Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, etc...here borrowed for non-profit, purely entertainment reasons.
The Wonderful Weasleys
by Adelaide E
The small, cramped, but cozy Weasley residence had sheltered many things. Numerous birthings. Unforgivable pranks. The impressive shades of red Mrs. Weasley tended to turn when these unforgivable pranks were committed. The spankings of a certain pair of twins, who committed the pranks, and caused Mrs. Weasley's variety of reds. Disagreements between the elder sons and the youngest daughter, and Mr. Weasley's scoldings in which "She's your baby sister!" always settled the matter.
But, above all else, the cramped, rickety home had witnessed many an argument between Ron and Hermione.
"Why aren't you speaking to me?" she asked him once the other Weasleys were clear out of ear shot.
If not for her current puzzlement, she would have found Ron's skill of speaking through clenched teeth most impressive.
"I'm simply so in love with you that I can't find the words to express myself," he retorted wryly, returning his eyes to his meal.
"Funny how your wit only serves you to land you in further trouble," Hermione mumbled, before taking a swallow of pumpkin juice.
"I'm sorry, did you say something?" he asked with false innocence. He abruptly scowled, however, and added, "For everybody knows that 'men never listen when they're so glaringly wrong.'"
"I believe a wise woman said that," Hermione responded, her own teeth gritting now.
"Oh, undoubtedly," he replied with a roll of his blue eyes. "It's a shame she was incredibly wrong when she proclaimed it."
"I was not wrong!" Hermione hissed, leaning over the table.
"Okay, then," Ron said, leaning closer as well, "you find another, prettier word for opposite of right."
"You should be smiling. You should be dancing on the bloody table," she seethed.
"I always knew our fights made you randy," he murmured with a martyred sigh. "But, due to present company, I don't believe a striptease is the best course of action at the moment."
She chose, for his own safety, to ignore his last input. "I've forgiven you. Any other man would be jumping with joy that I've forgiven him."
"Jumping off a cliff," he murmured, smiling distractedly at one red haired passerby. The other occupants were scattered around the small house hold, being quite done with the meal, but nobody wondered why Ron and Hermione lingered. They were, by past occurrences illustrated, a very odd couple.
"I heard that!" Hermione said angrily, her fork jabbing violently into a piece of cold bacon.
"Oh good," Ron returned with false relief. "For, if you were totally deaf, then maybe you would lose that innate habit of hearing yourself overreact."
"Overreact?" If not for the fact that she was the most sensible, calm, collected girl that he knew, Ron would have suspected that Hermione had just screeched.
"Terrible structure," Ron said loudly, smiling helplessly at the curious Weasleys who had just looked into the room. "Must repair that. The room increases the volume of one's voice, it does."
They accepted this without argument, and left Ron and Hermione to their conversation once more.
"I did not overreact," Hermione now argued in a lower tone. "And don't you dare say something about the opposite of undereacting."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied airily. When she relaxed slightly, and sat back in her chair, Ron added, "Because undereacting isn't a real word. I would think that you'd know that."
"You said sorry," Hermione accused in a low, even tone. "You said sorry, so that means that you were wrong."
"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed with wide eyes. "How blessed I am to have you recount things for me. I declare I always have difficulty remembering events that happened this morning."
"Sarcasm does not become you," she warned.
"Little does, apparently," Ron responded, "if one is to take that insult 'ugly arsey arse face' seriously."
"Stop quoting me!"
"Oh, but Hermione," he laughed, reaching over to pat her hand, "you're so witty in the mornings."
"If you do not remove yourself from myself I will eliminate any part of yourself."
"Shame how you become less entertaining as the day progresses."
"Ron!"
"Oh good," he sighed happily to nobody in particular. "She helps me remember my name, too. I vow she's the best thing that's happened to me since mum stopped using the bowl to cut my hair."
"One would believe that you'd treat this 'best thing' with a little more respect."
"An impossible request if you continue to treat me like a child," he shot back, for the first time without an ironic smile.
"An impossible request if you continue to act like one," she rejoined tartly.
"What a coincidence. I find your behaviour equal to a toddler's as well," Ron told her with an unpleasant smile.
They were momentarily cloaked in silence as one family member wandered in to retrieve a forgotten book.
"I'm a child," Hermione incredulously said once they were alone once more.
"Yes. Only a child would have reacted as you did after I apologised."
"Only a child would have done what you did before you apologised."
"Only a child would find that logic plausible."
"Only a child would find that logic implausible."
"A child would have a great more sense than you!"
"A child would not have the insane mood swings that you possess!"
"At least a child does not snore," Hermione said, standing now, unable to debate any further without looming over him.
"At least a child does not chew on my quills!" Ron had taken away her looming advantage by bolting to his feet as well.
