1978
"Five, Arthur? Five? You're a madman."
Arthur Weasley felt his cheeks warm under his colleague's good-natured jibe, even as he grinned in a self-satisfied way. Balancing his chair on its rear legs, he laced his fingers behind his head and chuckled, "Well, it was supposed to be four. The fifth was a bonus."
Benwick Bode, a Hit Wizard with whom Arthur had always been on friendly terms, shook his head as he regarded the photograph of the two most recent additions to the Weasley family, Fred and George. "I don't know how you do it. I've got two and I'm fit to lose my mind."
Affecting modesty, Arthur shrugged. "Just good at it, I s'pose."
"You're good at something, all right," offered Bode's partner, Jack Greene, with the lift of an eyebrow, eliciting a deeper flush and heartier laugh from Arthur.
"Away with you both!" Arthur reached for his photograph back.
"So this is it?" clarified Bode, returning the photo. "You're finished, right? No more?"
"Mmm, think that's what Molly said, too," interjected Nadia Shah from her own desk, prompting Arthur to grab the miniature Quaffle off his desk and pelt his office mate with it.
"All right, all right." He waved his hands as a missive with a purple seal flew into the Improper Use of Magic Office and delivered itself neatly onto his desk. "Enough abusing Arthur for one day, I think this is the budget, and Adom's going to want to talk about it." Bode and Greene each gave him a parting slap on the back before taking their leave.
"Nearly a month late," he sighed, unfolding the parchment, "can nothing here be done on time?"
The entries Arthur sought were near the top of the lengthy parchment containing the Ministry of Magic budget finalized for the 1978-1979 fiscal year. He was unsurprised to see that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's budget was larger than the year before, which had in turn been larger than the year before that, and so on; and he was hardly surprised to see that, of that additional funding, fairly little of it had been allocated to the Improper Use of Magic Office. These days, with the increasing threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, most resources went towards the Auror Offices and Hit Squad.
He should have known better than to look at the next entry with any modicum of hope, but he sighed a bit as he noticed the pittance that had been earmarked for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office; he would have to double-check, but in fact it appeared that office was to receive even less funding this year than the last. It was a shame. There was a war on, certainly, Arthur knew that, but this wasn't a recent problem. That office had been underfunded, understaffed, and undervalued since well before the 1970's — and for what good reason? Wizards and Muggles coexisted side-by-side, numbers of Muggleborns and magical-Muggle marriages were increasing, and even the current war affected Muggles, too, though they didn't know it. As far as Arthur was concerned, the Ministry's refusal to invest in understanding Muggle life and society and developing relationships with them was tantamount to living in the Dark Ages.
Really, they needed an entire department for muggle affairs — not just the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and the Muggle Liaison Office, which was purely for damage control under Accidents and Catastrophes. But even Arthur knew that was too much to hope for any time soon. He would have settled for a proper budget and expanded mission for Muggle Artifacts, which at present was woefully inconsequential — a joke, really — to the point that it hardly justified the ink expended to write its name and paltry budget on this parchment.
"Art, why do you look like someone's put Doxycide in your tea?" asked Nadia.
"Because your government has once again demonstrated that it's perfectly happy falling behind the rest of the world in terms of understanding Muggle life and technology."
A collective groan swept through the office.
"Does nobody in here pay attention to what's going on internationally?" asked Arthur. He turned to Nadia, who, due to the proximity of her desk to his, generally found herself the captive sounding board for Arthur's ideas, jokes, and grievances. "Have you heard these rumors that Russia wants to plant a wizard in their Muggle space program?"
"Oh, that is total shit."
"What is?"
"Do you expect us to believe that anybody — witch, wizard, or otherwise — is flying about in outer space? Load of bollocks made up by crackpot Muggles, and if magical Russia is falling for it, that's their problem —"
"Why is it a load of bollocks? Because Muggles are doing something we can't?" Arthur had risen from his chair and was now starting to pace behind his desk as the familiar diatribe began to pour forth. So prone was he to doing this, that his colleagues often joked that he'd someday wear a hole in the floor and drop straight through to the Obliviator Headquarters below. "See, this is what I'm saying! We're so far behind in understanding Muggle technology, not to mention their daily lives, how is that to our advantage?"
