Wedded Bliss (or, Molly Weasley is a Filthy Hypocrite)

Wedded Bliss (or, Molly Weasley Proves Herself to be a Filthy Hypocrite)

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The Burrow looked slapdash from the outside: Additions tilting precariously from lower levels, chimneypots sticking out at unlikely angles, and piles of odd assortments of things littering the porches and walkways.

On this particular summer's day, the inside was even crazier.

Bill and Fleur's wedding was scheduled for sunset. The small, quaint chapel in the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole was decorated to the nines, with tulle, flowing ribbons, and what seemed like thousands of white roses bedecking the altar and aisles.

The location itself may have been prepared, but the participants weren't even close to it.

Bill was seated on a straight-backed chair in the parlor, a paper bag clutched over his mouth and nose.

"Inhale...exhale...C'mon, you can do it, son," Arthur said, standing over his firstborn with a concerned hand upon Bill's shoulder. "It's going to be fine. Nothing to worry about..."

"Keep this up, brother, and you'll never be able to perform on your wedding night," George called from a corner, where he was gazing into a mirror and adjusting the front of his dress robes.

The paper bag dropped from Bill's slackened grip as he fell from the chair, having fainted dead away.

"George!" Arthur scolded. "The poor man's having a hard enough time as it is. He's really quite anxious about...well, you know...the way he's going to look on his wedding day. You didn't have to go and make it worse!"

George grimaced. "Sorry, Dad. Didn't mean to give the lad a fright, but you have to admit, it needed to be said."

Arthur shrugged noncommitally. Can't fault him there...

Father and son were debating whether they should revive the unconscious groom now, or wait till it was closer to the ceremony time, when an ear-splitting shriek filtered through the room from upstairs.

The voices grew closer. The men inside the parlor could hear Hermione Granger's voice, shouting something about "completely inappropriate for a wedding" and "just take it off, you're being ridiculous"...

Ron's reply came from the opposite side of the parlor door: "Hermione, give it a rest! There's a bloody good reason I'm wearing this! Now leave me alone!"

Ron burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaning against it with a pained look on his face...

...And something very odd tied round his head.

"Erm. Ron. What exactly is that thing?" Charlie asked, glancing up from the floor, where he sat with an open tube of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Mess Remover and a pair of stubbornly-covered-in-dragon-dung boots.

"It's a du-rag, you prat," Ron snapped, stepping over Bill's inert form without a second glance and throwing himself into his oldest brother's vacated chair.

Everyone stared at him.

Ron glowered back.

"So, do tell, brother dear," George said, coming over to where Ron sat, arms crossed and glare defiant. "Why, exactly, are you planning to wear a du-rag to a wedding?"

Ron averted his eyes and muttered something.

"What? Didn't catch that," George stage-whispered.

"I HAVE AN ENORMOUS SPOT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD, ALL RIGHT?" Ron shouted.

Fred had just burst into the room with a basket filled with bouttonieres. On his way past his youngest brother, he yanked the du-rag from his head.

The men all gasped.

"Holy Merlin!" Arthur yelled. "That has to be the biggest..."

"Thanks, Dad," muttered Ron sullenly.

Fred was biting his lip. "Y'know, mate, those with the Sight are supposed to have the Inner Eye."

Ron stormed back out of the room.

Apparently, Hermione was still waiting on the other side of the door. Her voice could be heard clearly in the parlor.

"Oh, thank heavens, Ron, I'm so glad you took that......Sweet, Holy Muggle Lord Above and all his Apostles, Ronald, go put it back on!"

Once again, Ron threw the door open hard enough for it to bounce back off the wall, snatched his du-rag from Fred, and jammed it onto his head.

Arthur swung his arms in front of his body in a would-be casual manner. "So, what's left to do around here, boys?"

There was a further moment of silence, then Charlie piped up, "Bill's dress robes should probably be checked over, since Mum just finished the final alterations last night. He's lost so much weight since he was first fitted, you know, since...the...you know..." Charlie trailed off lamely.

Awkward silences seemed to be in fashion that day, but finally, George turned from the mirror and said, "I'm all ready. I'll go."

He headed for the most likely storage place for Bill's robes: the coat closet in the entryway.

George opened the door, and was promptly knocked over by something falling out.

Something alive.

And only partially dressed.

"Excuse us, please," a hoarse voice said from inside, and the pressure from George's back was lifted as his stumbling assailant was pulled back into the cupboard. His face still pressed into the floor, he heard the door slam closed again.

George rolled over and pushed himself up to a crouch, his mouth against the keyhole. "Er, Professor Lupin, mate, I need Bill's dress robes."

There came the sound of fabric shifting on a clothes rack from the closet. "Blue, aren't they?"

