Chapter Text
Molly wondered.
It was summertime, and the lot of them were out watching fireworks on the small, grassy knoll that overlooked the Burrow. She had come back to the kitchen to prepare the pudding—several pies, a bowl of whipped cream, and a heaping plate of biscuits. She stopped to admire them all silhouetted against the setting sun, her children and grandchildren laughing and pointing at some wretched new thing of George’s creation.
As she levitated the plates to the table, she examined them in turn more closely, and she felt old. Her children were parents, grandparents even; even Ginny was starting to go grey. She had always measured time in family, and it suddenly seemed to slip between her fingers so that she wanted to hold each and every one of them to her chest and stop them from growing up and out of her control.
Her eyes fell to the youngest of the bunch—Lily, who was blooming at just-14, Hugo, looking gawky but good-natured, James and Rose, standing a little ways behind everyone. Poor Albus, always shoved in with them but never quite included. Born at the very end of August, just before the cut-off for Hogwarts, he and Rose had ended up in the same year, even though she and James were closer in age. It was a pity, Molly reflected. It might have been better for the lot of them if they’d each had their own year and their own group of friends, instead of Al always trying to play catch-up.
As she watched, James leaned over to whisper something in Rose’s ear, tucking away a strand of her hair as he did so. There was a sort of intimacy to it, and watching Rose giggle at whatever he said, Molly wondered whether even the youngest of her clan were growing up too fast, spinning farther and farther out of control.
James straightened up, caught Rose by the waist and tugged her into him. They watched the renewed vigor of the fireworks displays in the deepening twilight, and, entwined and beautiful as they were, Molly decided to stop wondering.
The pudding was sure to be delicious.