there is,” he said, astonished.
Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh Arthur. Our first grandchild!”
“Now, Molly, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, maybe it’s a malfunction or—“
Molly jumped up from the table. “We need to find out who it is—!”
That Sunday, Molly watched with barely contained anticipation as her children and their partners tumbled in through the Floo for lunch. Bill came with Fleur, Percy with Audrey, George with Angelina, and Ron with Hermione—Ginny was single, Harry was traveling for work, and Charlie was still in Romania. Molly’s eyes lingered particularly long on Fleur and her light blue silk dress, trying to detect any hint of a curve in her abdomen beneath the layers of fabric.
“Well,” Molly said, when everyone had settled into their places, “does anyone have any news they’d like to share?”
“Molly—”
“Arthur, hush.”
Molly looked expectantly at Fleur, and then Audrey, and then at Angelina, and finally, with more reluctance, Hermione. (The wedding was in two months, and wouldn’t it be a hassle to have her dress altered!)
“I do.” George raised his hand, grinning broadly.
Molly gasped softly.
“I’m very proud to announce that ickle Ronniekins has finally figured out how to tie his own shoe laces—“
“Sod off, George,” Ron said. “That joke got old 10 years ago.”
The family laughed good-naturedly. Angelina shook her head.
“Any…other news?” Molly asked hopefully.
“What’s this about, Mum?” Bill asked. Everyone was looking the food hungrily. The table was piled high with roast beef, yorkshire pudding, roasted carrots and parsnips, warm gravy, and even a homemade strawberry ice cream, made from strawberries from the garden. Molly always prepared a feast for her family.
“I was hoping that there might be…an addition to our family.” Molly looked at Fleur, and smiled encouragingly.
Fleur’s eyes widened. “Excuse me!” She put a hand on her chest. “Are you saying that I have gained weight—?!”
“No one is saying that,” Arthur said hurriedly. “It’s only—your mother was wondering because there’s been an addition to the clock.”
“The clock?” Ron asked.
“Yes, see.” Arthur pointed to the family clock. “There’s an another hand that’s been added.”
Everyone turned to look where he was pointing.
“I don’t see…”
“Wait—”
“Oh my god—!”
A stunned silence enveloped the room as they stared at the small unnamed hand, pointing to Home and oblivious to the turmoil it had caused.
“Maybe it’s malfunctioning,” Ron suggested finally.
Percy frowned. “That is highly unlikely, family magic is one of the most stable—“
“Why didn’t you tell me, Angelina?!” George said, in mock shock. Angelina rolled her eyes at him.
Bill started: “Maybe I can take a look…”
At the end of the table, Ginny was curiously silent. She crossed and uncrossed her legs and fidgeted with the embroidered edge of the tablecloth, wondering if spontaneous apparition was possible in this moment.
“Enough,” Molly said, cutting through the hubbub. “Which one of you is it? Our first grandchild!”
The younger generation exchanged glances.
“Well?” Molly persisted.
“Not me,” Fleur said tartly. Bill took her hand under the table.
Everyone looked at Audrey next. She turned as red as Percy’s hair and shook her head. “No.”
“I’m not pregnant,” Angelina interjected quickly. “You can count me out.”
The collective gaze swung to Hermione. “Absolutely not,” she said crisply. She gave her fiancé A Look. He was well reversed with Hermione Granger’s ten year plan, one that did not involve an unplanned pregnancy. A wedding and a promotion first, and their first child a year or so later. Then the second with a respectable two year gap. Both maternity leaves, of course, would planned for the off season in Wizengamot. Nothing would interrupt Hermione Granger’s carefully orchestrated political career.
Molly frowned, disappointed. “Well, it must be Charlie then…we’ve got to owl him and find out. I wonder who this witch…”
“Not sure Charlie is interested in that sort of thing,” George said under his breath. Angelina hissed, “George.”
“Wait,” Ron said, “Why is no one looking at Ginny?”
Everyone looked at him, and then to where Ginny sat at the very end of the table. She opened her mouth.
“Ron, don’t tease your sister,” Molly said exasperatedly. “Of course it’s not Ginny. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”
Ginny closed her mouth.
George snorted. “Well, you know, Mum, it’s 2002, not 1952, not everyone—”
“Now where’s the parchment—!” Molly said, rising to her feet and bustling around the kitchen, “I need to owl—“
“Molly, please,” Arthur said, rising from his chair, “let’s deal with this later. The food is getting cold.”
Bill decided to intervene. “Why don’t I take the clock into work and we can take a look at it? It’s probably just a malfunction or—“
In the living room, the Floo sounded.
A thump, and then footsteps—
“Ginevra!”
The family stared in shock.
A sight never seen before in the Burrow: Draco Malfoy was in the doorframe. His normally carefully styled platinum blond hair was in disarray, his fine grey Wizards robes were disheveled, his eyes were wild and scanning the room, looking for—
“Excuse me,” Arthur said uncertainly, starting forward, “what are you doing—?”
“There you are,” Draco said, having found Ginny at the end of the table.
Ginny half rose from her chair. “Draco—”
“A little warning would have been nice,” Draco said loudly, stalking forward, “before my mother tried to murder me.”
Half of the population of the room rose and reached for their wands.
“Don’t speak to her in that tone!” Bill snarled.
Ron brandished his wand. “What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?”
“Now it all makes sense,” Angelina said quietly to herself.
“Were you even planning on telling me?!” Draco said, ignoring the redheaded obstacles, and circling the table to reach Ginny. “Or were you just going to avoid me forever?!”
“Oi—!” George tried to block his path, but Draco dodged.
“Of course I was going to tell you!” Ginny said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I was just waiting for the right time!”
“And when would that have been?”
“Wait a second…” Ron said, slowly, with an expression of dawning horror, “do you mean…with him ?!”
Ginny looked out at her family.
They were caught in stages of shock, horror, and amusement.
“Yes,” she said exasperatedly. “Alright! It’s me. I’m pregnant.”
Audrey gasped. Fleur dropped her dish.
“And also,” Ginny continued determinedly, “Draco and I are together.”
“Now, everyone, let’s calm down and put away our wands,” Percy said.
No one listened to him.
“Oh my—!” Molly burst into tears. “My baby is having a baby!”
“With Malfoy?!” George said furiously.
Arthur lifted his hands. “Why do we all sit down and—”
“And soon!” Ginny said, ignoring the rest of her family and turning back to Draco, her hands on her hips. “I was going to tell you very soon! How does your mother even know, anyway?”
“Because you showed up on the Malfoy family tapestry this morning—you and the baby,” Draco said, gesturing wildly. “And now she’s on a warpath, planning a wandpoint wedding!”
“I hope you told her that that is not happening—!”
“I tried to, but she—”
On cue, the Floo sounded again. “DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!”
With a remarkable swiftness over the next ten minutes, Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy set aside over fifty years of family enmity, differing views on blood status, and wildly divergent class backgrounds to unite on one issue.
“But of course you should get married,” Molly said, frowning.
“I absolutely agree,” said Narcissa. “It is only proper.”