"Yep."

The door opened a crack, and a long, bare arm snaked forth, clutching Bill's now-very-rumpled robes.

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome. Now go away," Tonks' voice filtered through the door as it clicked closed again.

George walked back to the parlor, shaking his head. I could have done without witnessing that, he thought. He was trying hard not to smile. Though I feel bad, he mused, for having interrupted them; if anyone could use a quick shag in a cupboard, it's Lupin.

"Ah, George, what took you so long?" Arthur asked, taking Bill's robes. "They're a bit wrinkled. I'd hoped that they'd stay pressed if they were hanging in the closet...but after seven children, I guess I've gotten used to things being a bit of a mess," Arthur sighed, looking resigned. "I suppose I'll take them up to Molly in a bit. We'll finish getting ready, shall we?"

Charlie glanced around. "Who's missing? Hey, anyone seen Lupin?"

"He'll be in shortly," George said quickly. He's, what, thirty-eight? "Ten minutes, tops."

"Okay," Charlie said, "but where's Harry?"

Ron, who was still sulking in a chair and pulling his du-rag ever farther down his forehead and looking eager for any excuse to get away from his brother's mocking stares, jumped up. "I'll go find him."

Ron raced into the hall, and nearly collided with Hermione.

"Oh, good, I'm glad I found you," Hermione gasped, breathless and a bit startled. "I can't find Ginny anywhere. Have you seen her?"

"No, but I'm looking for Harry. Seen him around, have you?"

Their eyes met. "Uh-oh," they chorused, and raced up the stairs.

The door to Percy's old room was shut. They could hear muffled voices coming from inside.

"That doesn't sound like them," Ron said slowly.

"No...That sounds like the television. You know, the one Harry brought with him? The one I charmed to work in here, you remember, right?" Hermione asked, her ear pressed to the wall.

Ron rolled his eyes. "He's supposed to be getting ready for the wedding, and he's in there watching vellytision?"

"That's definitely David Duchovny's voice. They must've found a rerun of the X-Files." Hermione was still listening intently. "Hmm, I can understand why he'd enjoy that. Creepy scenes, plenty of opportunities for a reassuring cuddle."

"He's in there - in the dark, mind you - you mean Harry's in there watching X-Files with no lights on - with my sister? I swear I'll kill him..." Ron trailed off and went to barge into the room.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "We can't just go bursting in there!"

"Well, what're we going to do, then?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, then stepped up to the door and knocked firmly. "Harry. It's me. Are you dressed yet?"

There was the sound of frantic rustling, and Harry's voice, sounding a bit strangled, followed after a moment. "Erm...No, not exactly."

Ron's ears reddened, and Hermione grabbed his arm as she called back, "Hurry up, then! And tell Ginny that she needs to get moving as well. The wedding's in an hour."

"What makes you think we're snogging in here? I'm just, erm, uh, writing in my diary!"

Hermione looked as though she was about to burst into giggles. "Ginny, I think that speaks for itself."

As Hermione dragged Ron down the hall, they could hear her exclaim, "Oh! Damn!"

Ron stopped her at the top of the stairs and pulled her into a corner. "What the hell were they doing in there?"

She stared at him.

"Well, okay, I get that, but...D'you think we have time to, you know, watch some X-Files?"

Hermione blew a burst of air through her teeth. "Ron, did you just hear what I said? The. Wedding. Starts. In. An. Hour. We need to be helping your mum to get everything ready."

"C'mon, Hermione!" Ron wheedled, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes. "It's been three weeks...You know, since the living room..."

"Ronald," Hermione snapped exasperatedly, "We don't have time for this. You realize it's not my fault." Then, her eyes took on a gleam of her own. "But what could we do to help get things ready, really really quickly?"

Ron slung an arm around her shoulders. "You're something else, you know that?" he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek and steering her back toward the stairs.

Just then, Harry stumbled out of his room, looking a bit flushed but with his dress robes fully on.

"Comb your hair, you great prat," Ron snapped.

Harry smirked. "Nice du-rag, Ron."

Ron shot him a gesture that his mum had expressly forbidden him to use (several times), and the boys went down to the parlor as Hermione shot Ron a decidedly unscholarly grin and ran up to the master suite, where the women had taken up residence to prepare.

"Oh, Harry! There you are! Good, you're dressed," Arthur called as the boys came in.

Ron flopped back into the chair. He glanced down. "Oh. Why's Bill on the floor?"

"Passed out a while back," Charlie answered. "We figured it would be easiest to just leave him there for a bit."

Harry and Ron exchanged a Look, then shrugged.