"At least a child does not trip over his own, freakishly long legs!"
"At least a child does not nestle small animals in her hair!"
"A child does not insult a young lady!"
"A child would not be able to find a young lady present in this room!"
Harry entered just in time to hear an outraged gasp, and looked up from his newspaper just in time to see Ron narrowly dodge Hermione's swinging fist.
"Just so you know," Harry said conversationally. "You're both wrong. Children do snore, and they do chew on quills, and they do trip, and they do harbour small animals, and they do—"
"Shut up!" the couple yelled simultaneously.
Hermione, having her disgust for the male half of the population filled to excess, left the room immediately, only to bump into Ginny at the front door.
"Hello—"
"I hate your brother!" Hermione said immediately, slamming the door behind her.
Ginny blinked several times before responding in a meditative voice, "Well, you do a very good job at hiding the fact when you kiss him, and hug him, and laugh at all his stupid jokes—"
"Do you know what he's done?"
"Knocked you up?"
"Ginny! Don't be silly! It's much worse!"
While young, vivacious Ginny could not fathom a worse fate, she was not overly eager to hear what crime of idiocy Ron had committed now. "Can't we at least go inside? I'm famished."
Hermione was already reopening the door. She could not help but smile, however, when Harry met them, with a drooling, copper headed baby resting on his shoulder.
"Do you need help with that, Harry?" Ginny asked distractedly as she and Hermione settled in the living room. Harry shook his head, wincing a bit as the infant landed a plump fist on his jaw.
"Babies," Ginny sighed. "Who knew they were so violent?"
Hermione, airily dismissing the pair with a wave of her hand, quickly explained the situation. "And then he said that I overreacted."
"Well, did you?"
"Of course not!"
"Oh yes she did," Ron contradicted as he strolled in the room. He looked towards Harry, who was jiggling the infant near the door way. "Didn't she?"
Hermione was ready to protest such an opinion, as it was none of Harry's business, but he was already speaking.
"Actually," Harry said, twisting his neck so that the baby girl could not sink her gums into his chin, "I believe her actions were quite justified."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione smiled brightly. "I always knew you were wise beyond your years."
"Traitor!" Ron exclaimed indignantly, pointing at his best friend. "Now it's three against one and it's not fair!"
"I never said that I was against you," Ginny spoke up with a frown. "In fact...I think...well, Hermione, you did act a bit...extreme."
Hermione gaped at her.
Ron grinned.
"Women can be wrong too, you know," Ginny added when Hermione did not respond.
"Blasphemy," Hermione breathed. "Utter blasphemy."
"I must have that in writing," Harry grinned.
"Mum," little eight year old Arthur Weasley walked into the room suddenly. "Something's wrong with the upstairs loo."
Now, the company was apt to take such comments from the child very lightly, for Arthur was in the habit of saying "There's something wrong with the sky" when it rained, and "There's something wrong with Dad," when the father-prepared supper tasted less than delicious.
But they knew that it was a serious observation when Hermione's eyes widened.
Hermione's hands flew to her lips. "Oh! Oh, Arthur, I didn't—I'm sorry, Arthur, I didn't mean to—"
"Now do you see why I said it was an overreaction?" Ron asked her smugly as he lifted his daughter from Harry's arms.
"Did you put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the toilet seat, mum?" Arthur asked curiously.
"Er well...your father did a very bad thing this morning—"
"So you fell in," Ron groaned with a roll of his eyes. "It's not the worse thing that's happened in this house."
"You wouldn't say that if you had fallen in," Hermione snapped. "Arthur, stop attacking your uncle's legs."
Her half hearted scold did nothing to quell her son's tenacity. Harry shuffled around helplessly. "I thought you had to go," he complained to the child attached to his left shin.
"Can't," Arthur explained cheerily, "If I can't raise the toilet seat, then I can't use the toilet. And if I can't lower the toilet seat after I use it, then I definitely can't use it. Mum says so."
"Your son seems to remember the rules," Hermione pointed out.
"My son," Ron grunted as Minnerva "Minnie" Weasley stuck her pudgy hand in his eye, "has not had to run to the kitchen every hour since midnight to feed your cravings. I was knackered when I forgot to lower the seat, you know that, Hermione."
"Mum! Dad!" screamed five year old twins, James and Jane, as they ran into the living room. Then, upon observation of its occupants, they continued with greater enthusiasm. "Uncle Harry! Aunt Ginny!"
"Oh don't mind us, we're just your parents," Ron muttered with faint resentment.
"If it's about the upstairs loo," Ginny told them as they pawed her for sweets, "they already know."
"Oh, it's not that," James answered happily, pulling a chocolate frog out of her pocket.
"Well, in a way, it sort of is," Jane corrected, nicking the frog from his hands.
