#percy making biscuits on mr. business

[ala-baguette]

It's the most loneliest time of the year

Busy trying to finish KwtL and trying to stop myself from getting sidetracked with what has become an annual tradition of writing an angsty Christmas fic. So here's a throw-back to last year's instead. Summary: Four Christmases in which Percy Weasley was alone. And one in which he very much was not. Relationships: Percy/Audrey Rating: T | Words: 5.5k | Read it here or on AO3

Christmas, 1994

As he descended the stairs, Percy’s ears were met with a cacophony of clanking pots and pans from the kitchen.  A mouth-watering aroma wafted up to meet his nostrils.  Oh, dear.  Mum.  We talked about this.  He straightened his dress robes as he brusquely took the last few steps down and turned the corner into the kitchen.

As he predicted, every flat surface was covered in food.  A dozen mince pies were still left after Mum had sent off the majority of the batch to the rest of the family yesterday, and all week she had been baking biscuits and tarts and cakes.  Now, dish-by-dish, Christmas dinner was making its way out of the oven.  Percy’s eyes followed a plate of Yorkshire puddings as it flew across the kitchen and over to the dining table.  It came to rest beside a large chicken surrounded by roast potatoes, parsnips, and Brussels. Mum pocketed her wand after conducting the Yorkshire pudding dance and turned back to resume stirring a gravy at the hob.  Dad smiled at Percy as he entered, then went back to setting the table.  Percy immediately took note of three place settings arranged at one end of the long wooden table.  Why do they never listen to me?

“Mother,” Percy said with a sigh.  “This is too much food for just you and Dad.  I told you not to go overboard; I can’t stay for dinner, remember?  Mr Crouch is counting on me to make sure everything is prepared at Hogwarts.” 

“Well, I thought, you know…  Just in case you changed your mind.”  Then clearly not able to resist reopening their previous argument, Mum chided, “Surely you can have a small bite before you go.”  She waved her spoon at him like a naughty child.  “The Yule Ball doesn’t start until eight o’clock!”

“Yes, I know.  But I want to get there early!” Percy ground out for what felt like the hundredth time.  “There’s so much to prepare and so many people to organise.  Someone needs to make sure everything is getting done—tables to set up and the band and the decorations.  Merlin knows we can’t count on Ludo Bagman for help.”

“I’m sure the House-elves will have all that taken care of.  Really, Percy.”

“There’ll be a feast at the ball, Mother!” he reminded her.  “I really don’t need to eat twice.  I told you this.  I have to go.”

“Come now, Percy,” said Dad, passing a gravy boat to Mum to fill.  “Go easy on us.  This is the first time your mother and I have been alone for Christmas evening since before Bill was born!  Can’t blame us for feeling a bit lonely.”  Dad was smiling at him in that way Percy hated so much.  That patronising smile that said he saw something Percy didn’t.  Which was complete rubbish, of course.  Quite the opposite, in fact!

Why couldn’t they understand that this was important!  He, Percy, was Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and this was one of his first real tests.  Everything had to go smoothly tonight.  Percy was representing Mr Crouch and nothing could tarnish the reputation of his boss or his department.

Or maybe Dad did understand.  Maybe that was the problem.  Maybe he was jealous that in the first six months of his career, Percy was already becoming more important at the Ministry than Dad ever would.

But Percy could hardly say such thoughts aloud. 

Percy sighed irritably.  The nerve Dad had to go for that guilt trip.  It was hardly his fault that Ginny, Ron, and the twins had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball.  Hardly his fault that Charlie had said he couldn’t justify the expense of travelling back when he’d already visited twice this year.  Hardly his fault that they had uncovered some big new tomb in Egypt, and Bill had needed to cancel his trip home to work on breaking down the curses protecting it.  Why did everything always fall to Percy?  Why was it always his job to keep this family together?

But Mum and Dad were both looking at him expectantly.  And he had to admit that it was rather sad to see them standing there with so many empty chairs around the dining table.  And the Yorkshire pudding did admittedly smell divine.

Percy reached up and smoothed back his hair.  “Ten minutes,” he said in compromise at last.  Honestly, it was really quite magnanimous of him, Percy thought.  “One piece of chicken.  One Yorkshire.  A little gravy.  Then I have to go.”

Mum beamed and rushed to kiss him on the cheek.  Dad smiled approvingly.  Percy took his seat, and Mum began piling far more than just one piece of chicken, one Yorkshire, and a little gravy onto his plate.  Percy swallowed his complaint.  None of them would ever truly appreciate how much he did for this family.

Christmas, 1995

His flat was tiny.  One room.  That was it.  He’d managed to squeeze a bed in one corner awkwardly butted up against the kitchenette.  A desk that doubled as a dining table sat opposite.  Percy suspected the bathroom had once been a cupboard before the crumbling walk-up had been repurposed into ‘chique industrial’ flats.  Hermes had adopted the top of the bookcase as his perch, nestling himself into the hollow between some exposed piping.  He was currently shredding a newspaper for recreation, a repetitive shhhrup echoing in the quiet of the room. 

Outside was anything but quiet.  The honking of Muggle cars and the rumbling of busses and the yelling of merchants was a constant roar outside the single pane window.  But the constancy made it easy enough to ignore.

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose as he scratched out a line on the parchment at his desk.  He scribbled a correction in the margin, then read it through again.  Shhhrup.  He glanced up at Hermes and let out an irritated breath.  Then went back to his work.

Yes, it was Christmas.  Yes, he could have taken the day off.  But he really wanted to finish this report for the office.  As Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, it was, after all, his job to stay on top of these things.  The Minister was counting on him to keep his administration running smoothly.  With all the wild rumours and accusations the Ministry had to contend with lately… Well, it was all keeping Percy very busy, and he didn’t want to fall any further behind.  He definitely didn’t need any more distractions. 

Against his better judgment, Percy’s eyes strayed from the document he was working on to a letter lying crumpled on the far corner of the desk.  He could still make out the closing line from where it lay:

              Love from your brother,              Bill

Percy felt his lip pull up in a sneer.  Love.  How could any of them claim ‘love’ for him.  They had turned their back on him—the whole family had.  Turned their back on Percy.  Turned their back on the Ministry.  Turned their back on their country!  They had gone off to join some foolish rebellion, and Percy had been left behind as the sole voice of reason.

‘Rebellion’ was the word Percy used when he was feeling generous.  ‘Treason’ was perhaps the more accurate word. 

Percy had spent the last six months distancing himself from his family.  It was just a matter of time before Dumbledore and Potter and everyone associated with them was brought down, and Percy would have nothing to do with it!

But now Bill had the nerve to write to him of father’s injuries.  To encourage him to visit Dad at St Mungo’s and ‘mend fences’.  To say that surely Percy should be ‘able to see how important family is in times like these’. 

How dare he lecture him?  When his father had literally been caught dangerously wounded in the Ministry with some utterly codswollop cover-story about an escaped beast that had been previously confiscated by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?  How thick did they think the Ministry was?  Did they really think that the Ministry didn’t know that Dad had been up to something shady for Dumbledore?  Just because they couldn’t prove it, didn’t mean they didn’t know.

