For Mother's Day, I thought long and hard about which fictional mother I would consider my favorite. There are certainly a lot of possibilities, and the matter is open to all sorts of debate, but I kept coming back to the grand dame of the Burrow, the materfamilias who raised six boys (including, somehow, Fred and George) and a girl (and, at times, Harry, too) and did it all on a government salary. Molly embodies all the criteria of many great mothers: boundless, unconditional love; an open heart for the friends of her children; patience for shenanigans to a certain point, after which stern comeuppance is delivered; tolerant affection for a sophomoric husband who at times might as well be another child; and a fierce protective devotion with righteous retribution for any who would dare to hurt her brood.
I am fortunate enough to know of a lot of mothers who fit the above, and in each of your hearts there is a clock with two settings for your children - "home" or "deadly peril". You might not have a wand or self-scrubbing pans or pixies in the drapes, but you're magic, every one of you.
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