The parlor door swung open again, and Lupin strode in. "Hello, everyone!" he said, beaming. "Lovely day for a wedding, isn't it?"

"Why're you so cheerful?" Harry asked.

Lupin went a bit red in the face and strode straight to the mirror, where he made a great show of adjusting his collar. He peered more closely at his neck; his eyes widened, and he pulled the collar up further and tried to smooth his hair down as far as it would go. "Damn that insatiable woman and her crazy schemes," he muttered under his breath, taking one last peek under his collar and biting the corners of his lip as though trying to hold back a grin.

"Hmm?" Arthur queried absently, re-adjusting his cuffs for the thousandth time.

"Nothing!" Lupin hastily answered, taking another glance at the mirror and heaving a resigned sigh. He caught the eye of one of the twins and walked to his side.

"Listen, sorry about earlier," he murmured. "Didn't mean for you to have to walk in on that."

Fred did a double-take. "Sorry?"

For the second time in as many minutes, Lupin's face blushed red as a beet. "Oh. Oh, no..."

George appeared at their side. "Yeah. Wrong twin."

"What's this?" Fred asked, grinning, looking from the burning-faced Lupin to George, who was obviously trying not to laugh.

Just then, Ron's voice piped up. "Do we have time to eat before we go? I'm starving."

Fred and George each grabbed one of Lupin's arms and dragged him from the room. "We'll just nip into the kitchen and grab something -"

" - It's no problem - "

"Back in a jiffy." The twins headed for the kitchen, a feebly-protesting and still-crimson-faced Lupin firmly pinned between the two of them. A few minutes passed, in which the men remaining in the parlor could hear voices from the kitchen: Fred and George screaming with raucous laughter, and Lupin weakly interjecting an occasional protest, claiming total innocence; something about having been "ambushed".

"It's not like I have a history of taking off my shirt in people's coat closets!" he could be heard to say over the twins' howls, "but the next thing I knew..."

All present in the parlor were looking distinctly uncomfortable when the food patrol re-entered, though their expressions gave way to those of delight when they caught the aroma of the food on the large platter.

"Here we go!" Fred sang. "Reheated the leftovers from last night's dinner and put on a special glaze to spice things up a bit."

"Mmm, that smells so good!" Ron said, eagerly falling on a chicken leg.

"Sweet and sour sauce - Tasty, is it?" George asked, watching Ron carefully.

Arthur's eyes widened. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, tell me that's not..."

"...Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes newest invention?" suggested Charlie, a look of horror mixed with amusement spreading on his face.

Fred and George nodded brightly. "Chinese Chicken! Have a drumstick and your brain stops ticking!"

And it appeared as though Ron's mind had indeed come to a complete stop. His eyes were blank, his mouth hanging slack.

"Should have tested it on someone else," Fred muttered out of the corner of his mouth to his twin. "Can't really tell if it works, with him."

"BOYS!" Arthur shouted. "I cannot believe you found it appropriate to test your merchandise on your own brother's wedding day! This is completely out of line, even for you!"

Seeing that their father's ears were turning red - a much rarer occurrence in him than it was in Ron, and always a sure sign of oncoming danger - the twins glanced at each other and made a hasty exit.

Arthur was breathing heavily through his nose. "Anyone who is ready - and conscious," he growled through gritted teeth, "can go upstairs and see if the women need anything. NOW."

Charlie, Harry, and Lupin ran out of the room without further ado.

Upstairs, the scene was just as much a madhouse as the parlor had been. Fleur was looking at herself in the mirror. She'd been ready for ages, and since then, she had occupied herself with her reflection, making comments about how stunning a bride she made. Her mother fussed with the tiara and veil and agreed, occasionally adding that she, too, made a beautiful mother-of-the-bride. Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister, sat on the edge of the bed and swung her legs, looking utterly bored.

"I could have sworn these weren't too short last week, when I finally finished all everyone's alterations," Molly mumbled through a mouth full of pins. She was crouched down at Ginny's feet, taking down the hem of her pale gold dress robes. Ginny rolled her eyes as her mother continued to chunter under her breath about "stretching jinxes" and "teenagers, never staying the same size from week to next; why, with Bill and Ron..."

Molly continued her task of taking down another section of hem. "I swear I have had enough of fixing robes. I spent most of the past month kneeling on rugs, trying to get these infernal hems right. I swear, I still have rug burn on both my knees."

Gabrielle perked up. "Is zee pile on zee carpet too high? I can feex that! I can shear it down with ze magic! I am starting at Beauxbatons in zee fall, you know."

It happened in a blur: Gabrielle grabbed her mother's wand from the bedside table, as Molly's mouth fell open and the pins dropped to the floor.

"No, Gabrielle, that's quite all right!" Molly said quickly, but it was too late.