"Location isn't as important as what's happened," James informed her condescendingly, much like his mother would inform his father.
"What's happened?" Ron demanded, disliking how the pair, in the quest to gain more chocolate, had positively quartered the poor amphibian.
"And where's Billy?" Hermione demanded. "Stop it, the both of you. You're acting horribly uncivilised."
"That's the fifth time she's called us 'uncivilised' this week," Jane told Ginny, as if proud of the fact. James, momentarily more obedient, had abandoned his aunt...only to attach himself to Harry's other leg.
"Where's your brother?" Ron demanded once more, voice deepening to a dangerous timbre. Harry waddled awkwardly to his best friend, so that the children would have a fuller effect of their father's expression.
"Upstairs!" Jane supplied happily.
"In the loo!" James added.
"You're supposed to be watching him!" Hermione exclaimed, hands settling on her hips. Her eyes fell to Arthur, who was supposed to show more wisdom than the unapologetic pair.
"We did!" Arthur protested, clinging to Harry as if the young man would provide him protection. "But then I had to use the loo, so I told them to watch him!"
All Harry did was wince. "Not so tight, please—"
"James," Ron said warningly.
James also foolishly believed that Uncle Harry would save him from his father's wrath. Harry visibly grimaced.
"Then again, maybe I'm overestimating the value of circulation," he shrugged to the females.
"We were watching him," Jane piped up, a touch indignant. "We watched him and nothing else! That is, until he got stuck in the toilet. Then we decided it was best to fetch you."
"Merlin's beard," Ron groaned, depositing Minnie in Ginny's lap, and then quickly racing up the stairs.
"Why did he go in the toilet?" Hermione wanted to know the company followed suit. Eight month old Minnie laughed delightedly as Jane handed her a chocolate limb. Harry was last to reach the top floor, as gravity was a damned undefeatable enemy with two children stuck to one's legs.
"Because," James retorted with more sarcasm than any normal child should possess, "the seat is obviously stuck. Billy thought he could fix the problem from the inside out."
"For Bilius is terribly talented with these sort of things," Jane added faithfully.
"He's two years old!" Hermione declared with disbelieving anger.
"Dad said he's destined to be a pumble!" Arthur argued.
"And pumbles fix toilets!" James pointed out.
"Your father," Hermione ground out, "was joking."
"Well, how are we supposed to know when he's joking and when he's not joking?" Arthur asked cheekily.
"He has a good poi—"Harry began to say, but then swallowed his words as Ginny sent him a warning look.
"I have a good what?" Arthur wanted to know.
"A good poinsetta," Harry finished jovially. "Lovely flowers, I'll send you a bouquet."
James wrinkled his nose, and reached over to punch his brother's arm.
"Boys don't get flowers from other boys."
"Boys don't hit their brothers," Hermione upbraided them.
"Boys," they heard Ron thunder from the loo, "do not let their younger brother explore the plumbing!"
The rest of the family quickly made their way down the hall way, and found Ronald Weasley, hands firmly under Bilius Weasley's arms, uselessly tugging the toddler's body up.
"He's stuck," Arthur claimed with some surprise.
"Obviously," Jane responded.
Minnie giggled and clapped her hands.
Billy let out a keening wail.
Ron grit his teeth as he attempted to dislodge his son without inflicting further pain. Hermione scooted so that she stood behind her husband, soothingly patting Billy's hand.
"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't put the charm on," Ron murmured.
"I know," Hermione mumbled. "I'm sorry."
"I'll forgive you," Ron muttered under his breath, "if you liberate this child from his toilet."
Out of all the things they had said to each other since they married, that might have been one of the strangest, Hermione decided to herself.
Harry was observing the proceedings with some worry. When Ron attempted another, stronger tug, Billy yelped loudly.
"Bloo—"
"Don't swear in front of the children," Hermione admonished Harry before he could finish.
"Bloody hell!" James completed happily. Hermione sent her son a chastising look. "What? Dad says it all the time!"
"You must be of a certain age, son, to say that," Ron grunted, his hand reaching down into the toilet to work his son's body free.
"What age?" Jane demanded.
"A hundred," Hermione informed them.
"Ha!" Arthur crowed joyously, turning to James. "I told you Dad was that old."
"What?"
"Ronald, dear, focus."
"They think I'm a hundred years old, Hermione!"
"Oh here," Ginny sighed impatiently, pushing through the witnesses to shoo Ron's arms away. She lowered herself to her knees, wrapped the sniffling Bilius in a tight and comforting embrace, and then stood up abruptly.
There was a resounding, watery pop.
Ron, who had been watching the bowl with worry, absolutely howled at the sight now that Bilius was no longer blocking it. "You've amputated my son! My son's foot is still in there! Bloody hell!"
