Fic!
Title: Full-Time Educators
Author: harasetak
Rating: Everyone
Summary: Dear Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley,
It is my regret to have to inform you that your sons, Fred and George Weasley, have departed from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on what we believe to be a permanent basis.
A short, plumpy, red-head woman sits in her favourite armchair, finally taking a moment from her duties as an Order member, wife and mother to get started on the first of many Weasley jumpers. She had decided earlier that day that bright, bright burnt orange was the perfect colour for her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.
An owl taps lightly on the living room window, startling Molly Weasley out of her thoughts on Madameoiselle Fleur. Fearing the worst, she runs towards it, tripping slightly on the ottoman in her haste. The window is pushed up to admit the owl, where it diligently perches on the sill, waiting for the parchment to be removed from its leg.
With shaking hands, Molly reaches out towards it. Her heart pounds heavily in her chest, and she all but feels the blood rushing from her face. She is shaking horribly, and it gets worse when she sees the Hogwarts school crest emblazoned in wax to close the letter. Something has happened to one of her babies. Lead sits in her stomach, pushing acid up into her throat and choking her as she tries to breathe.
Just breathe.
Head pounding, Molly breaks the wax seal on the parchment and begins to read:
Dear Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley,
It is my regret to have to inform you that your sons, Fred and George Weasley, have departed from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on what we believe to be a permanent basis. The event leading to the aforementioned departure included an incident with one Professor D. Umbridge, the school’s interim headmistress.
It is my duty as their Head of House to inform you of their decision to leave permanent education armed with just their OWLs, having left the school before the sitting of the NEWT level exams.
I do believe it is also my duty to inform you that Fred and George left most spectacularly on broomsticks and as such it may take them quite some time before they reach your home in Devonshire.
Kindest regards,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
PS. Molly, please do not be too hard on them, I’m sure you have been kept well informed as to the horrid actions and politics of the woman currently running this school. As much as it pains me to say it, I was cheering for Fred and George as loudly as everyone in the Entrance Hall. Sincerely, Minerva.
Molly reads the letter three times, letting the blood rush back into her face and her heart pound angrily and savagely against her chest. To put her through that much worry because they couldn’t be bothered to finish their education was bordering on the unforgiveable.
Breathing heavily through her nostrils, Molly scrunches the piece of parchment tightly in her fist. Turning dazedly - she sees nothing but the red clouding her vision - she fumbles blindly towards the fireplace, and the tiny pot of Floo Powder she knows is hung nearby.
Almost chokingly, she puts her head in the purple flame, and calls for her husband. Her voice is calm and as cold as ice as she demands he come home. Molly knows that he will not argue, for she has only had cause to use That Voice once before, and this time Arthur knows that none of his children have flown his car to school.
Molly paces a hole in the carpet in front of the mantlepiece before she hears the family clock chime once as Arthur’s arm on the clock moves from “travelling” to “home”. With a crack! he lands in the Apparition point in their garden before making his way to their home.
She moves into the kitchen and wordlessly passes her husband the parchment that had been scrunched up and unfolded many times in the last five minutes. Molly watches his face as he reads it; tries not be indignant as he obviously covers a grin while reading the end.
Silence lies heavily on the kitchen at The Burrow.
“Well?” Molly finally exclaims, throwing up her hands in frustration.
“Well,” Arthur clears his throat. “This is a new development.”
“Arthur.” Molly suddenly feels tired and an aching begins in her bones. “How are those two ever going to make something of themselves?”
She feels the tears and anxiety well up inside her, pooling in her eyes and causing her lip to tremble. She hates this helpless feeling. The feeling that all of her children will do whatever they want, and she can’t do a thing to stop them. Molly feels strong arms wrap around her waist
“I think you’re giving yourself too little credit. Despite us not agreeing with their choices, our children have been strong-headed and successful at everything they put their mind to. The boys will start the joke shop they want to, and no doubt guilessly go on to become more famous than Zonko himself.”