And Percy was just supposed to forgive and forget, just because Dad was injured?  Shouldn’t it mean the opposite?  Shouldn’t something like this be a wake-up call to his family that they had no place getting mixed up in Dumbledore’s insurrection?  Shouldn’t they be the ones coming to him to tell him how wrong they’d been?  To ‘mend fences,’ as Bill had put it?

Shhhrup.

Percy dropped his quill to the desk and a splotch of ink marred his report for the office.  “Do you mind?” he growled at Hermes.  “I’m trying to work here.”

Hermes met his gaze.  The owl cocked his head, blinked once at Percy, then his talons gripped another strip of newspaper deliberately.  Shhhrup.

A growl escaped Percy’s chest.  “You know what?  Here.  If you’re going to do that, why not shred something worth shredding.”  His fist crumpled around Bill’s letter, and he chucked it up on top of the bookcase.  Hermes hopped to dodge the projectile and ruffled his feathers indignantly.

Percy opened his mouth to say something more, but he was cut off by a tap tap tap on the window.  He spun around.  Then was immediately annoyed with himself at the burst of hope and joy he’d felt at the sound.  He paused for a moment, staring at the dark shape on the window ledge outside the glass.  With a sharp release of his breath, he marched over and wrenched the window open.

Errol tumbled in and onto the desk.  The ancient owl was gasping for breath, slumped against the lumpy parcel he’d been carrying.  Percy merely stood there and stared down at him.  A concerned trill came from atop the bookcase.

Percy’s face felt stony as he stared at Errol for a moment.  Then his gaze flitted to the brown paper-wrapped package.  It was lumpy and soft, and Percy had no doubts as to what it contained.  He knew without looking that it would be mustard yellow, because it always was.  Knew there would be not a single dropped stitch.  Knew how it would feel, how it would smell.  He looked back to the owl.

“What are you doing here?”  Errol blinked open tired eyes to look at him questioningly.  “I told her I don’t want anything to do with any of them.”  But Percy’s fingers twitched as a traitorous part of his heart longed to tear open the paper and run his hands across the thick soft wool.  Longed to breathe in the scent of his mother, of his home.  The urge only served to make him angrier. 

“Take it back.”  Hermes let out a warning hiss from atop the bookcase, but Percy ignored him.  “Take it back this instant,” he snapped at Errol.  Errol looked up at Hermes as though begging for help.  The old owl was still slumped and panting and looking utterly exhausted. 

Hermes fluttered down to land next to Errol and glowered up at Percy.  “What?  It’s not my fault they sent him on a long flight to carry a package they knew I didn’t want!” he snapped at Hermes.  Then he turned back to Errol who had still made no move to leave.  “Well?  What are you still doing here?  Go on.  Get out of here!  And take this with you.  Go!”  Hermes snapped his beak angrily at Percy, then turned to nuzzle encouragingly at Errol.  Grasping the parcel in his own talons and nudging Errol toward the window, Hermes spared Percy one last disgusted look before he spread his wings and took flight with the package in tow.  Errol followed tiredly after.

“Fine.  Side with them.  See if I care,” he called out the window after Hermes.  But Percy stood at the open window for a long time after watching them disappear into the night. 

The breeze coming through the window was bitingly cold, but he barely felt it.  He stared after the two owls long lost to the darkness.  Dimly he registered that they were flying northeast, which was not the direction of the Burrow, but he refused to allow himself to wonder why.  It didn’t matter.  Whatever his family was up to, it was none of his concern.  They had made that quite clear.  They had chosen their side.  And so had he.

Slamming the window shut, he turned and marched into the kitchenette.  He bent to retrieve his dinner from the larder, kicking the cupboard door shut after.  He banged the dinner down on the counter and glared down at the packaging.

Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One TURKEY ROAST *Tap your wand here and enjoy a warm delicious meal in seconds!

Percy proceeded to prod it so hard with his wand, the packaging ignited.  “Aguamenti!” he yelped, smothering the flames in water.  He let out a long sigh as what appeared to be half frozen turkey soup leaked from the charred packaging.  Cursing under his breath, he scooped the sodden cardboard and some mush that he suspected was supposed to be mashed potatoes into the rubbish bin.  He returned to his desk to finish his report. 

Christmas, 1996

“Weasley.  We’re going,” the Minister snapped through the open kitchen door.  Potter had just swept in from the garden and was returning to his seat at the table with the attitude of a petulant child.  Scrimgeour was clearly in no better mood; he had not even bothered to come in to say goodbye to the family.  The pretence was done with, then.  Thank God.  Just in time.  Because Percy couldn’t have stood a single minute more of it. 

Percy stormed through the back door and slammed it behind him, cutting off his mother’s cry of “Percy, wait!”   He followed Scrimgeour across the garden, the frozen earth crunching angrily under his feet.  Not slowing his speed, he removed his glasses and shook them hard to dislodge the bits of mashed parsnip splattered across them.  He brushed another chunk from his hair impatiently before redonning his specs.

Ahead of him, the Minister was walking faster than Percy would have thought possible with his bad leg and walking stick.  He seemed as eager to be gone as Percy.  Things had clearly not gone well with Potter.  So it had all been for nothing.  Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy?

Percy wanted to hit something.  Fury was bubbling in his chest.  All of this had been to give the Minister an in with Harry Potter.  And Percy had gone along with it.  He’d swallowed his pride and gone along with it because it was his duty.  Because he had trusted that it was in the best interest of the Ministry of Magic.  But it had all been for nothing.  Potter was the most stubborn, pig-headed—

“Dumbledore’s man, through-and-through,” Scrimgeour grumbled under his breath followed by a frustrated growl in the back of his throat.  He shook his head and kept walking, pushing his way through the garden gate.

They were all stubborn.  The whole family was being utterly infuriating.  Why they couldn’t recognise their duty to ally with the Ministry… Why they insisted on sticking to Dumbledore’s secretive agenda when clearly, they were all on the same side… Percy just could not understand them.  None of them.

And yet… Percy had walked into the kitchen a little bit ago.  And he’d smelled the turkey and stuffing.  And he could see the tree covered in fairy lights and Ginny’s paperchains hanging from the rafters in the next room.  And he had seen Mum’s famous Christmas pudding waiting on the counter for dessert.  And he had seen everybody wearing their Weasley jumpers.  And he’d felt Mum hug him, felt her tears on his shoulder, smelled her lemon soap and bergamot scent.  And, just for a fraction of a moment, he had felt like a small child coming down to Christmas dinner.  And he’d had to avert his eyes to keep from wanting it.  Missing it.

Of course the row that started the minute Potter and Scrimgeour had left the room had been very quick to cure him of those thoughts.  Barely had the Minister and Potter left the room before Dad had accosted Percy, demanding to know what Scrimgeour wanted with Potter.  Dad’s voice was still ringing in his ears.  We’re not fools Percy, and neither are you!  Surely you can see what’s happening here.  Surely you can see that he’s just trying to get to Harry.  Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy? Percy felt his teeth grinding together.  What did Dad know of duty. 

