Unexpected Discoveries
Title: Unexpected Discoveries
Author:
queenb23more
Requestor:
florahart
Claim: The fic in which Molly Weasley learns that every single one of her children has been a centerfold in a girlie magazine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s Molly’s birthday, and she gets more than one unwelcome surprises.
Warnings: sexual innuendoes, slightly strong language
Notes: So many thanks to
gwen1170,
maple_mahogany, and
redsioda for their incredible suggestions, beta work, and just all-around awesomeness dealing with my insecurities.
Today started off perfectly. I awoke to a lovely shag with Arthur - being my birthday, after all - and Arthur, loving husband that he is, was determined that it start off with a bang.
Had that been the only bang of my day . . .
The post arrived as it always does around eleven o’clock, although it was a bit bulkier than usual, which was to be expected. There were, naturally, birthday wishes from friends; yet none of my children bothered to send me an owl, save Hermione - even I am not naïve enough to believe that it was actually Ronald who sent it - but seeing as they were due for dinner at five o’clock, I wasn’t too chaffed by their lack of correspondences.
I was chuckling over a particularly naughty owl from Arthur, promising to pick up where we left off this morning, when I blindly reached down to retrieve the first of two bulkier parcels of the post lying on my table.
And immediately dropped it back onto the table - my picture and the headline glaring up at me, along with a handwritten note that read “I thought this might be the perfect birthday surprise. Cheers. J RS.”
OH! That horrid, awful Skeeter woman.
I sat down, sliding that offensive rag in front of me, vowing to cancel my subscription to “Witch Weekly” immediately. At least the photograph is fairly flattering, I thought as I began to read, recalling the day not too long ago that I stood at my window, observing Rita Skeeter at our gate, primly smoothing her curls and checking her lipstick in a pocket mirror with a pout and a pucker, before plastering her best, most trustworthy-looking, least genuine smile on her face, and wondering whatever was I thinking agreeing to allow her into my home to interview me.
The Minx Behind the Minister
By Rita Skeeter
(Disclaimer: This Reporter utilized Quick-Quotes Quills for the recordation of this interview.)
You have all heard the anecdote, “It’s the woman behind the wizard who truly makes him great.” In the case of our new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, no truer phrase has been spoken. This reporter recently had the rare privilege of interviewing the formidable Molly Weasley and reaffirmed that there is no question who wields the wand in this family. And yet, even with the iron thumb that she likes to keep on them, this reporter has learned that all is not as it would appear concerning the Minister’s children.
Mrs. Weasley, who prefers to be called simply ‘Molly,’ and I sat in the crowded kitchen of her home - which the family has so dubbed “The Burrow” - located in Ottery St. Catchpole.
RS: “We are at the lovely home of the Minister for Magic, Arthur Weasley, speaking with his lovely wife, Molly. Thank you for granting ‘Witch Weekly’ an exclusive interview. It isn’t often that I come to this part of the country.”
MW: “Thank you for coming. I would like to correct, for the record, that this is not an exclusive -”
RS: “Of course it isn’t. This is simply a friendly chat over a cup of tea at your kitchen table - a rather large table, if I must say - oh, and it is quite sturdy, isn’t it?”
MW: “Oh well, yes, it is very sturdy. Arthur’s brothers built it as a wedding present us.”
RS: “How nice. So, Molly, tell us . . . were you at all surprised that your husband was recently chosen to succeed Rufus Scrimgeour as Minister for Magic?”
MW: “Oh, not at all.” (pauses) “There is no one more deserving than my Arthur.”
RS: “And he certainly has made some radical changes since taking office, what . . . six months ago - most notably his ‘Working with Werewolves’ and ‘Easy on Elves’ initiatives - and what lovely programs those are.”
MW: “Thank you. He is quite proud of those programs. Our daughter -”
RS: “But we know all about Arthur Weasley. Our readers are interested in getting to know you - the woman behind the wizard.”
MW: “Oh. Of course.”
(Reporter’s Note: At this suggestion, Molly blushes slightly, sits forward in her chair, and demurely takes a sip of her tea. This reporter, who remembers the Minister’s wife being two years ahead of her at Hogwarts, questioned whether this is a forced modesty, and through the course of this interview, it became apparent that Molly Weasley prefers to remain in the background rather than broadcast that she is, in fact, the ruler of the roost at The Burrow.)