"Arthur —"
"You know, we're no longer the insular community we once were. Japan understands this; that's why they're leaps and bounds ahead of everyone. Israel understands this. Egypt, Switzerland —"
"Arthur —"
"The only ones further behind us in this regard are the Americans." He paused, recollecting. "Well, and certain African nations, but that's an entirely different situation, owing to the manifold Muggle conflicts taking place and certain efforts at decolonization. You don't really want to embrace the culture of a group whose rule you're currently trying to throw off, do you? But that's not the point." He waved that dissertation away with his hand. "The point is —"
"Oi!"
Whipping around to find the source of that exclamation, he saw Walter MacMillan grabbing himself by the collar theatrically, and with his other hand holding his wand to his own throat just under the jawline.
"I can't take it anymore, Art, keep talking about the cultural and historic significance of Muggle technology, and I swear I'll do it."
"He is crazy enough to do it, Arthur," called Sheila Flint from her own desk. "And if he does, we'll leave the parchmentwork to you."
.
.
Work was really the only place where Arthur could huff and puff to his heart's content about the sad state of magical-Muggle relations in Britain. His mates from school tolerated it with some level of amusement, though he wasn't able to see them very much these days; his mother liked to inquire whether his obsession might be the reason he only got five NEWTs (already more than either of his brothers or any of his Gryffindor classmates, Arthur would like to add, thank you very much); and Bilius, who had even less of a filter than Arthur or their elder brother Godfrey, would get right to the point by throwing his head back dramatically and sighing, "Arthur, shut the fuck up!"
Talking to Molly about it was right out of the question, Arthur knew that. It wasn't that she was unsupportive; rather, she had quite a lot going on herself.
"Eight-thirty, Arthur!" she exclaimed in frustration when he arrived at home that night; it had become something of a tradition for her to greet him by announcing whatever time it was when he stepped out of the fireplace.
He could hardly be upset with her, though — if it were a competition as to which of them was more exhausted at the end of the day, Molly would win handily. Pieces of hair were falling from a greasy knot atop her head, her eyes were verging on bloodshot, and she was trying unsuccessfully to clear a stain from the shoulder of her blouse.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he really was. "We got the budget in today, I had to go over it with Adom." He kissed her on the forehead before turning his attention to the cradle that had been placed next to the sofa. "Here are two faces I've been wanting see all day!" He scooped up one of the twins. "Wasson, Fred?"
"That's George," said Molly with more than a hint of exasperation.
"That's what I meant," he amended smartly. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he could mark an F and a G behind each of their ears without Molly noticing.
"Dad!" Bill came barrelling out of the boys' room and latched himself onto Arthur's leg. Charlie, as always, was close on Bill's heels.
"Thought this was bedtime?" asked Arthur, amused.
Molly sighed. "Well, short of a Permanent Sticking Charm, I've not been able to keep them in their beds. Soon as I get one down, another pops up…"
"Has my mum been around?" Arthur's mother often came to help Molly during the day.
"Yes, she went home at half six." She dropped her voice to a whisper, considering the boys were in the room. "And thank God. She's driving me absolutely batty."
"Yes, she will do that." Arthur nodded apologetically, though there was really nothing to be done for it. They needed the help. He directed his next words to Bill and Charlie. "What have I told you about listening to Mum?" Bill responded with an abashed look that did not seem entirely sincere.
"They don't like not seeing you before they go to sleep." Molly's voice was low, and Arthur tried to ignore the disappointment he thought he heard in it.
"If I tuck you two in, will you stay in bed?"
Bill and Charlie nodded eagerly as Arthur avoided Molly's eyes. He laid George gently back in the cradle next to Fred and followed the elder boys towards the bedroom they shared with Percy.
"Arthur."
He stopped, his back still to Molly, as the boys disappeared into their bedroom. Hands on his hips, he stared resolutely at the floor and scuffed his toe against the worn carpet. He knew by her tone of voice what she was going to say. Again.
"Arthur, things aren't getting any easier around here."
"I know. We'll talk to Mother, all right? See if she can come around more. Between her and your mum I'm sure —"
"I didn't marry your mother."
"Molly, this is the worst possible time…"
"I don't care. The children need you more than the Ministry does. I know you're good, but there are plenty of others who can pull their weight there as well. They can give you up a few hours earlier each day. At least."
He turned towards her, concentrating on keeping his tone even. "I'm an Assistant Head, how's that going to look?"
