Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 1:2

At long last Molly Weasley made it to the bed. It was slow going, and would have been less difficult had Ruth not been busy pondering the curious owl that had been in the grocery bag, or where it was off to, and what (or whom) it would bring back. Those answers came when Molly was at the end of her labor, howling every other breath, the baby mere seconds from entering the world.

"Keep pushing, Molly. Keep pushing. You're doing splendidly."

Purple-faced, she cried out, "Arthur!"

"I'm here."

Ruth spun to see a tall and befuddled man traipsing through the hallway toward her bedroom with a two-year-old son on his arm and two freckle-faced, red-haired young boys trailing behind.

"How are you, dear?" he began with excitement before turning to the midwife. "How is she?"

"Almost there," answered Ruth wearily.

"All right. Come now, boys. Charlie, give your mum some air. Mind the rug. Bill...keep an eye on ickle Percy, will you?"

After getting his three sons situated on the wide armchair by the window, Arthur joined his wife at her side and Ruth felt more bewildered than before. The man was also covered in shabby robes and wearing some sort of cap that came to a point almost a foot above his untidy red head — which was simply too much to comprehend, on top of it all. It took another scream from Molly to bring Ruth back to the present.

"On we go. Keep pushing. Keep pushing! Yes. Almost there! Few more!"

Arthur Weasley gripped his wife's hand, kissing it lovingly, just as the heralding scream of new life reverberated through the room. Ruth dropped her gaze and smiled brightly as the baby was born. Almost instantly, she engaged in her old routine, separating the cord and prepping to clean the child so it would be impeccable for the first viewing — her favorite part. But not before the joy of the declaration, of course — her most favorite part.

"It's a boy!"

"Come again?"

"It's a...boy..."

Molly blinked. "A boy?"

"Another boy?"

"Oh...we were expecting a girl."

"It's all right, Molly," beamed Arthur, wearing a thrilled expression. "I'm sure he'll do fine."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she replied, pearls of sweat collecting on her reddened cheeks. "Of course he'll do fine!"

"Well...yes. What I meant...er..."

Ruth knew exactly how to handle the situation. She had seen it many times before. After turning the baby boy away from his parents, Ruth brought him to the warm bath she had prepared in a basin by the window and proceeded to wipe him down. It was her way of giving them a chance to adjust their expectations, and a minute usually did the trick. Ruth tried not to be distracted by the reappearance of the bizarre grey owl, perched on a branch outside, as she soaked the sponge and listened.

"It's just that nothing worked the way we planned — not remotely!"

"I know."

"I really wanted to be at the Burrow like I'd been for the boys, Arthur. And a girl! I'd really hoped..."

"It's fine, dear. This is fine."

Ruth tilted her head back. "These things happen. Doctors are often wrong when diagnosing the sonogram."

"A what-o-gram?" bellowed Mr. Weasley, intrigued. "Is that a letter of sorts? I'm afraid we didn't receive one of those."

"Muggle nonsense, dear," whispered Molly in reply, speaking more gibberish. "And what did I say about your aunt's potions? I told you they wouldn't work."

Startled by what she was hearing, the midwife stopped sponging the boy clean and turned to present him to the parents.

"Don't worry, Molly. We'll keep trying until we have our Ginny."

She sighed. "Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Here he is!" said Ruth spiritedly, wrapping the boy in the thick scarlet and gold towel she had pulled down from a rack in the bathroom. "Nice pink skin. He's healthy. He feels about eight pounds. It's been a while, but I'm usually right about such things." She handed the boy to Mrs. Weasley and watched as the woman instantly bonded with her child.

"It's okay, boys. Mum is fine. Come see your new brother," Arthur spoke. The three young ones scurried impatiently over to the bed, the youngest, Percy, tripping over his straggling laces.

In the excitement, Ruth hadn't heard the front door of the cottage swinging open. And it would not be for the last time that day. Mary, the nursery maid from town, had arrived. With delicate swiftness, she assisted by making the mother comfortable so she could rest.

"Sorry. Swamped at the hospit —" Mary stopped when she noticed Ruth Huckle's frenzied expression.

"Complete nutters, this lot," said Ruth in a fevered whisper. "I'll assist with the laundry in a moment." She twisted back to the red-haired rabble and asked, "Have you chosen a name?"

"Well...we weren't expecting..."

"Right," added Mr. Weasley, knitting his brow in concern. "We hadn't discussed it. Not really." He glanced down to see his wife looking lovingly at the newest member of their family. "Go on, Molly."

"But your father..."

"I couldn't do that to the poor boy. Septimus? Dreadful name. And if I change my mind one day, I'm sure we'll have another chance."

They shared a laugh, though Molly looked less than thrilled at the prospect of having yet another boy.

"So? What shall it be?" asked Ruth with a smile. This was her third favorite part. Even with this family being the most unusual she had ever set her eyes upon, Ruth eagerly awaited their decision.

"His name is Fred George Weasley," proclaimed Molly with tears in her eyes. "After my father."