Molly breathes in the scents of her husband; the detergent she uses to lovingly wash his clothes, the aftershave that clings muskily to his cheeks and neck after he’s removed the hair from his face with that Muggle razor, and the smell of parchment and the Ministry that sticks to him for the first hour after he comes home from work.
Everything that had come apart inside her at the tapping of the owl on the window settles back down as Arthur kisses her hair, his hands running reassuredly up and down her back. Molly lets the tears fall for her sons, who have not lived up to what she wanted from them but would never disappoint her. A small sob escapes her, and Arthur tightens his embrace.
“You know, it’s going to take them until tomorrow to get here from Scotland on broomsticks.”
Molly’s head snaps up from its resting place on Arthur’s shoulder, she looks into his twinkling, mischievous gaze and almost - almost - lets him lead her up the stairs. Before her rational side sets in and she swats him none-too-playfully on the shoulder.
“Arthur Weasley! We can’t leave our boys flying from Scotland to Devonshire on broomsticks! We’ll have to send them a note with Errol and get them to stay somewhere, before we can go and get them.” She sighs dramatically and mumbles under her breath about leaving the sanctity of a place too far away for youths to Apparate from.
Then, to Arthur’s amazement, Molly pulls up her sleeves and moves into the kitchen - carefully preparing the twins’ favourite foods. Any minute now, she will expect him to send the note to Fred and George, then he will be forced to Apparate to wherever the twins have made it to and bring them home.
For now though, he likes to watch Molly as she continues to mumble angrily - something she only ever does once she’s moved past cold, hard fury - and simultaneously prepare a banquet. No doubt to rejuvenate her two rogue children after they’ve been forced through such an ordeal.
She will show no such sympathy once the twins enter the kitchen and it’s this subtle caring Arthur loves most about watching Molly teach their children. He supposes, as she stares pointedly in his direction and he makes his way to the cupboard where the parchment is kept, that it won’t matter how old his children are, Molly will always be teaching them a lesson.
Author: harasetak
Rating: Everyone
Summary: Dear Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley,
It is my regret to have to inform you that your sons, Fred and George Weasley, have departed from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on what we believe to be a permanent basis.
A short, plumpy, red-head woman sits in her favourite armchair, finally taking a moment from her duties as an Order member, wife and mother to get started on the first of many Weasley jumpers. She had decided earlier that day that bright, bright burnt orange was the perfect colour for her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.
An owl taps lightly on the living room window, startling Molly Weasley out of her thoughts on Madameoiselle Fleur. Fearing the worst, she runs towards it, tripping slightly on the ottoman in her haste. The window is pushed up to admit the owl, where it diligently perches on the sill, waiting for the parchment to be removed from its leg.
With shaking hands, Molly reaches out towards it. Her heart pounds heavily in her chest, and she all but feels the blood rushing from her face. She is shaking horribly, and it gets worse when she sees the Hogwarts school crest emblazoned in wax to close the letter. Something has happened to one of her babies. Lead sits in her stomach, pushing acid up into her throat and choking her as she tries to breathe.
Just breathe.
Head pounding, Molly breaks the wax seal on the parchment and begins to read:
Dear Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley,
It is my regret to have to inform you that your sons, Fred and George Weasley, have departed from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on what we believe to be a permanent basis. The event leading to the aforementioned departure included an incident with one Professor D. Umbridge, the school’s interim headmistress.
It is my duty as their Head of House to inform you of their decision to leave permanent education armed with just their OWLs, having left the school before the sitting of the NEWT level exams.
I do believe it is also my duty to inform you that Fred and George left most spectacularly on broomsticks and as such it may take them quite some time before they reach your home in Devonshire.
Kindest regards,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
PS. Molly, please do not be too hard on them, I’m sure you have been kept well informed as to the horrid actions and politics of the woman currently running this school. As much as it pains me to say it, I was cheering for Fred and George as loudly as everyone in the Entrance Hall. Sincerely, Minerva.