"Like you've proved yourself and they could stand to give a little back to you."
"That's not how it works. And don't look at me like that."
"No, you don't look at me like that! You know, you participated in this process just as much as I did." She gestured to the twins, and Arthur tipped his head to the side to signify his concession on that point.
"Look, we'll talk about it later, alright?"
"When? When Fred and George are studying for their NEWTs?" There was a crinkle between Molly's eyebrows as her eyes bored into his.
Arthur didn't know which was worse, shouting at each other or what they were doing now: volleying their hushed frustration back and forth, their voices low and tense, Molly staring at him with sad, disappointed eyes, and Arthur trying to wrestle his own features into something stoic but ultimately settling for something like mulish. Without another word, he turned and continued on to the boys' room.
Bill and Charlie were in their beds eagerly awaiting him, and Percy was clinging to the rim of his cot babbling something to Bill — Arthur could tell because every other word out of Percy's mouth, as it generally was these days, was "Bill." Percy threw Arthur a quick "Daddy!" before resuming his well-meaning harassment of his elder brother.
"Charlie set the hedge on fire today!" reported Bill with a note of pride, holding out a book for Arthur to read to them.
"Proper job," replied Arthur distractedly as he watched Percy, whom he had just realized was actually looking towards Charlie while calling him "Bill." Percy was squinting in an odd manner and kept rubbing his eyes.
"Molly?" he called, picking up Percy. "Has Percy been squinting like this all day? Or other days?"
"Oh, I… I haven't noticed," came her reply from the other room.
"How can you not have noticed?" he asked, annoyed.
"I beg your pardon?" The temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees. Molly appeared in the doorway holding one of the twins demonstratively. "How can I not have noticed? Did you really just ask me that?"
He sighed, feeling somewhat guilty for his tone, though he was still agitated that Molly hadn't noticed one of their children not being able to see. "I'm sorry. I just… I think maybe Percy's going to need glasses."
Molly looked bewildered. "Already? He's not yet two!"
"I got mine when I was barely three."
Percy was presently trying to remove Arthur's own glasses from his face.
"Well, I… I suppose if your mum or my mum will stay here with the twins, I can take the other boys with Percy and me…" She looked as if she wanted to break down in tears at this thought. The twins were still brand new and Molly hadn't been away from them.
"I'll take him," said Arthur quietly. "I'll take him first thing one morning, be at work by ten. I'm sure that'll be fine." He was not entirely sure, but what else could he do?
.
.
A week later, after Percy had received his glasses and Arthur had seriously contemplated using a Temporary Sticking Charm to stop him ripping them off, Arthur found himself in his superior's office about to have the conversation he'd been reluctantly turning over in his mind the entire week.
"Adom… I think I need to take a step back. Around here."
"What are you on about?" Adom Tutuola, Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, looked distractedly between Arthur and an array of documents spread about his desk. Two quills were at work making notations here and there.
Hands braced atop the back of a chair, his tall, lean figure slightly hunched, Arthur drew a breath and ploughed on with it. "I need… I need to be at home more. I need to cut back here. Just for a while. And I'll give up being Assistant Head if I have to," he added hurriedly.
Arthur had never seen two eyes so wide as Adom's at that moment. "Are you off your nut? We're critically understaffed, you know that. You want to cut back and you want me to find a new Assistant?"
"It's only fair, I can't expect to keep the spot with what I'm asking you. Up to you, though, I'm happy to keep doing it if —"
"What the hell brought this on?" Both quills working at Adom's desk had come to an abrupt halt.
"You know Molly just had the twins. It's a lot for her. For us."
"You took an entire week off when they were born, that in itself is almost unheard of. Barty didn't even want me to approve it. That wasn't sufficient?"
"Well, oddly enough, the children stuck around after the week was over."
Adom ignored Arthur's sass and ran his hand over his close-cropped beard. "Art. You're on track to have my job within five years. You could be running this whole bleeding Department by the time you're forty-five if you want to. Assuming you ease up on the Muggle fixation. People notice that, you know."
Arthur ignored that last bit. "That's not true, the Head of Department is almost always a former Auror, but even if it is true, I'll just have to be happy with doing it when I'm fifty instead."
Still seated at his desk, Adom stared up at Arthur, not unkindly, but clearly appalled. His voice was soft and even. "That's not how this works, you know it's not. What you're asking is a dangerous move."