Hermione, panicked, peered over his shoulder. Then, despite her earlier disapproval of violence, she rapped the side of his head. "Honestly, Ron, that's his shoe."
Ron stopped his mounting anger long enough to catch a second glimpse. "Oh, you're right. That is his shoe."
"As if I would harm my own nephew," Ginny sniffed as Bilius blubbered against her shoulder.
"Why not?" Harry grinned, and pointed at James. "You taught this one French swear words."
"Ginny!"
"It was his birthday," Ron's younger sister said defensively. "You can't say no to a child on his birthday!"
"It was my birthday too!" Jane protested petulantly. "And you said no to me!"
"You asked her to make your brother disappear," Harry groaned, gaining a head ache with all the yelling.
"And why not?" Jane faced her mother with hands on her hips, a miniature, redhaired version of Hermione Weasley. "He's always hogging my birthday."
"You share it equally!" Hermione nearly shouted but then caught herself. She would not argue with her five year old twins. She began rubbing her temple with one hand and patting Jane's bushy hair with the other.
"Harry," Ginny scolded, wagging her finger in his face"Look what you did. You gave Mione a head ache."
And, because he had become a sensitive, thoughtful, man in comparison to the Harry Potter of yesteryear, the Head Ache Giver sent Mrs. Weasley an inquisitive look. "Do you know how much I care?" He held his thumb and his finger an inch apart. "That much. That's how much I care when two of her children are causing me paralysis."
"How much?" James wanted to know frantically, and attempted to scramble up Harry's leg as if the limb were a conquerable tree trunk.
It was sheer bad luck that the tree trunk's trousers were not properly belted on.
"Oooh, Mum!" Jane squealed at an impossibly high pitch. Surreptitiously, Ginny checked her ears for bleeding. "I see Uncle Harry's under-roos!"
"They're pink, with yellow dandy-lions on 'em," Arthur added helpfully.
"It's salmon, with golden snitches," Ginny corrected, distractedly attempting to cover Jane's eyes. She would have helped Harry and Harry's embarrassing situation but...well, that would have appeared even more inappropriate, wouldn't it?
"Under-roos, under-roos, Under-whose? Uncle Harry's under-roos!" Jane was singing happily, dancing around Aunt Ginny's legs and dodging her censuring palms.
"Oh for chrissake," Harry muttered, uselessly tugging on the waist band of his jeans, the material budging not an inch considering the two anchors at the cuffs. "Who the bloody hell taught her that ridiculous word?"
"Stop swearing you stupid sod!" Ron exclaimed, annoyed.
By now...actually, by ten minutes ago, Hermione had reached her wit's end. Raising her voice, she ordered, "Go down stairs with your aunt. In fact, all of you go down stairs."
"And do what?" Arthur asked curiously.
"Savor the memory of your last free day," Ron answered menacingly, rising to tower over his brood. "For the punishment for this mishap will last so long your minds will fade."
The younger Weasleys grumbled as Harry and Ginny herded them down stairs, leaving Ron and his wife alone for the time being.
"And to think," Ron said dismally as he washed his hands, "there's going to be another one in seven months. Why do we do this to ourselves, Hermione, adding on like this? Are we gluttons for punishment?"
"No," Hermione sighed as she wrapped her arms around his middle, smiling at his reflection. "It's because I can never say no to you, and the Weasley fertility trait is impossible to avoid."
He smiled and grabbed a towel to dry his hands.
"I am sorry, you know," she said against his shoulder. "I shouldn't have stuck the charm on there, simply because you forgot. Now we'll have to replace it."
He shrugged, and turned, still in her arms, to face her. "It's allowed. You're pregnant."
"And if I wasn't pregnant?" Hermione challenged with a raised eyebrow.
"Ah, then I'd have to kick you out. I've no use for a wife who destroys perfectly good toilets." He leaned so that he rested his forehead against hers. "They think I'm a hundred."
She giggled. "I know."
"But you think I'm a child sometimes."
The giggles subsided. "I know."
He hated to stop her laughter, so he drew her tighter to him as he leaned back against the sink. "You did not free your son," said Ron with false disappointment. "so I'm afraid I cannot forgive you at the moment. It must be earned."
Hermione's lips curved. "Earned how?"
Ron stretched to shut the door and nearly pulled a muscle to lock it. "Oh...we'll figure something out."
Before Hermione could protest—the children and guests were still down stairs!—his lips landed on hers. And she forgot everything horrible that had happened that morning, for Ron's kisses had a habit of making the rest of life seem impossibly wonderful.
The End
Author's notes: Okay, my mother has said on numerous and angry occasions that she hoped I had a child like myself. Naive idiot that I am, I originally believed she had meant this as a blessing...and so, this fic was born.