Dear Readers,

Here is my new stories, don't worry the others will be updated soon.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling (Shock! Horror!)

Warnings: None

Merci Beaucoup to my amazing beta, Wise Girl Weasley. This story was not possible without her.

Happy Reading

-Midsummer Night Girl

This Story is called:

Born to Motherhood

Chapter 1:

Although only a few people are mothers from the moment they enter the world,
Molly Prewett was one of those people. From the first moment that she had
nestled against her mother's bosom, Mrs. Prewett had the feeling that she was
being mothered and comforted- not the other way around.

From an early age, Molly Prewett was like another mother to her older twin
brothers: Gideon and Fabian. The moment she was in their direct proximity,
they stopped thinking of mischief and looked at the baby, careful to not
roughly play, lest their mother drop a ton of bricks onto their heads.

Why? Well, the tale went a little like this…

Gideon and Fabian were only three years old when Molly came along, but when
the little babe was but four months old, a great plan was concocted. Mrs.
Prewett had cocooned Molly safely inside a washing basket. She was placed
amongst the sheets and her neck was safely supported. However, this was the
moment when Mrs. Prewett committed a vital mistake- the poor woman turned her
back. When she turned it back 'round again, the basket was gone.

Short of having apoplexy in the laundry, Mrs. Prewett knew that there was
nothing she could do except to find her twins. She knew, of course, that they
would have some part to play in this situation. Besides, apoplexy was for
frail women who couldn't think for themselves, even when they did lose the
baby. Mrs. Prewett was many things, but she was not a frail woman.

A simple 'point-me' spell and some well-performed dramatic footsteps confirmed
Mrs. Prewett's accusations. The twins had her baby.

"What are you doing boys?" Came the exclamation. She wasn't frightened or
really even angry; there was just mere frustration in her voice. She hadn't
taken the time to give the children a proper look, or to see what torture the
twins were inflicting on little Molly.
"Mummy, we was just taking Molly to…"
"Play with her."
"That's all… really mummy…"
"We didna hurt her…"
"She isn't the cat…"
"In the mad game…"
"We wasn't even…"
"Playing the mad game."

What Gideon started Fabian finished. It was always the way with the twins. The
"mad game" involving paint, mud, the family cat and a knitted sweater was
always the same. The noise was always the same, the mashed banana on the
walls was always the same, and the universal truth that quiet indicated
mischief was always the same for Mrs. Prewett…except for this time.

Mrs. Prewett had a proper look, and saw that there was nothing wrong with
Molly. The sheets cocooning her were nice and clean still (disturbed only
slightly!). Her neck was still supported and her face wasn't painted. Still,
something wasn't quite right.

"What did you do boys?" Mrs Prewett adopted her 'interrogator's face' and
leant right in to view her boys. "Why did you take Molly?"

"Well… we was going to play the crazy game."
"But then Molly had this face thing." Fabian made an odd sort of face.
"Like when you do that face that makes us sit prop'ly"
"Or Grandad says "BOYS!" and you do what he says"
"Or like dad when…"

"Yes, that's enough I understand. Thank Merlin you didn't harm Molly then."
The boys face glimmered with hope- were they off the hook?
Mrs. Prewett didn't fail to notice this.
"But, because you took her when you weren't supposed to, you can go and hunt
for eggs in the yard." Both boys scampered off- only slightly dejected. It
wasn't a harsh punishment; they could have been in time out with the worst
consequence- being separated- but with egg hunting they only had to deal with
recalcitrant chickens and no eggs to find- they had been collected in the
morning, straight after the laying.

Mrs. Prewett walked over to her baby, freed the little girl from the basket,
and snuggled her close. Mrs Prewett might have said that she understood, but
really- it was a mystery. How did her little babe stop the boys from playing
whatever the 'crazy game' is? Did it really need understanding? Maybe it was
complex, magical, baby emotions radiating from the little girl, or maybe it
was just the boys feeling protective. Or maybe it was nothing, and she wasn't
raising two twin monsters after all.

With this happy thought, the mother placed her little girl back into the
laundry basket, took the basket into her arms, turned on her heel and walked
back to her kitchen.