"It doesn't have to be, not if you and everyone else are willing to be reasonable about it. And I doubt this is only about your concern for my career, so I want to assure you, I don't plan to stop pulling my weight around here — I just don't want to pull quite as much of everyone else's."
"What do you suggest I do with this?"
"Move people around, Adom, this is literally what you're in charge of. I'll do whatever you need — hell, I'll do Dolores's job if you want me to. Isn't it about time she moved on somewhere?"
"You'll send letters to kids who blow things up over the holidays? That's what you want to do with your life? And are you really suggesting I promote Dolores Umbridge?"
"Good lord, no. What she needs is to be sent somewhere like Transportation, but that's a different conversation entirely. Give Nadia the Assistant Head position, she could do it in her sleep."
Adom looked dubious. "Nadia's got kids."
"So do I!"
Arthur could not miss the look on Adom's face that indicated he did not consider those to be the same at all.
Adom shook his head and looked down at his desk. "This is a mistake, Arthur. I'm begging you to reconsider this request."
Now Arthur could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "It's not a mistake. Now look. Don't make me formally resign from the Assistant spot and be floating about in the bureaucratic ether, Adom, please don't do that to me. Either let me share my supervisory tasks with someone, or move me somewhere with a lighter load. Anywhere. Two, three years, the kids will be older, more manageable, everyone will be sleeping through the bloody night, and everything will be normal again."
His superior looked about the space immediately in front of him as if he'd been hit in the head with a Bludger and was trying to remember who or where he was. Arthur felt it was a bit theatrical.
"Is your wife putting you up to this? You know, you need to just tell her— "
Arthur's face was on fire now. "Don't. That's between me and her."
"Or you, her, and me, now, apparently."
There was that angry tightness in his chest, the one that made his breath come shorter and thinner. Arthur gave a frustrated jerk of his head and blew out one steadying sigh through his nose.
"I'm not changing my mind on this. I can't keep going the way I have been. You have my request." He strode out the door before Adom could argue further, but not before pausing at the threshold and adding, "I have never let you down, not once."
.
.
Life, it seemed, had perverse sense of humor and a way of tripping you when you were already on your last leg. Arthur had dreamt of hearing these words, but not quite under these conditions. As a matter of fact, not at all under these conditions.
"I talked to Barty. Effective two weeks from today, you'll assist with Misuse of Muggle Artifacts." Adom couldn't even look at him as he said it.
It was a week and a half after their prior conversation, and Arthur now sat in the faded velvet armchair in front of Adom's desk, leaning comfortably on one elbow, one lanky leg crossed over the other, willing himself not to close his eyes — he'd slept probably ten hours over the past three days — but at the Head's words, Arthur sat bolt upright. He resisted the urge to let his jaw drop.
"That's so far off the pitch it's not even in play! What the — "
Adom raised an eyebrow, and the way he affected ignorance and surprise made Arthur want to whip out his wand immediately. But hexing people when you were pissed off was frowned upon when you were almost thirty.
"Haven't you been saying for years that you wanted to head that office, build it up into something?"
Arthur had been saying it for years, but nobody had wanted to listen, ever. It was not a coincidence that this was happening now.
"If it were allotted a proper staff and an actual budget, yes! If it were a functional office, not the joke it is right now. And, I might add, five years ago, when I had all the time in the world, before I — "
"Before you'd set about building your own Quidditch team?"
Arthur stood, his face burning and his blood boiling. Weeks and months of being completely on edge came together like they'd been waiting for this moment. He hadn't slept, Molly was freezing him out again, Charlie had already broken Percy's glasses, Bill had recently made it his life's ambition to climb up to the roof of the house, money was tighter than he would have liked, he was undeniably being punished for asking to work shorter hours, and now Adom had the nerve to sit here and judge him.
"That's out of order! My personal life is none of your — "
"You made it my concern. Back off, Art." Though he remained calm, Adom stared Arthur down as the latter realized his hands were now planted on the edge of Adom's desk. "This is what's been decided — by the Department, by the way; you know how Barty is. I don't know how you thought this would turn out. There was nothing I could do — "
"What utter tosh! You should have fought harder for me. This…" Arthur could feel his teeth starting to actually chatter together in agitation as his anger rose and every part of him seemed to tremble. "This is retaliation! You've somehow managed to give me an assignment that's all at once a demotion, a dead-end, and more work!"