Percy followed Scrimgeour through the gate and swung it shut behind him.  The click of the latch echoed in the quiet stillness of the country lane leading into Ottery St. Catchpole.  He looked to Scrimgeour who was now stationary, staring out across the frosted hills and shaking his head with a sour look on his face.  Percy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cloak and waited.  Waited for the Minister to declare the next move.  Waited for his next instruction.  Waited to do his duty to the Ministry of Magic.

But the Minister merely stood there.

It was a full minute later before Scrimgeour seemed to abruptly remember that Percy was there.  He glanced over and looked Percy up and down for brief moment.  He didn’t particularly seem to like what he saw.  “See you at the office,” the Minister growled.  And without so much as a ‘Happy Christmas’, he Disapparated with a pop.

Percy stood on the deserted lane for a long while.  It had grown dark and the cold bit through his cloak.  He glanced back toward the Burrow.  He could just make out the brightly lit kitchen window through the snow-laden vegetation.  The shadows of people moved within the square of warm yellow light.  Then he turned to stare down the road toward the spot where Scrimgeour’s footprints in the snow disappeared.  Beyond stretched a colourless landscape of snowy hills, pastures bordered by low stone walls and scrubby hedges.  Wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his cloak.

Percy spared one last glance toward the Burrow before he too Disapparated.

Christmas, 1997

The rumble of the Muggle street below was the only sound as Percy sat with his elbows propped on his desk, his hands clasped together.  Even Hermes was quiet tonight.  The owl was staring at the window as though expecting something. 

Percy too glanced to the window.  But there was nothing there.  Just as there had been nothing there the last time he’d checked. 

The night stretched on, and still nothing came.  No owl.  No letter.  No soft lumpy package.

Had Mum finally given up on Percy and not made him a jumper this year?  Had something happened to Errol?  Had something happened to his parents?  Would he even hear about it if it had?

Percy reached up to pull off his glasses.  There was a clatter as he dropped them next to his rapidly cooling and hardly touched tray of Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One.

And he buried his face in his hands and wept.

Christmas, 1998

We are so late.  The bathroom door was shamelessly open.  Percy had a clear line of sight from where he sat on the foot of the bed.  He chewed a thumb nail as he watched her getting ready, his knee bouncing up and down restlessly.  She kept saying she was almost ready, but her sparkling emerald green dress was still spread on the bed next to him awaiting its wearer more patiently than was Percy.

He cocked his head as Audrey leaned across the bathroom vanity to check her lipstick in the mirror.  It gave Percy a rather pleasant view of her backside, clad only in knickers and sheer stockings.  Her eyes caught his in the reflection and she winked, a small smile curving up her newly red painted lips.  Percy thought she looked rather smug as she turned her attention to her hair.

“You look great.  You don’t have to put so much effort in.  They’re going to love you,” he assured her.

“I know,” she replied, turning around to look at him directly as she ran her brush through straight dark hair.  “Everybody loves me.  I just feel like looking pretty.”

“I’m just saying, no one else is going to be particularly dressed up.  We’re not really that kind of family.”

“Sometimes, I want to dress up for me, you know?”  She laid the brush down on the vanity and gave her reflection one final look over.  “It’s not always about dressing up for other people.”  She smiled at herself, then marched into the bedroom and picked up the dress, stepping into the skirts.

Percy chewed his lip as he watched her.  “Okay.  I’m just saying that if you didn’t want—”

“Oh, my God!” Audrey straightened, and she turned to look at him as though she’d just realised something.  There was a moment’s pause as she studied him, the dress bunched around her hips as though she’d quite forgotten what she was doing.  Percy tried not to stare at her lace-clad breasts.

“What?” Percy asked, startled by her sudden outburst.

Audrey didn’t speak for a moment.  She shimmied her arms into the sleeves, eyeing him with a sudden frown on her face as she did so.  Still with her eyes on him, she reached around to zip up the back.  Percy made to stand to help her, but she just shook her head and did it herself, arching her back to reach the top.  But never once did her eyes stray from his face.  “You’re nervous!” she accused him.

“What?  I’m not—”

“You are!  You’re completely terrified!  You think they’re going to hate me!”

“I don’t think they’re going to hate you.”  He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Yes, you do!  You’ve been dragging your feet about introducing me to your parents for weeks!  You don’t think I’m going to fit in with your family!”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what?” she demanded, but she had a teasing smile on her red lips.

“They’re going to love you,” he said weakly.

“You said that already,” Audrey insisted.  She was refusing to let him off the hook.  “Fess up.  You’re ashamed of me.”  Her broad grin acknowledged that no man in his right mind could ever be ashamed of her and she knew it.

“You’re going to fit in great with my family,” Percy assured her, shifting uncomfortably.  He found his gaze traveling to his shoes.  “You’re… you’re going to fit in better than I do,” he added in a mumble.

He glanced up at her just in time to see her teasing smile faulter.  “Percy…” she said gently. 

Percy looked away again, leaning his elbows on his knees.  He felt the bed beside him sag as she sat next to him and felt her eyes on the back of his neck.  Then a gentle hand he didn’t deserve caressed the hair back from his forehead.

“It’s not you I’m ashamed of,” he managed softly.  “It’s me.”  She was so quiet, he had to turn to see if her face would show what she thought of that.  But she was merely gazing at him sombrely, her expression inviting him to go on.  “You’ve only ever seen me at work or among friends.  But my family…” Percy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling as he tried to consider the words.  “I’ve done terrible things.  Said terrible things.  I turned my back on them.  For three years, I did everything I could to distance myself from them.  But if I had just done what I should… Maybe I could have helped…  Maybe I could have stopped… Maybe he’d…”  Maybe he’d still be alive.  But Percy couldn’t say those words aloud.  Not even to Audrey.  Especially not to Audrey. 

“Anyway.  Family gatherings… They can be… hard.  Everybody pretending like none of it ever happened.”

Audrey took a moment before she answered.  “Has it occurred to you,” she said at last.  “That maybe they’re not pretending?  That maybe they’ve just moved on?  Forgiven you?  And that maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?” 

Percy glanced at her, and she was gazing at him.  He saw no doubt in her eyes.  She merely seemed as though she were waiting for him to cotton onto something that was terribly obvious to her.

“How could they possibly forgive me for something like that?” he asked her.  And he looked into her eyes, desperate for them to hold an answer to a question he had asked himself a hundred thousand times, but never uttered aloud before this moment.

Audrey just smiled as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.  “Because they love you, you tosser.”

Percy felt a huff of disbelief escape his chest, and he turned away, shaking his head.  “You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t have to.  I know that you love them.  And I know that I love you.  And I have excellent taste, so obviously they agree with me.”

He looked at her sidelong.  And the grin on her face was enough to break through the gloom.  He laughed in spite of himself.  Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand and her smile shifted from mischievous to affectionate.  They simply gazed at each other for a long moment, smiling like idiots. 

“I love you too,” Percy said at last.

“Well, good,” Audrey shrugged.  “Because it would be really inconvenient if I loved you and you didn’t love me ba—”

But Percy cut off whatever wisecrack she might have had in store for him next by pulling her face close and kissing her hard on the mouth.  He felt her grin against his mouth before submitting, and her lips softened against his. 