RS: “We were in school together - surely you remember, although you are both a bit older than I am, of course - and I recall that you and the Minister started dating at Hogwarts. Do tell us how you met.”
MW: “Actually, Arthur was good friends with my brothers, Fabian and Gideon, and -”
RS: Oh yes, I remember your brothers quite well. Such wonderful flirts, those two . . . and such remarkable beaters as well . . .” (At the mention of the Prewett brothers, this reporter finds it necessary to take a moment to sip her own tea and reflect before continuing.) “I also have it on good authority that you married right after leaving school. Is that accurate?”
MW: “Yes. We left school in 1967, and married that summer.”
RS: “That’s just lovely, Molly. So, you were eighteen when you married? And isn’t it true you eloped?”
MW: “Why yes. There was a war going on at the time, if you’ll recall, and we had been dating for three years, so there wasn’t any reason to wait.”
RS: “Of course not . . . can’t argue with young love now, can we? And the two of you have several children?”
MW: “Yes, we’ve had seven wonderful children - six sons and one daughter.”
(Reporter’s Note: Molly seems more relaxed at the mere mention of her children. If she only knew their secrets . . . this reporter wonders if, perhaps, she would be less enthusiastic.)
RS: “My, you certainly were . . . busy, weren’t you?”
MW: “Oh yes, they kept us quite busy. Arthur jokes all the time that they are the reason he’s lost most of his hair.”
RS: “Quite the amusing one - isn’t he - our Minister. Now, back to your children . . . you certainly seem proud of them.”
MW: “Oh my goodness, yes. We are so very proud of them - they have all accomplished so much.”
The sound of the Floo and Arthur’s “Molly, love? What are you doing?” pulled me away from the article, which - if I must be perfectly honest - was not as awful as it could have been, although I was not particularly happy about the battleaxe image being portrayed.
I held up the open magazine, showing Arthur the cover, my face hidden behind it. “That article is finally being published. I suppose it could be worse, but she’s insinuated that you can’t wipe your backside without first obtaining my permission, the daft -” I finally looked up at him, and the ashen look on his face stopped me in my tracks. “What’s the matter with you?”
Arthur gulped. “Er - Molly? How far have you - I take it you haven’t finished it yet?”
I quirked an eyebrow at him and automatically, my hands went to my hips as I stood, assuming a battle stance. “No, I haven’t? Why? Why are you acting like that? It can’t be all that bad . . .”
Arthur put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back into my chair. “You might want to sit down again, love.” He sat down beside me, pulling the magazine to lie between us on the table. His hand shook as he gingerly touched the page. He paused, “Now remember, dear, that they are young and impetuous,” and he turned the page.
I gasped at the headline on the opposite page - Minx Behind the Minister or Misguided Mother - You Be the Judge - and the photograph directly below it.
What is this rubbish . . .it can’t be . . . not my children . . . oh dear Merlin.
Smiling up at me, in various states of undress, were my children, on the cover of “Wicked Witch and Wizard” - the “Wild About Weasley” edition, sporting the following blurb:
In her interview with our very own Rita Skeeter, Mrs. Molly Weasley referred to her children as “fine”, “upstanding”, and “wholesome.” While one might assume that a man who has recently been appointed as Minister for Magic and his lovely wife of thirty-two years have indeed raised clean-cut, well-mannered, respectable children, as their sassy, irreverent offspring have shown, and as the elder Weasleys will soon discover, we do not always know our children as well as we think.
And another note: “I’ve enclosed a copy of the fabulous ‘Wild About Weasley’ edition for your closer review - both magazines will be on the stands next Friday. I must admit - I rather enjoyed a bird’s eye view of your children’s achievements myself - please offer the Minister my admiration of the family jewels. I’ll be having sweet dreams for days to come. Cheers. J RS.”
Ooooh!!! That foul, loathsome, horrible, no-good . . .
“Breathe, love. Do you need to lie down? Maybe you should . . .”
I turned to Arthur with fire in my eyes. “Oh no, Arthur Weasley. I plan to see just how your children have decided to disgrace and embarrass us.”
His eyes widened as I flipped open the second magazine to the “Wild About Weasley” section beginning on page 69.
It can’t be . . .