"It's not more work, Perkins leaves every day at three-thirty! And so will you."
"That's only if I do the bare minimum, like that office does now! When I talked about that office, I wanted to make it into something functional finally! How am I going to do that now? Without funding, and trying to raise my kids? I can't, you know I can't. If I want to actually have a life, I'll end up doing exactly what Perkins does in there now, absolutely nothing. You put me between a rock and a hard place."
Arthur's rant had become an all but unstoppable train. "And you know what this is going to do to me, Adom, you bloody well know it! What happens when the kids are older and I have more time? What's going to be open to me after I spend years wasting away in there? Can you promise that my old spot will be available to me? Can you?" He stared hard at Adom, though he already knew the answer.
Avoiding Arthur's eyes, Adom scratched a spot just under his jaw. "Positions are filled as needed, you know that. There are plenty of people who want to do what you do right now. So I can't guarantee — "
"No, of course, you can't, do you know why? Because everybody knows what happens to people who are sent there right now. You know it, I know it, Barty knows it, and you knew it when you did this. Everyone who goes there either retires or dies out of that office, except, oh, hang on, they don't retire because they can't afford to because they don't ever get a raise! So they just die there! So thanks, Adom, sincerely, from me and my entire Quidditch team. Thanks for doing me this favor! Fuck." He punctuated this tirade by kicking at the waste bin in the corner.
Adom reclined in his chair, looking supremely and maddeningly unimpressed. "Are you finished?"
Trying to get his heart rate under control, Arthur blew out a shaky breath. "Why did you do this to me?"
"Nobody did anything to you. You did what you had to do. So did we."
.
.
Arthur went home at six-thirty, happy to find that his mother had left just shortly before he'd arrived; he could not deal with her that day. Molly, cleaning up the kitchen after the children's dinner, looked at the clock, and Arthur raised his hands in appeasement.
"I know. I know. But I have… news." He almost said "good news," but could not bring himself to do so.
Molly awaited the rest silently.
"I've stepped down as Assistant Head. For now."
Her face softened and she gave him a tired smile. "Really?"
"Yeah. Shorter hours. Less stress." Tucking away his disappointment deep inside, he forced a smarmy look and added with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "More Arthur for you."
"Stop it." But she blushed. "And what will you do now?"
He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the tile and made himself say the words, hoping she would interpret the softness of his voice as not wanting to wake the twins, who were asleep in the next room. "Misuse of Muggle Artifacts."
"Oh!" Molly's face was truly radiant — she was happy for him. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? So it worked out for everyone!"
Arthur hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yep. It did." He returned her smile with a small one of his own.
It was the first time Arthur Weasley ever lied to his wife.
"Mum! Daaaaad!" shouted Bill from his room at that moment. "Charlie's saying he's not touching me, except he is!"
At that disruption, Fred or George started crying, his counterpart followed suit moments after, and Molly once again looked like she wanted to burst into tears herself.
"Bill," stated Percy happily from his seat at the kitchen table, pointing in the direction of his elder brother's voice, oblivious to the fact that his parents were on the verge of losing their minds.
Sighing, Arthur placed a kiss on Molly's forehead. "If you'll see to the twins, I'll tire out these three." Ignoring her dubious look, he pulled himself together, clapped his hands, and called, "All right, I know three little boys who need to go outside and fly right now! Come on, Dad says so!"
Bill and Charlie rocketed out of their room, nearly knocking one another over in their race to the garden behind the house. Arthur scooped up Percy and followed.
"No, Charlie, that's my broom!"
"Dad!" complained Charlie, struggling against the hand Bill had planted in his face.
"Nobody's going to have brooms if that continues," said Arthur mildly, causing both boys to smarten up and mount their respective broomsticks.
"Dad, when can we play with a Quaffle?" asked Bill.
"When I can trust you won't throw it at each other's faces. All right, you know the rules, not beyond the hedges. Three, two, one, GO!"
Bill kicked off from the ground first, and off they went, rising no further than two meters from the ground, Charlie pacing Bill rather impressively for being only five.