Percy had kissed her a thousand times and would kiss her a thousand times again, and still he would not have gotten over the thrill at feeling her lips against his.  The way they always moved and parted in time with his as though to a well-choreographed dance he couldn’t remember learning.  The way they made his heart pound and his stomach clench. The way they made him feel like the most important man in the world and the humblest, all at the same time.

Loosing himself in the feeling, Percy buried his hands in her silky hair and felt hers running up his back.  He deepened the kiss contentedly, but she pulled back slightly, and he felt rather than saw her smile.  “I thought you said we were going to be late,” she whispered against his lips.  “I know how you hate being late.”

Percy groaned.  He did hate being late.  Audrey laughed softly, pecking him lightly on the lips before pulling back fully.  They allowed themselves one moment more to simply look into the other’s eyes.  Audrey’s gaze darted down to his lips and a funny smile tugged at her cheek.  Percy thought she was considering kissing him again, but she stood up determinedly.  “Give me a minute to fix the damage you’ve done to my hair and makeup.  Then we can go.”

Percy threw his head back and drew in a deep steadying breath as she disappeared into the bathroom again.

They arrived at the garden gate to the Burrow hand-in-hand.  Percy felt Audrey give his hand a gentle squeeze before they walked up the garden path.  The door was flung open before they could knock.

“Oh, Percy, thank goodness!” Mum flung herself on him, hugging him tightly there on the front stoop.  “I was getting worried!  You’re never late.”  She pulled back and looked him over as though assuring herself that he was alive and whole. 

“Sorry, Mum—” Percy began.  But before he could get another word out, she caught sight of Audrey standing just behind him. 

“Oh, and you must be Audrey!  At last!  We’ve been telling Percy to bring you for weeks and weeks!”  Percy found himself pushed aside as she dove to hug Audrey.  But somehow he didn’t mind one bit.  Audrey smiled at him from over Mum’s shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re so pretty!” Mum said, patting her own hair back as she took Audrey in up and down.  “Come in!  It’s freezing out here!  I’ve knitted you a jumper.  I so hope it fits; Percy wasn’t much help when I asked your size.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Audrey laughed, shooting Percy a mischievous grin.  “Men are so useless at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”  The pair of women walked into the house arm-in-arm in happy excited conversation as though they’d known each other for years, and Percy followed behind.

There was a rush of movement and sound through the crowded kitchen as they entered.  Calls of ‘Hello’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ echoed in the cramped space.  Percy found himself separated from Audrey as Dad came up to hug him and Charlie slapped him on the back and George poured him a drink. 

His head felt like it was floating in all the noise and conversation.  Before he could respond to one person, another was greeting him.  Percy craned his head to check in on how Audrey was getting on;  he saw her shaking hands with Harry and, to her credit, she did not appear painfully starstruck like most people were when meeting him. 

Drinks and half-eaten appetisers were claiming spots at the table, but few people were seated yet.  Percy couldn’t help it as his gaze travelled to a particular empty chair at the table.  He was sure it wasn’t empty by coincidence.  No one wanted to sit in that particular spot.

“Hey!  Looking good, Audrey!” called Bill across the room, cutting into an unpleasant reverie.  Percy turned back to look over to Audrey himself.  She had slipped on her first of what was sure to be many Weasley jumpers and was grinning at him from across the room.  The lumpy olive-green wool far from complimented her sparkly emerald dress, but she wore it with so much confidence, the runway models were sure to be adopting the style by next season.  A small cheer went up around the room and Audrey’s grin widened.    “Percy, dear!  Come and get yours,” Mum called, and Percy picked his way through the throng to them.  As Mum turned to collect another jumper from under the tree, Percy felt his arm wrap around Audrey’s waist.  She squeezed him back.

As he’d known it would be, the soft wool was a mustard yellow.  As he’d known it would, it had not a single dropped stitch.  As he’d known it would, it smelled of lemon soap and bergamot.  “Thanks, Mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Alright, come along, all of you!” said Mum, waving him off, though she had a touch of a blush on her cheeks.  She began shepherding them all toward the dining table.  “It’s dinner time!” she called to the room at large.  Another cheer and some laughter as the group migrated toward the table.

Percy followed suit, but he paused to look around the room.  For a moment, he just stood there, clutching his Weasley jumper to his chest.  He looked around the table as his family took their seats, all chatting amongst themselves, all laughing and smiling and relaxed.  Their faces were brightly lit by the candles on the dining table.  And before them was a spread of all of his favourite foods.  And Ginny’s paperchains were hanging artfully from the rafters.  And the fire was crackling merrily.  And everything was perfect. 

And yet everything was wrong. 

Percy felt his feet faulter.  They seemed unable to make the final few steps to the table.  His breath was coming fast and shallow.  He felt as though he were caught midway through Apparition.  As though a tight rubber band was compressing his chest.  He didn’t belong here.  He didn’t belong in this warm and loving house, surrounded by warm and loving people.  He didn’t deserve it.  How could it be that he was here and someone else was not.  When it had been Percy who had had squandered their last chance to ever again have them all together in this room.

“Er, Perce,” said George as he pulled out a chair across from him.  Percy blinked several times as he tried to clear his head enough to really take him in.  George gestured to his lips.  “Trying out a new shade?  I think red clashes with your hair a bit.”

Percy merely continued to blinked at him bemusedly for a moment.  Then he felt heat flood to his face, and his hand shot up to scrub at his lips.  Several snickers sounded around the table.  He glanced apologetically to Audrey only to find her grinning at him in a way that reminded him uncannily of Fred.  He sighed.  His glare was made rather less effective by the traitorous smile tugging at his lips.  “You didn’t tell me on purpose.”

Audrey shrugged.  “I thought the shade suited you quite well.”

The kitchen was filled with laughter and the screeching of chairs on the floor as everybody took their seats.  George was still sniggering and Dad was smiling fondly at him and Mum was piling food onto his plate and Audrey was beaming at him.  As fast as it had come, the rubber band around his chest was gone.  When he at last sat down, he felt he was exactly where he belonged.

And when Audrey sat herself in the empty seat beside him— the one seat everyone had been avoiding— no one seemed to mind at all. 

Least of all Percy.

[divagonzo]

Like a Muggle

A/N: This is inspired (and a roughly written one-shot in my side-verse) by @headcanonsandmore aka Dadcanons and their musing of Ron being an awesome father to his kids.

Rated T for innuendo and some snogging but also veiled references to physical violence and social mortification. 98% Ace Safe. This will eventually end up on Ao3 and maybe FF.net

For now, though, it’s all for the Tumblr crowds.

Edit: Now on Ao3.

Give me my demarcation line damn it!

Ron opened the window to admit the unexpected owl. He was working in the Wheeze's office, trying to balance the books and was instead accosted by a nondescript brown owl. "Letter from Neville?" Ron unwrapped the twine from the owl's leg. "Need a rasher or a kip?" The owl hooted what sounded like a No. "It's from Neville. Does he need a reply?" Yet another hooting no.