Bill. My respectable, married Bill . . . straddling a chair in his office at Gringotts, wearing only his boots, his ponytail, and that gawd-awful dragon earring - thank Merlin he’s facing away from the camera so that all we see is his backside, although that is enough - and Fleur . . . lying across his desk and sucking his fingers in and out of her mouth - whatever is she doing with her mouth to my boy? - in knickers barely covering any part of her, her long white-blond hair thrown over her shoulder but not hiding anything.
“I’m surprised that the goblins allowed them to photograph there,” Arthur mumbled, and I wiped the drool from his chin before angrily flipping to the next full page spread photograph.
Oh dear . . .
Charlie. My down-to-earth albeit thrill-seeking Charlie . . . sitting astride a Chinese Fireball, waving a whip, and obviously completely starkers save his dragon-hide boots, a tattoo of two dragons - oh heavens, they can’t be doing that, can they? - adorning his flexed bicep, and a wicked grin on his face.
“Charlie always commented that dragon hide was softer than it appeared . . .” Arthur offered, apparently not catching my glare of fury before I turned the page.
Not him - of all my children, I never thought that he would . . .
Percy. My responsible, prudish Percy . . . lounging and twisting in his chair at the Ministry, his glasses primly perched on his nose, a somewhat devilish grin - since when did Percy have a devilish grin? - on his face, strategically holding a large, thick-bottomed cauldron in his lap.
“At least it’s a large cauldron . . .” This time, Arthur witnessed my glower and he wisely shut his mouth quickly, and I flipped another page.
Now if any of them would do something like this, it would be these two . . .
Fred and George. My nothing-is-out-of-the-question Fred and George . . . perched atop their broomsticks and dodging fireworks in the middle of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, wearing Gryffindor ties wrapped around their heads and very tight scarlet pants - how is it that the twins at least had the good sense to wear pants? - with a roaring lion smack dab in the middle.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned, and Arthur’s mouth clamped shut. I roughly turned to the next page.
Oh. Bloody. Hell . . .
Ron. My precious, loyal Ronnie . . . and Hermione . . . and Harry . . . facing ‘The Golden Trio’ statue now on display in the atrium of the Ministry, Ron and Harry flanking Hermione in the middle, their arms wrapped around each other - a little too close for comfort, in my book - oh no, they did not just grab each other’s arses - looking back over their shoulders, their wands stuck behind their ears, each of them wearing a smug grin, and each of them covered from head to toe only in - is that really what I think it is - wherever did they get the idea for that? - gold paint.
Arthur attempted to stifle what I presume was a chuckle behind a veiled cough, which ceased and changed into a deep, angry sigh when I turned to page for what I hoped was the final time.
Well isn’t that . . . oh, poor Arthur . . .
Ginny. My innocent, virginal Ginny . . . sitting spread-eagle on the edge of a desk at Hogwarts - how the dickens did she get into Hogwarts for this? - clad in an unbuttoned, too-small, entirely too-short version of her school uniform, complete with knee-socks and mary janes, but not appearing to have included knickers.
Thankfully, when I turned the page, it was an advertisement for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, followed by another for ‘Wand Enrichment Cream,’ and I had finally seen all that my children had to offer for the “Wild About Weasley” edition.
Just wait until I get my hands on them . . . weren’t they aware of the consequences . . . how dare they disgrace their father and I that way . . . well, not a disgrace to the Weasley name in all aspects . . . and if they had to show themselves off to all of Great Britain, at least they looked bloody good doing it . . . what am I thinking - this is entirely unacceptable!!!
I rose from the table and closed the magazine with a growl. And for the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. Of course, this gave me plenty of opportunity to come up with just the right thing to say when they showed up for my birthday dinner later this evening - those ungrateful, attention-seekers who bear my name and will soon incur my wrath - unaware that I knew their dirty little secrets.
So, as I stalked around my kitchen, wondering what I would say to the very banes of my existence at this moment - the seven children that I brought into this world and the three that I have since inherited through marriage and/or circumstance - struggling to find the words that I want to say to properly express my feelings, a thought occurred to me, and I turned to Arthur, who was guardedly watching me fume.
“You knew, didn’t you? What was in those magazines? How did you know?”
Arthur mumbled something as he looked away.
“What was that?”
He cringed and turned back to face me. “I - er - that is to say -,” his voice drops to a whisper, “I subscribe to “Wicked Witch and Wizard.”
“You what?! Arthur! Why on earth -”
“It’s the articles, Molly - I swear - I only read it for the articles.”