"And you, my 'ansum," said Arthur, addressing Percy. His third boy had never had much luck even on the smallest toy brooms — terrible balance — though Arthur did wonder now whether that might have had something to do with the eyesight. Even so, the older boys were at an age where they were far too rough for Percy, who seemed to have been born with a healthy sense of caution ingrained in him. "Let's see if you can beat your own record, shall we?"
With that, Arthur tossed Percy up into the air, catching him as he giggled madly. Magical kids tended to hover for a moment before coming back down, and Percy had once stayed in the air for what felt like an entire minute, though in retrospect Arthur considered that he was just being paranoid.
As Percy flailed and cackled with joy, keeping Arthur on his toes with the varying durations of his levitation, Arthur kept up a running commentary on his elder pair's antics.
"For the first time in fifty years it's brother against brother, two boys from right here in Devon competing in this West Country showdown, and it looks like the entire county has turned out to see the outcome of this rivalry! The Chudley Cannons have been almost deliberately rubbish for the better part of a century, but that all changed when Chaser Bill Weasley came along and led them to five — yes, five — League championships! But Charlie Weasley's rumored to be the best talent to ever grace the Falmouth Falcons, and he's here to give Bill a run for his gold! Stakes are high, loser has to do the other one's chores for an entire week, and the tension here is thick. Let's see what Ottery St. Catchpole's local Quidditch commentator has to say about this — who's going to win, Percy?"
"Bill!" managed Percy as Arthur tickled him.
"How did I know you would say that?"
Arthur made a decision, sometime during that sleepless night, a concept that had been only half-formed earlier when he'd allowed Molly to believe that he'd welcomed his new assignment at work.
What was done was done. He'd made a choice, and so had his superiors. Misuse of Muggle Artifacts was it for the foreseeable future. He'd done it for them — his children, his wife — but it would be a worthless gesture if in the end they believed that he was disappointed, or worse, if the idea ever lodged itself in their minds that it was somehow their fault. From that day on, Arthur would only ever appear happy to sit in that sorry excuse for a storage cupboard and do a thankless job, and nobody would know any different — not even Molly.
Perhaps his fears would prove unfounded; perhaps in a few years, when the boys were older and the chaos at home had subsided, he could find a way to advance again. Maybe attitudes about that office would finally change and the work would be valued, the position respected. Unlikely, but possible, he supposed. But if not… well. He was resolved.
These children — these wild, willful, wonderful boys — would never bear the burden of knowing that their father had once dreamt of a different sort of life entirely.
.
.
Author's note: This is written in response to an origin story challenge at HPFT. Initially I was just going to write this chapter as a one-shot, but I had a lot more ideas for little Weasley slices of life, so I decided to expand this and do it as a short story/ one-shot collection. Each chapter will take place in a different year.
The story title is a line taken from my own fic Irrational, from a scene where Audrey's dad hears Percy's last name and responds, "Oh, must be one of Arthur's boys. Good man, I always liked him."
Hit Wizard Jack Greene is Audrey's father (and therefore, Percy's future father-in-law). ;)
Notes about Arthur:
In canon, he's always hilariously mispronouncing and misunderstanding basic Muggle things. I've obviously taken a different approach with him here. I actually heard a decent fan theory about why Arthur is always messing up words and why he might be doing that on purpose. For brevity's sake, I won't get into it here, but feel free to chat to me about it. You may have seen it before, floating around tumblr or reddit. I just wanted to take him a little more seriously and give him some more credit.
We see some glimpses in canon that suggest Arthur, despite usually being an eccentric teddy bear, can also be a hothead: he brawled with Lucius in the bookshop in CoS; he gave as good as he got in his argument with Percy; and he didn't think twice about getting confrontational with Harry-as-Runcorn in the Ministry break-in in DH. So I headcanon that he has a temper not unlike Ron or Percy.
Notes about some other things:
Russia: Yes, in the 70's this was actually the USSR. For the purposes of this fic, I'm theorizing that magical Russia continued to call itself Russia.
Identical twins: In the HP books, Molly is always mixing up Fred and George. Interestingly, I recall hearing of studies that said 1) mothers of identical twins often mistakenly believe the twins are fraternal because they actually think the twins look different, and 2) fathers are more likely than mothers to find the twins truly identical. I had a conversation about this with an acquaintance who has twins. I'm not a scientist; just what I've heard. Anyhow, I've decided to make Molly a little more sensitive to the differences between her twins, or at least while they're too young to be actively trying to confuse her.