"Wanna run on back then since Neville doesn't need anything else?" Ron reached out and let the owl come to him, stroking his head feathers gently before the owl took off again. He unrolled the length of parchment, using the readers on top of his head to scan the letter. Disappointment welled in his heart at first before pride shined. He had to go tell Hermione this straightaway, sod the books for an hour. He grabbed his dark blue cloak for the short walk to the Ministry. Taking the floo was too much hassle for a brisk fall morning. "George, I gotta run to the ministry. Back in a few." "Bring me back those shipping contract papers that Percy has for us, wouldya? Save a plonker the trip." Ron threw up a rude gesture while taking the twenty minute walk to the front of the Ministry. He needed the break anyway from the numbers swirling around his head this morning.

Through the toilets and through security, even with the bailiff who knew who he was and still checked him, in the lift down six floors to the Magical Law Enforcement offices, through the rows of desks for the bureaucracy known as the Ministry to Hermione's personal secretary Miranda Blunt. "Ah, Mr. Weasley. You're not on her agenda today so I assume it's important for her to see you immediately? Well she's using the Floo with her Italian counterpart on business so it will be a few." Ron smiled, knowing how important Miranda actually was to Hermione. Everyone thought she was just her secretary but only a chosen few - Harry, Hermione, Hemera, and Ron knew that Miranda was also her personal bodyguard at the office, after the few times anyone tried to breach the security of the department to get to her. "Tea, Mr. Weasley?" "Please." "Three sugars, spot of milk?" "I'd almost think you're related to Hermione with that mind of yours." "Nah, it's only for the important stuff. Husband's tea is important knowledge. And it's also a way for you to know it's really me." Ron gave her a lopsided smile while Miranda slipped into the secure office, returning a couple of minutes later with a small tray of tea and a couple packets of biscuits. "Your wife didn't know if you were peckish or not." "You spoil a bloke, you know that?" Ron tore the packet open and inhaled the contents. He'd missed breakfast this morning on account of other pleasant activities then fell back asleep, only waking fifteen minutes before he was due at the shop. Miranda went back to her seat and used the contraption Hermione got her last year, called a typewriter. They'd explained it to Ron that it was like writing on parchment but easier to read for those who had trouble reading so many varied scrips from people. Hermione had even gifted one to Arthur and he spent countless hours using it writing to his kids and grandkids. The door opened up a couple of minutes later and Hermione stood there, making a motion for Ron to come into her office. Ron followed her in and then he kicked the door shut and gave her a enthusiastic greeting, one that she never complained about before pulling back from his lips, her cheeks flushed and her eyes closed. "You rarely come to the office on a Wednesday so what gives?" "I got a letter from Neville this morning and thought you probably should hear it from me than from him if he sent you a letter, too." "Letter?" Hermione pulled her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, a faint imitation of McGonagall and scanned the parchment twice. "Detention! Two weeks! Rose Lavender Weasley, of all the people! Hexing two another students!" She looked at Ron and saw him smirking slightly. "You prat. There's a page two, isn't there?" "Of course there is," Ron handed it over and watched her frown turn to a grimace and eventually into a smile. "She takes after you, she does." Hermione looked up from the parchment and smiled. "You were always so good on speaking up for me and occasionally fighting my battles when I didn't realize there was one going on." Hermione went back to her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a cup, pointed her wand at it and re-heated the black coffee, and took a long sip. "You must have zero nerves in your mouth," Ron muttered from his seat across the desk. "You get used to it," Hermione pulled out a length of parchment along with her eagle owl quill and inkpot. "Anything you want to add into the letter I will send off straightaway?" "Nah, she should hear from you first anyway," Ron knew he'd write a letter later today and send it off tomorrow morning so Rose would know how proud her dad was for her standing up for others. Hermione went to work writing and in short order, finished it and cleaned up the parchment with her quill. "I considered a howler but I refuse to do that to our child for any reason. I hated getting them when people thought I was toying around with guys during the Tri-wizard tournament. Besides, Neville has everything under control so I'm not upset too much over it." Ron recalled punching a certain git in the nose and smiled. "Who'd have thought that what started as bullying would turn into a trip for three of the bullies to the hospital ward with Hannah and two weeks detention for Rosie for hexing two students bullying Hugo and his friends, and blackening the eyes of the other two when they disarmed her. I don't think her having a broken hand for punching the boy in the nose was too far for her." "And Neville did say the boys pulled their wands first and she was disarmed." "I'm glad I taught her there's no shame in fighting unfairly when it's overwhelming odds." "I do hope there's no ongoing reprisals." Hermione looked at Ron and saw him shaking his head. "Nah, if I know any better, I'm sure the sods in question were told off privately to leave Hugo alone if they knew what was best for them." Hermione let out a stifled laugh. "What kind of idiot takes on a Rose when almost all of her cousins are present these terms? The only one who isn't' there is Teddy, Right?" Ron nodded. Hermione smiled slightly. "Sixth years and she's a third year, Ron." "She's as tall as many of the boys there, Hermione. It doesn't surprise me in the least. And if there are any further problems, Victorie would probably step in and put them in their rightful place, I reckon." Hermione picked up the parchment and scanned it one last time. "I think we do need to send a howler tomorrow." "Really? Why?" "One of the gits is Zacharias Smith's son and he said that “the only reason you weren’t expelled for this is because of your parents.”

Ron's eyes lit up. "Thinking what I'm thinking?" "I am."

Yet another demarcation line!

Rose tromped into breakfast, exhausted. She's been in detention with Professor Sinestra until one in the morning helping her sort maps and other useless rubbish. Hugo was the one who loved Astronomy and the stars. Only thing she wanted was to race around the Quidditch pitch and now she was banned for a fortnight, for standing up for those who needed protecting. It was so bloody unfair! James and Fred said she was brilliant for what she did and so did Molly and Scorpius. Al, being Al, laughed quietly when she said why she'd gotten detention. She looked up from her seat at the table, her friends with her in commiseration, and saw Zeb sitting across the way, scowling at her with two black eyes and a brace around his left wrist. Madame Abbot Longbottom said it was a small price for him to pay for being a bully on first years - that everyone in the school would know his shame. Owls swooped in, each dropping parcels for those who were present in the Great Hall. She glanced up and saw a tawny brown owl carrying a red envelope in it's talons. She felt the utter dread in the pit of her stomach.

Her parents sent her a howler. She knew she'd stepped in dragon dung if they were mad enough to send a howler. She felt the shame on her face and neck, a reminder to her that her Dad was the same way. She saw Professor Longbottom surreptitiously pull his wand from his robes, ready to silence it into oblivion if it got out of hand.

One last glance across the way and she saw Zeb Smith smirking, knowing how much trouble she was about to get into.

She took it in a shaking hand and tore the top off, hearing her Mum's tsking loudly. "Fuck," she said under her breath.

"Rose Lavender Granger, detention? Of all the things to get in trouble for, and you chose this," Hermione's voice droned loudly. She was shocked. Mom wasn’t yelling, well, no more than seemed usual. "We are so proud of you for standing up for the younger students. Who picks on first years minding their own business? What prat thinks so poorly of themselves that they'd berate first years for playing in the hallways between classes? " "Who tries to hex firsties?" Ron's voice interrupted. "Rude!" 

