Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related names and places are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Okay this just a funny little tale completely inspired by something that my husband and I went through after our engagement. After reflecting a little on it, I realized that Ron and his brothers (no matter how much they complain about her) really do love their mother fussing about over them. I can see them having a bit of trouble coming un-tied from Molly's apron strings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sit watching the laughter around me and try desperately to remember a time when these women weren't a part of my life. Impossible. I have known at least one of them since I was eleven years old, and it's simply gone all down hill from there. I must have a pained look because I can hear my youngest sister giggle.
"Hermione, are you quite alright? You look like you've hurt yourself!" Ginny asks.
"She's probably trying to come up with the cure for dragon pox...that's her thinking face." That little comment was supplied by my other sister, Penelope.
"I was just remembering the blissful time in my life." I quip.
"And when was that?" Angelina asks.
I raise my glass of wine. "When you lot weren't in it." I smile and take a sip amongst the gasps of mock indignation.
"Alright, Rachel's going to think we've all lost our minds." Eva calls out.
I look to our newest member. Rachel; wife number six. She's actually the reason we've all gathered tonight. It is time she was properly inducted into our group. The Weasley Wives, we call our selves. (Catchy little title, don't you think?) I nod to Ginny, who in turn nods back and excuses herself from the table.
Rachel nervously sips her wine and watches us, never once voluntarily entering into the conversation. She watched Ginny take her seat again, holding a wrapped box. She looks nervously at it and then lets her eyes slide around the table. Poor thing, she looks quite frightened. I stand and call my sisters to order.
"Okay, I know that this isn't the usual time for our monthly meeting, but something has come up that commands our attention."
Fleur starts to giggle.
"What pray-tell is so funny?" I can't help but scowl at her.
"It's just that you look so funny. You look as though you're presenting a new law to the Council." And of course, the giggles become infectious and soon the whole table is laughing at me.
"When you are through..." I try to look angry, but their giggling is so unbelievably infectious. I soon crack and start to laugh. "Alright, let's try and remember that we're here for Rachel."
Immediately, Rachel's face falls and she begins to look nervously at us again.
"Ginny, give Rachel her gift please."
My sisters and I watch as Rachel takes the long thin box and pulls the ribbon off. She pulls off the top and lifts out a pair of ordinary shears. Looking at me quizzically, she asks, "What are these for?"
I smile at her. "Well Rachel, Angie told us that you were having a little trouble with George." I can see now why Angie sat across the table from Rachel; she looked ready to kill.
"Don't be angry with me, Rachel. Believe me; each of us sitting here has gone through it."
Eva lifted her glass. "Welcome to the wonderful world of marrying one of Molly's sons."
Penelope patted Rachel's hand. "You see, Rachel, for years now we've had a...er...special technique we use to break them of their dirty little habit. Hermione here was the actual one who came up with it."
If Rachel wasn't confused before, she certainly was now. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning of my tale. Let's see, what's a fitting way to begin? Oh yes...once upon a time..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is wonderful when you're newly engaged. Everyone compliments you on the new glow in your cheeks and, of course, the size of your ring. Your families just can't stop exclaiming how wonderful and beautiful the wedding will be...
And then you move in with your fiancé. I know, some of you live together long before the engagement and some not until after the wedding. Me, I chose after the engagement. Okay, so I didn't really choose it exactly. I was all for living with Ron long before. But, of course, "Mr. Modesty" thought it would look better if we waited until we at least were sure we wanted to be together forever. (I'd known that he was my "one and only" since I was twelve; where's he been?)
"Plus, imagine the fit Mum will throw over us living together." That should have been my first clue that Ron had a little problem removing himself from his mother's grasp. In the end I agreed because I love him.
Ron and I have been through a lot in life, but nothing prepared us for living together. In the beginning it was simple. I was finishing up my Healer training; he was constantly darting off rescuing people from dragons....ahh...my Prince...
Oh dear, I'm off topic. Oh yes, the first two months were bliss. I knew his little quirks after living in the same House with him for the better part of seven years. He knew not to bother me when I was reading or working. Yes, things were perfect.
Then one night it happened. A few weeks earlier, I had finally finished my training and started my residency at the hospital. Ron had finally been given a promotion and was able to be home every night. So, on this night I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I was trying to hurry, because I knew he would be home soon. Just as I pulled the chicken from the oven, I heard the familiar pop indicating Ron's return. Entering the kitchen, he gave me his usual greeting and leaned down to peer at the bowl of roast potatoes. Then he said it.
"That's not how Mum makes them. She doesn't use parsley."
I could only stare. Who cared how his mother had done it? Hadn't I been the one to slave over the hot stove? Alright, so using magic makes cooking a breeze, but still...
That one sentence continued to grate on my nerves during the next day. That evening, I managed to convince myself that he was possibly confused and hadn't meant to insult my work. I let the whole episode blow over, until it happened again a few days later.
Very soon, nothing I did was "the way Mum does it". I never said anything about this. Then one morning, when he opened his sock drawer, everything came crashing down.
"'Mione, next time you put my socks away, could you separate the long and short ones? That's the way Mum does it; it makes everything much easier."
Then, believe it or not, he had the gall to lean down and kiss my forehead as he said goodbye. After his departing pop, I collapsed back onto the bed crying my eyes out. I ended up breaking down all throughout the day. I was barely even able to work on my patients properly. I spent all day thinking about my situation.
I have a career that I love and a man that I love (well at the moment). Now, trying to balance those two things isn't exactly easy. I watched my mother trying to do it for years. She was a professional woman who had a daughter, not a mother who had a career. I grew up with a nanny until I went to Hogwarts. My mother never did my laundry, packed my lunch, or saw me off to my first day of primary school. I never resented her for this, though. She loved her job, and even though she didn't often have time to show it, I know she loved me. Now, growing up in this environment taught me something. Time is precious. When you're trying to balance work and family some things have to be sacrificed. Like say...sorting bloody socks!