Molly reads the letter three times, letting the blood rush back into her face and her heart pound angrily and savagely against her chest. To put her through that much worry because they couldn’t be bothered to finish their education was bordering on the unforgiveable.
Breathing heavily through her nostrils, Molly scrunches the piece of parchment tightly in her fist. Turning dazedly - she sees nothing but the red clouding her vision - she fumbles blindly towards the fireplace, and the tiny pot of Floo Powder she knows is hung nearby.
Almost chokingly, she puts her head in the purple flame, and calls for her husband. Her voice is calm and as cold as ice as she demands he come home. Molly knows that he will not argue, for she has only had cause to use That Voice once before, and this time Arthur knows that none of his children have flown his car to school.
Molly paces a hole in the carpet in front of the mantlepiece before she hears the family clock chime once as Arthur’s arm on the clock moves from “travelling” to “home”. With a crack! he lands in the Apparition point in their garden before making his way to their home.
She moves into the kitchen and wordlessly passes her husband the parchment that had been scrunched up and unfolded many times in the last five minutes. Molly watches his face as he reads it; tries not be indignant as he obviously covers a grin while reading the end.
Silence lies heavily on the kitchen at The Burrow.
“Well?” Molly finally exclaims, throwing up her hands in frustration.
“Well,” Arthur clears his throat. “This is a new development.”
“Arthur.” Molly suddenly feels tired and an aching begins in her bones. “How are those two ever going to make something of themselves?”
She feels the tears and anxiety well up inside her, pooling in her eyes and causing her lip to tremble. She hates this helpless feeling. The feeling that all of her children will do whatever they want, and she can’t do a thing to stop them. Molly feels strong arms wrap around her waist
“I think you’re giving yourself too little credit. Despite us not agreeing with their choices, our children have been strong-headed and successful at everything they put their mind to. The boys will start the joke shop they want to, and no doubt guilessly go on to become more famous than Zonko himself.”
Molly breathes in the scents of her husband; the detergent she uses to lovingly wash his clothes, the aftershave that clings muskily to his cheeks and neck after he’s removed the hair from his face with that Muggle razor, and the smell of parchment and the Ministry that sticks to him for the first hour after he comes home from work.
Everything that had come apart inside her at the tapping of the owl on the window settles back down as Arthur kisses her hair, his hands running reassuredly up and down her back. Molly lets the tears fall for her sons, who have not lived up to what she wanted from them but would never disappoint her. A small sob escapes her, and Arthur tightens his embrace.
“You know, it’s going to take them until tomorrow to get here from Scotland on broomsticks.”
Molly’s head snaps up from its resting place on Arthur’s shoulder, she looks into his twinkling, mischievous gaze and almost - almost - lets him lead her up the stairs. Before her rational side sets in and she swats him none-too-playfully on the shoulder.
“Arthur Weasley! We can’t leave our boys flying from Scotland to Devonshire on broomsticks! We’ll have to send them a note with Errol and get them to stay somewhere, before we can go and get them.” She sighs dramatically and mumbles under her breath about leaving the sanctity of a place too far away for youths to Apparate from.
Then, to Arthur’s amazement, Molly pulls up her sleeves and moves into the kitchen - carefully preparing the twins’ favourite foods. Any minute now, she will expect him to send the note to Fred and George, then he will be forced to Apparate to wherever the twins have made it to and bring them home.
For now though, he likes to watch Molly as she continues to mumble angrily - something she only ever does once she’s moved past cold, hard fury - and simultaneously prepare a banquet. No doubt to rejuvenate her two rogue children after they’ve been forced through such an ordeal.
She will show no such sympathy once the twins enter the kitchen and it’s this subtle caring Arthur loves most about watching Molly teach their children. He supposes, as she stares pointedly in his direction and he makes his way to the cupboard where the parchment is kept, that it won’t matter how old his children are, Molly will always be teaching them a lesson.