“Yes, it was very rude and you were right to intervene.” Hermione’s voice carried across the hall.

"We spoke with your head of house," Ron's voice bellowed, "and agree that the punishment fits the circumstances. Two weeks detention is adequate to us." "Sometimes the consequences are a fair price to pay." Hermione said.  "Serve your detentions knowing that we are proud of you for standing up for others who need protecting from bullies." "Love, Dad - " - and Mum." Rose released the breath she'd been holding entirely too long and looked across the way. Zeb was no longer at the table and neither were his three friends she'd put in the hospital wing fighting them like a Muggle.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

[gryffindormischief]

“I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately.” Hinny if you please ☺️

I MADE IT KINDA LONGER.  But still a ficlet I think.  I hope you like :)

Harry’s always loved babysitting Teddy when Remus and Tonks decided they needed a night together, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t become more appealing when they started double date nights once a month with Bill and Fleur.  Which still sounds more unselfish than it really is, because double date nights with the Weasleys means Victoire needs a sitter, which is almost always Ginny after the George and Percy co-babysitting fiasco at Christmas.

Originally, this meant increased texting traffic between the two of them, sending silly pictures of their charges and occasional advice.  Until Teddy saw a picture of Victoire and practically demanded joint evenings.  And Harry wasn’t about to argue with the concept of more Ginny time, since he was even more hopelessly infatuated than Teddy.

So when the two couples asked if Harry and Ginny could watch the kids for an entire weekend, Harry had to bite back on the urge to thank them and retain some of his dignity, since Ginny was smirking at his initial expression of excitement.

Overall, Teddy and Victoire kept each other busy enough, only needing occasional refereeing or snacks - mostly the latter.  But they did enjoy a good game of make believe, varying from Harry being cast as a dragon, or Ginny as a fairy princess, to this particular evening, where they wanted something a bit more realistic.

“We should go on a date, like mum n’ dad,” Teddy suggests over a slice of home made pizza, where the pepperoni had been shaped into a large smiling face.

Ginny raises her brows at Harry from across the table, waiting for Victoire to squeal - though whether from delight or disgust was indeterminate - her response.  In the end, it is delight, and after dinner they disappear into Remus and Tonks’ living room to ‘set the mood’ while Harry and Ginny take to opposite ends of the kitchen, Harry carefully working flour from the counter-top while Ginny rinses dishes and bowls and dunks them in the foamy water, scrubbing with practiced strokes.

After finishing his half of the kitchen, Harry grabs a dish towel and begins wiping down the dishes stacked on the rack, earning a hip check from Ginny as she grins at him, stray bubbles caught on her lashes and nose.  Leaning closer, he swipes over the suds gently before letting his hand fall to his side, though neither pulls away.

Until Teddy comes trotting in, “We’re ready,” he pauses, “Can we use real biscuits?”

Coughing to recover himself, Harry presses his backside to the counter and nods, “Sure, mate.  Be right in.”

Ginny smirks at him as she pulls a couple of packets from the pantry, “I suppose we’re the wait staff?”

“I believe I’m the maitre d’,” Harry replies loftily, throwing the tea towel over his shoulder and settling his hand at the small of Ginny’s back so his fingertips just brush her spine - and he might imagine it, but she almost seems to shiver pleasantly at his touch.

When they arrive in the den, Teddy and Victoire are hovering around the tiny table, where four chairs are tucked.  Ginny apparently doesn’t see where this is likely going, so she sets a few biscuits on each plastic plate and grins at the duo, “Are Mr. and Mrs. Bunny coming?”

Teddy drags one chair out and gestures for Victoire to sit in an imitation of Remus’ ever present chivalry, before settling down himself.  Victoire takes her seat and smiles, “I think it would be Potter, right?”

“Mum says a lady can keep her name though, so she could still be Weasley,” Teddy reasons and Ginny chokes on air, dragging out her own chair.

She’s almost plopped into the little wooden seat when Victoire shouts, “No.  Harry’s gotta.”

Finally regaining himself, Harry takes the two strides necessary to join the trio and sits in his own chair, “Gin likes to pull out her own, yeah?”

Flushing, likely at the idea that Harry knows anything about her preferences for such things, Ginny nods and takes a steadying breath, indicative of nerves Harry would laugh about if he wasn’t equally as nervous to be on a fake double date with his six-year-old godson.

Still, things do settle into an easiness that he always feels around Ginny, teasing their charges and playing along where appropriate as they each crunch on chocolate drizzled shortbread and sip faux tea. 

All’s well then, until Victoire pushes away from the table somewhat clumsily, almost upending their crumbly meal, and asserts primly, “I must powder my nose.”

Which Ginny rightly assumes the young Weasley will soon be in need of some assistance in the loo.  But she plays along nonetheless, murmuring the same and making to rise from the squat table when Teddy gasps, “Dad always kisses mum when she leaves the table.  We gotta do it too.”

Victoire flushes for a moment but presents her smooth cheek for Teddy’s chaste peck, before both turn to Harry and Ginny expectantly.  In their resulting mutual flustering, Harry and Ginny both assume they must be the one to kiss the other and end up accidentally forgoing the peck to the cheek for a full on press of lips to lips. 

Which would be embarrassing enough, but Harry sighs and knits his hand into her hair before he remembers this is not a date.  He pulls back no more than a breath before Ginny grabs the front of his t-shirt and nips at his bottom lip, her free hand stroking up his arm and squeezing his shoulder.

Luckily, they regain themselves - and some sanity - after only a few moments and Teddy and Victoire are characteristically impatient and short in attention span, so have moved on to playing some variation of slaps.

Sitting back, Ginny’s hands come to her blushing cheeks, “Bloody - I’m sorry - “

“Go out with me, Gin?”

Before she can answer, Teddy lets out a wailing cry because a certain little french woman ‘slaps too hard’ and Ginny is already kneeling between the two, now both crying, when she grins, “Yeah, but maybe no more double dates for a bit?”

Send me a ridiculous sentence prompt!

[sinfully-romione]

Burn Notice

Rating: T

Summary: Everyone is giving Ron grief about his hair. It’s damn time he do something about it.

“Hermione, would you come look at something?”

It was a lovely Sunday morning and Ron was still getting ready for the weekly pilgrimage to the Burrow for Sunday brunch. The kids enjoyed playing with their cousins outside, staying mostly out of trouble while Ron could sit around and bullshit with his brothers. And then there was mum’s cooking. Taking a break from making meals for the family was a welcome respite.

Hermione put her head into their en suite, seeing him frown. “What is it?”

“Do you think I’m losing my hair?”

“What do you think, love?” Hermione disappeared when she heard the kids yelling from the living room. A minute later or so, she popped her head back in. “Lift the fringe, love.” He did and she frowned. “Maybe but it probably is the haircut you got two weeks ago from the new stylist.” She disappeared when she heard Hugo crying.

