Chapter Text
Being born identical twin brothers in a family consisting of nine members, seems to portray an idyllic picture for some; despite descending from a magical lineage in the Wizarding World’s International Community located in the United Kingdom: is not always easy.
A multitude of convoluting factors coagulate with so many mouths to feed and clothe. Raising six sons and one daughter is a full plate and a half for tow loving parents to handle under a single roof. Wrought with challenges: financial, emotional and matrimonial.
However when the day ends and all is said and done; trials and tribulations are surpassed allows them to breathe a liberating sense of gratified satisfaction to dwell within amidst the comforting presence of ones whom you love most in the world.
Patriarch Arthur Septimus Marque Weasley, son of Septimus Weasley and Cedrella Black-Weasley along with his wife, Matriarch Margaret “Molly” Charlotte Julie Prewett-Weasley have long dispensed this and other such virtues towards their offspring.
Objects or souvenirs concerning monetary value remain a sparse commodity inside the Burrow.
Visually to the naked is dilapidated and on the road to occupancy eviction and also condemned for demolition. The Weasley Clans’ abode was, figuratively and quite literally; held together by magic.
To quote the phrase “Never judge a book by its cover” is most aptly used in this way, for all its miss-matched and hodge-podge appearance: homely can be heard from the lips of each person visiting and welcomes those crossing the threshold into a heartfelt atmosphere.
The interior of the Burrow, a little Tudor building on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, England: is a different story entirely.
As the husband and wife had more progeny, so did the house gain more levels; as if the house is growing with them.
Rather that filled to the brim with unbridled, rambunctious kids; noise has most considerably dwindled down from “plug your ears and bear it” decibels to a pleasant hum of symphonic background static.
Of course with the two eldest, now graduate students and working out of the country in correspondence with their employment: Charlie, a dragonologist, hired out at a dragon reserve in Romania while Bill: was dispatched on a mission in Egypt on a curse-breaking assignment by his employers at the Gringotts’ London Branch of the Goblin Nation.
But who was she to argue if they exercised enjoyment from their work. Both of her sons were impeccable wizards and well-trained to handle themselves responsibly. Molly was working not to be so smothering, but what happened with her twin brothers; makes her hard to see just how her sons interpret those cascading emotions; which were projected onto them by their mother.
The woman in question was still trying to rein in her more, er, “in-your-face” attributes of her personality.
A work in progress; leave it at that.
Percy the third eldest, was now at Hogwarts, diligent and studious; a definite shoo-in for the position of Gryffindor Prefect and Head Boy; when old enough to qualify; when the time comes. If nominated for each or both promotions when the Hogwarts’ headmaster and staff diligently review the plethora of possible candidates.
Be that as it may, Arthur and Molly both knew that as April first loomed on the horizon, Fred and George would receive their long-awaited Hogwarts’ letters. Hearing stories from their parents and older siblings had made all the kids impatient to be able to accept their rite of passage into the magical world’s educational system.
But all good things come to those who wait.
So…………….
Why do the Patriarch and Matriarch of Clan Weasley, with immense foreboding; feel as if their sense of a tranquil life is about to turned right on its head?