As Gabrielle lifted the wand, her mother threw her well-used hand mirror on the floor and went to grab her wand from her daughter. Gabrielle, however, had already aimed the wand at the carpet and shouted, "DEPILATE!"

The spell had been cast.

A violet beam shot toward the rug...

...And bounced off the fallen mirror's surface...

....And hit Ginny straight in the face.

Ginny gasped.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, every last hair on her head fell out.

Charlie, Harry, and Lupin had just arrived in the doorway in time to witness Gabrielle's Shaving charm.

Everyone was frozen in place for a moment.

Fleur was first to speak. "Well, ze carpet is not quite so furry, at least, and zere is no reason why zey should not wear peenk now." She cast a Color-Changing Charm on the bridesmaids dresses; they immediately became a shimmery pink.

Molly closed her eyes. Her chest began heaving, more and more rapidly. Then, her nostrils began to flare. Finally, she spoke.

Very quietly, she began, "Oh...Oh...Ohh...Ohh..."

As she gained volume with each utterance, Charlie grabbed Harry and Lupin and dragged them down the stairs at top speed; Lupin hauled Tonks off the landing, where she was sitting and perusing an old issue of Witch Weekly; Harry snatched Hermione by the sleeve as they passed her in the doorway (she was staring at Ron's vacant expression with disbelief), and all four of them ran into the parlor, Molly's raising voice echoing behind them.

"Take cover!" Charlie yelled and threw himself behind a sofa.

The windows rattled in their very panes, dust motes were disturbed from high shelves, and everyone huddled behind furniture or doors as Molly finally exploded.

"OHHHHHHHHH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

A few moments' ringing silence followed, broken by the sound of spellfire from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable high-pitched scream of a young girl.

Finally, there came a series of soft footfalls on the stairwell, and everyone came out of hiding and peered out the parlor doorway.

Molly stood, straight and proud with a beatific smile on her face. Behind her slouched Ginny, who looked more disgruntled to be wearing pink than she did at being bald as a billiard ball. Gabrielle followed, her hands clamped over her nose, squealing in horror as gigantic bats flapped about her face; each time she'd sniffle, another flock would emerge and join the fray. Fleur and her mother, luckily enough, had been placated by the simple task of having been sent downstairs with mirrors in hand.

Molly glanced at the group of men, plus Hermione and Tonks, gathered in a great knot and looking at her with expressions of utter shock.

"Well?" Molly asked, still with that eerie look of cheerfulness, "Shall we go, then?"

She headed out the front door, the women on her heels.

Everyone else stared at one another.

Charlie spoke first. "Merlin, and she gets on Ron for his language."

Arthur had closed his eyes and, judging by the way his lips were moving, counting silently to ten. Finally, he looked around.

"So, let's recap," he said. "Charlie still has dung on his shoes, the twins fed Ron wonky chicken that made him go catatonic, not to mention that du-rag on his head and the bloody great pimple underneath, Gabrielle's going to be sneezing bats for a week, Ginny is bald..."

"Yeah, and don't forget about Hermione finding Ginny and Harry snogging in Percy's old room," Tonks added.

"Or the fact that I caught you and Professor Lupin having a quick shag in the coat closet," chimed in George.

Arthur nodded, a dazed look on his face. "Well...Yes. That about sums it up..."

From the parlor, there came a small groan. Everyone turned to find the source.

They'd forgotten about the groom.

"'M I married yet?" he murmured, lifting his head groggily off the floor.

Arthur hurried over to help his eldest son stand. He shot a warning glance at all present.

"You bet, Bill!" Arthur said brightly. "But there's one problem...Just had a bit of an issue with the photographs, the developing potion didn't work the first time, so we're off to take some more at the chapel. We'll just go through the ceremony again, quick as can be, and we'll be back before you know it."

Bill's face split into a grin. "Wow! I can't remember being nervous at all! Getting married's a piece of cake. Let's go do it again!"

As Bill bounded from the room, pulling his dress robes over his head with a spring in his step, Arthur turned to the motley assemblage.

"Okay. Which of you is getting married next?"

Tonks looked at Lupin, Lupin looked at Harry, Harry looked at Fred, Fred looked at Charlie, Charlie looked at George, George looked at Hermione, Hermione looked at Ron, Ron looked at the curio cabinet.

There was a tangle of arms as everyone pointed to everyone - and anyone - else.

"Okay. Whomever of you gets married next, I have one word of advice for you."

Arthur shot a fierce glare around the room. "Elope."

He turned on his heel and headed out the door, turning back briefly to add with a demented, cheery grin to match that of his wife's, "Or I'll kill you."

And they lived happily ever after.

THE END