“Maybe it’s from you ripping my hair out when I go down on you,” Ron grumped. At least it wasn’t going grey like mum’s hair was showing, or even the few he saw in Hermione’s hair. He lifted the fringe on his hair and saw that the hairline might have moved back an inch from what he remembered. He was getting older – he was over 30 now – and losing his hair like his dad would be something he’d have to accept, someday.

But it wouldn’t be today.

He brushed his hair to hide the hairline and straightened up. They’d have to be at Mum’s in a minute for helping with the kids and Hermione being drafted into the kitchen.  And of course she’d make some comment about his hair. Mum never let an opportunity pass to critique it, whether it was too long or too short. Then again, she fussed over all of her kids, including Percy who was half-bald at this point, the poor sod. Even Ginny wasn’t excused for keeping the pixie cut she kept from her playing days with the Harpies.

Maybe they’d have enough time before lunch and the kids were playing that he’d stop over at the shop to pick up a bottle of Wheeze’s hair restoration tonic. George made galleons hand over fist on that simple potion. It should work for him too, especially since Percy used it, according to George.

“Ron, are you ready? We need to head over. I told your Mum that I’d help in the kitchen today.”

“Yes, love,” he huffed and went to the living room and saw Hermione and Rose impatiently waiting while Hugo had his nose in a book.  “Let’s go.”

Hermione went first and Rose followed, with Ron tucking his already tall son in next to him. “Keep your nose next to my jumper until we get there. It won’t be long.”

“Can’t we apparate there? I hate going by floo.”

“I know you do.” Ron grabbed a handful of powder out of the pot. “We’re going this way so we aren’t late for Gramma’s house. Going from our house to the apparition point is a ten minute walk. If we are late, she will get louder than usual.”

“Fine,” Hugo grumped and stuck his nose into his daddy’s jumper.

The Burrow Ron yelled as he threw down the powder and held his son tight for the spinning trip from their house to the Burrow.  They landed and Ron released Hugo first. Hugo – five years old and pretty tall for his age and as thin as Ron was then – stepped out coughing. “I hate that!” he spat out ashes and littered Mum’s parlour with even more.

“Is that Hugo I hear?” Molly stuck her head out from the kitchen. “I have biscuits in the kitchen for you while your father tidies my den.”

Hugo scampered off to the kitchen, eager for biscuits before lunch. Hugo might take after Hermione in personality but he had his father’s appetite. Ron snorted and pulled his wand to do as his mum asked. It took about five seconds.

“Hermione?”

“In the kitchen,” she yelled back.

“Off to the Wheezes for ten. Back in a tick.”

“OK.”

Ron stepped back into the fireplace and yelled for the Leaky Cauldron. It was nice to walk easily on an early Sunday without being bumped into or bothered. But he couldn’t stroll since he had to be back at the Burrow in a minute. The storefront looked immaculate, with the signs in the windows and the lights on, displaying wares. He walked in and the two part-timers were working. George hired them for the summer and were busy helping the few customers that were shopping.  He slipped to the side of the store with the domestic products and scanned the various bottles. Sure enough, on the bottom shelf, in the black bottle was what he was looking for.

Wheeze’s Fringe Follicle Frizzies – guaranteed fur restoration for your pate.  Ethically sourced. Not tested on dragons, thestrals or any non-human subjects.  100% natural ingredients.

He picked up the large bottle of the potion and took it to the counter.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley. Making a purchase?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s a gag gift for Dad.” He handed over the four galleons to Jessica, the manager trainee that Angelina hired back in the fall. “And I’m sure George will laugh, too.”

“If you need to return it, hold onto the receipt,” she said mechanically. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“I completely understand.” Ron gave her a laugh and watched her put the potion bottle in a sack along with the printed receipt.

He apparated from the storefront and landed outside the gates to the Weasley property.  Hermione would know he picked up something as soon as he asked for her purse. They’d talk about it later, once they were home and the kids were in the bed fast asleep.

Rose hadn’t even started Hogwarts and he was losing his hair. That was a load of bunk.

Hermione smiled at him while she finished tending the salad for lunch. His mum gave him a look he didn’t immediately recognize. “Did you get what you needed?” she asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, maybe it will help with that hair cut you got from those muggles. If you’d let me cut your hair, you wouldn’t look like poor Percy. I mean, you take after me so you should have a full head of hair.”

“Mum, leave off,” Ron grumped and left the kitchen. He went looking for Rose and Hugo. They weren’t in the parlour so he went off hunting for his wayward children.

He found Hugo first, hiding in Ginny’s old bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, reading a book.

“Was it too loud downstairs with the cousins?”

Hugo shook his head. “Gramma‘s mad at me.” Hugo wiped his face and turned away from his Daddy.

“She is? Did she misunderstand you for some reason?” Ron sat down next to his son and waited. Hugo eventually turned back around. “Did she say why?”

“I got a biscuit and she tried to hug me and I said no. She said that was rude. She yelled at me.” He looked up, with a mop of hair as curly as Hermione’s was but with Ron’s color and texture. Big brown eyes were swimming with tears. “I told her I didn’t want a hug but she did it anyway.” Hugo sniffed again. “I ran up here and found a book.”

“It’s too much today, isn’t it? Is today one of your ‘don’t touch me’ days? Do you want me to talk with Gramma?” Ron sat still and watched Hugo. “I know you don’t like being hugged sometimes. Is today one of them?” Hugo put his book down and reached for Ron. He took his tall son into his arms, feeling Hugo shake. “I will once I know you’re sorted. Gramma makes mistakes and she probably didn’t realize that you were out of sorts.” Ron ran his hand over Hugo’s head and across his cheek, barely touching. “You do seem warm. Maybe you’re coming down sick with something.” Ron rocked him slightly and Hugo was snoring before he knew it.

“Yeah, I figured as such. I’m a grumpy firecrab when I’m sick too.” Ron stood and gently laid his son down on the bed and covered him with a blanket. The book went onto the desk so it wasn’t accidentally stepped on and he left the door open so he could hear him if need be.

Ron made it to the stairs and ran into Hermione. “Where’s Hugo? Everyone’s waiting on him for lunch.”

“He’s asleep in Ginny’s bedroom and I think he’s got a virus or something. But Mum didn’t help matters. She upset him and you know he occasionally gets stressed from too much noise and change.”

“He takes after me,” she said.

“She fussed at him for being rude when he said he didn’t want a hug and she did it anyway. I swear Mum doesn’t pay attention.”

“Ron, don’t start today.”

“I’ll be good at lunch but I will send her an owl tonight when we get home. We’ve told her countless times that he’s sensitive to some things.”

“Yes, she should have, but she was also dealing with five other kids in her kitchen along with three of us and bread baking. You get beastly too when all of us in the kitchen with you.”

“Fair point. Where’s Rose?”

“She’s outside sitting and talking with Albus, Roxanne, and James. They’ve been a cluster of magpies since we got here.”

Hermione turned to go downstairs and Ron put a large hand on her shoulder. “Oh, hey, by the way, can you put this in your purse?” Ron handed over the sack with the potion to his wife.

She took the bottle out and stared. “You don’t need it, dear.”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to look like Percy the prat.”

