Molly Weasley wasn't stupid. She had, she liked to think, at least as much sense as she tried to drum into her children and grandchildren. She had been taking her shift watching Scorpius (that poor boy! It was so much like the war years with vampires on the loose, although thankfully, the full moon was still more than a week away). She kept her wand in her right hand in case of need. She waited until the sun ought to be rising to head out and prepare to apparate home for a wash (it was always tricky apparating though wards). Unfortunately, she hadn't quite taken Daylight Savings into account nor the snow, and it was darker than she'd anticipated when she stepped outside the wards. She hadn't meant to venture out before it was fully light.
She was about to head back inside, but then she heard a call - it sounded like a cry, and Molly Weasley could not ignore a child in trouble. She followed the sound without thinking. She hesitated too long, and then someone grabbed her. She had the presence of mind to point her wand and say, “Incendio!” Her aim was wide. There was a brief bright flame, but the wet snow smothered it quickly, and her wand was knocked out of her hand. She tried to run, but her ankle twisted, she felt the pain in her neck and then forgot why she was trying to get away. She felt like floating, like she'd had too much champagne with Arthur on New Year's Eve, and then she was knocked to the ground.
Molly was dazed. It took some time before she blinked at the rising sun and remembered to feel about for her wand.