Ron grew up in a completely different household. Molly didn't have a career, except for being a mother and wife. Of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, besides the fact that she ruined my life. She spoiled her children to the perfectly cooked potatoes, sorted socks, and neatly made beds. And I apparently would never live up to the "Molly Weasley Way".
Now, if there was one thing I was known for, it was not giving up or giving in. I'd stood my ground through the war, and I wasn't about to stop now. I knew that simply telling Ron that it bothered me wouldn't work. We'd been down that road years before. Arguing and crying got me simply nowhere...except a massive headache and generally Harry yelling at us. No, this would take something more. Ron had to be taught a lesson.
I racked my brain for days trying to come up with a solution. So much so that I paid little attention to much else, including my health. Winter was approaching and hundreds of witches and wizards flocked to the hospital with the flu. Two weeks after my ...erm...episode of crying, I was sent home with a very high fever and instructions to stay out of work for at least five days.
In the beginning, I saw this as a major inconvenience. That was until Ron came home from work that night.
"I've got vacation time, Hermione. I'll stay here with you until you get better. It's only fair; you take care of me all the time." He'd said.
I was on the verge of telling him that, as a professional Healer, I hardly need to be looked after. Then, however, my brilliant little brain began to work. This was the exact thing I had been looking for; this was my moment. Falling back on my pillow and smiling sweetly, I agreed to let him take care of me. This was going to be fun.
The week went by perfectly; at least for me. Even though I felt like dying, I took my revenge on poor Ron. When he brought me soup, it simply wasn't the way Mum made it. I begged him to read to me like Mum did when I was a little girl. I pleaded until he fluffed my pillow just the way my mum did. Now, my mother had rarely ever done any of this when I was sick as a child. She'd certainly never made me soup nor fluffed my pillow. As for reading, I can't remember a time when I wasn't reading on my own, even if I was ill. Of course, I never let Ron know this.
On the fourth day, I began to see the effects of my revenge. As I sent my soup back (for the fourth time that hour), Ron groaned loudly. I couldn't hold back the giggle when he stomped from the room. I felt much better, but in order to get the desired effect I had to continue playing ill.
The fifth day was finally Ron's breaking point. He was already in a towering temper because I had begged with him to go down to the muggle market and pick up a particular flavor of tea. Now, I knew it was very hard to find, but "it was the kind Mum made for me". After going all over London, he finally found it. Ron brought me the cup, looking very peevish. I took one sip, screwed up my face and said he didn't put lemon in it. "Mum always put lemon in it." That did it; Ron's famous temper exploded.
"I've waited on you hand and foot for five days, Hermione! I'll I've heard is 'That's not how Mum did it' or 'Please, Ron, that's the way Mum did it; I'll feel so much better'. You know what? I'm not your mother so I can't do everything like her. Either take it my way or do it yourself!" And he stomped from the room. I settled back and sipped my tea.
He apologized for snapping at me later that afternoon. I was finally released to go back to work and a week passed before the thing happened that I was waiting for. I'd made the roast potatoes again and put parsley in them. Ron came home, peered in the bowl, and promptly notified me that 'Mum doesn't use parsley'. As he turned and left, I smiled.
"Four, three, two, one..."
I heard him walk back into the kitchen. He slipped his arms around my waist. "I'm so sorry. I just yelled at you for that very thing last week. I'd never noticed doing it."
I turned around and smiled at him. "It's not fun having everything you do criticized; is it?"
He shook his head. "I swear I'll never do it again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"...and he never has." I finished. Rachel's eyes were wide.
"At work one day, I was complaining to Hermione that Percy had been doing the same thing to me. We constantly argued about it, but he just wouldn't stop. She told me how she'd broken Ron of it, so I went home and tried it. I pretended to have the stomach flu, and asked him to take a few days off. I nagged, he snapped, and he's never said it again." Penelope smiled.
Fleur spoke up. "Then both of them told me how to get Bill to stop. It's worked like a charm."
"And we've passed our secret down to every sister so far." Eva added.
Rachel looked curiously at Ginny. "Have you done this to Harry?"
Ginny nearly spat out her mouthful of wine. "Of course I did! I know; it seems strange. Growing up with my mum, I decided that I wasn't going to cater to everything my husband and children wanted. And Harry's been an honorary Weasley for thirteen years now; Mum's completely spoiled him." She smiled wickedly. "Harry broke a day and a half into my sickness. I wasn't as patient as Hermione. I let him have it after he'd stopped yelling. He went green when he realized he'd been doing it to me. I've never heard the words 'your mum does it like this' since."
Angelina laughed. "Fleur was the one who came up with the idea for passing down the scissors. It's to represent cutting Molly's apron strings." Everyone laughed.
Rachel looked more relieved than she had all night. Several hours of drinking and laughing passed, and then we all left to return to our houses. I found Ron asleep on the sofa. Waking him up and sending him to bed, I went to check on Brian. My baby boy was fast asleep in his cot. I couldn't help but wonder if someday, years from now, he would tell his wife that she wasn't doing things the way his mum had. I hoped not, I'd certainly hate to know she was sitting around a table with her friends plotting how to cut the apron strings.
Three weeks later, I received an owl from Rachel.
Thanks for the tip. Consider the strings gone.
And enclosed was the pair of scissors; they were ready to be retired.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I know this was incredibly silly, but I found it funny. Hopefully you can guess which wife went with which Weasley. Thanks for reading!