“Ron, you’re going to look like him. You might look like your father eventually but - ”

“No I’m not,” he whigned. “See this hair?” He lifted the fringe on the front and one lone hair stood out,  one-half inch in front of his hair-line. “This was part of my hairline a year ago. Look at it.”

Hermione put her hands up on his forehead. “You’re upset over this? You spent galleons for one of the Wheeze’s products for this?”

“Hermione, I love my Dad but I’m not ready to look like him.”

“Love, - “ She pulled his ears down for a snog, including begging entrance with her tongue. He reciprocated until they broke away, breathing hard. “You can be bald and I will still love you.”

Ron puffed up. “I’ll use the tonic but if it doesn’t work, I’ll quit fussing over it. Sorted?”

Hermione sighed. “You win. I’ll put it in my purse and you can have it back once we get home. I presume you don’t want anyone else knowing, like George?”

“Yeah, and Bill. They’ll take the piss for me losing my hair like the prat.”

Hermione reached up again and snogged her husband thoroughly, including messing his hair slightly. “Now they can take the mickey for you being kissed thoroughly by someone who knows how and not about your hair or haircut.” She smirked and trod back downstairs to lunch.

“Barmy witch,” he muttered before adjusting his trousers and checking on Hugo one last time before joining the family for dinner. He sat down at his place next to Hermione and Rose across from them, talking with Al.

“Where’s Hugo?” Arthur spoke up first while Molly was plating lunch.

“He’s asleep in Ginny’s bed. I think he’s come down with a cold or something. He was feeling out of sorts before we came over this morning.”

“That explains why he was rude to me when he got a biscuit. I had to fuss at him for telling me no when I wanted to hug him.” Molly sat down next to Arthur and across from Bill. “That’s so unlike him.”

“Actually, it is like him. He’s rewarded for indulging you,” Hermione added. “He gets an extra hour of playtime at home after we come back home if he gives you a hug. He doesn’t like giving hugs unless he’s comfortable.”

Molly looked up from her own plate like a scared cat towards Arthur first. “He’s always – “

Hermione said, “He takes after me, Molly. I was very distant with most people until I learned. Forcing him to hug you every time we visit stresses him. He loves you but hugging people is too much.”

“Well, I, I didn’t  - “

“No, you didn’t remember.” Tension filled the air around the table with no one daring break it, not between the two witches in question.

“Mummy?” a small voice came down the stairwell. Hermione was out of her chair and up the stairs before Ron could stand, followed by a slamming door. Ron looked across at his daughter, already as tall as her Mum and thin as a rail. He loved her more than his own life and had since her first breaths. “Rose, do you want to stay for brunch? I think Mum and I need to take Hugo home.”

“Sure. I’ll floo home later.” She went back to talking with Roxanne and James, and saw looks of commiseration from his siblings. He made for the stairs, taking two at a time, with chatter erupting behind him. As he figured, the bathroom door was closed and the noises from inside were muffled. Hermione’s thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze him, even if few others realized it. “Hermione, what do I need to do for you and him?”

Hermione opened the door and Ron bit off a laugh. She was soaking wet. “Hugo didn’t make it.” Ron understood. “He’s in no shape for apparition or portkey to get home.” A soft sob behind her gave way. Ron stepped into the bathroom and saw his son looking ghastly, with all of his freckles standing out on his face. “We have to make one more trip today, champ.”

“I hate going by floo. Can’t we apparate?”

“Sorry, Kiddo.” Ron picked his son up and hoisted him up onto his shoulder, covered in the expansive towel. He snuggled into his daddy’s arms shivering.

“Well I’m coming home too. I don’t want to have a row with your Mum over Hugo today. I can get Rose later, once the rest of them head home.”

Ron carried his son down the stairs and towards the parlour. Arthur came in while the rest of the family was tucking into lunch. “Heading home, son?”

“Yeah. Hugo’s sick and probably needs his bed for a few days. Hermione’s coming with to not upset Mum.”

“I’ll talk with your Mum after lunch. I don’t think she realized – “

Ron interrupted because he felt Hugo stirring. “She didn’t but that’s Mum for you – a dragon in a china shop. She thinks all of the kids are like Fred and James, not thinking that some aren’t as comfortable in loud, noisy, and hugging environments.”

“Well, send us an owl or call later to let us know how he’s doing.”

“Sorted,” Ron saw Hermione slipping into the fireplace with her purse, his jacket, and Hugo’s things.  She was gone in a flash and Ron stepped in too. “Hold on tight.”

Hugo snuggled in tighter and they spun away.

“I finally got him down to sleep.”

Ron stepped out from the shower wearing only a towel. Dear sweet Hugo. Go big or go home, and that included making an epic mess on the Floo trip from the Burrow. Fortunately Hermione was outstanding in cleaning spells, even better than he was. She had Hugo out of his soiled clothes and in the tub in mere moments and tucked into his bed shortly thereafter.

“I figured he would be,” Ron saw her still slightly soaked from her impromptu shower at the Burrow. “Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and grab a shower since he’s asleep. I know it’s uncomfortable.”

“You’re right. I’m chilled.” Hermione stepped out of her skirt and shed the jumper and then out of her blouse and underclothes. She was in the shower and he reached for her purse and pulled out the bottle of hair tonic. “Since I’m already here,” he said to himself and uncorked the bottle. It smelled like stinky feet and looked the consistency of congealed milk. “Here goes nothing.” He poured a large dollop of potion onto his hand and fought the gag reflex from the sniff.  “I must be mad!” He picked up the bottle again and read the instructions, which were to apply liberally over the hair and scalp and then rinse ten minutes later. “Simple enough,” he thought and applied it as directed.

He reached for his towel and started drying off, making sure to get between his toes and behind his ears and in the creases of his arms and legs. He left his hair since the potion was working because his scalp was tingling, as the directions mentioned.

He was toweling off the rest of his body when the water shut off in the shower and Hermione reached out for her towel, wrapping it around her body.  “Darn. That was what I was hoping to see.” Ron’s towel dropped to the floor.

“What, my two kids saggy in spots body?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it is my favorite to look at, tickle, and do more with.” He waggled his eyebrows and Hermione laughed.

“You’re an idiot and I love you for it.” Hermione’s towel dropped from her chest and Ron was on her immediately, running his hands over her body while she worked hers through his hair. She released her hold on his head and pulled back, with clumps of hair in her hands. “Ron, what the hell?”

“Oh shit. I put the tonic in my hair while you were in the shower.”

“Rinse it out, now.”

“I will not. I’m supposed to let it sit for ten minutes,” he complained.

“Damn it, do it, now.”

Ron gave her a dirty look. “It’s my hair.”

“Not when it’s doing this.” She shoved him into the tub, dropping his hair onto the floor. “It’s not supposed to come out from the back of your head, you idiot!” She turned on the spigots full blast, catching him with the pressure of the water full on the face. He sputtered and howled. “Damn it Hermione, stop it!”

“Not until you wash it all out.”

“It bloody well hurts!”

“Shut it. I’m helping.”

She shoved him hard and he howled again, landing on his knees in front of her. She worked her hands through his scalp, trying to get the congealed potion out, ignoring the pain in her fingers from the heat of the water and the compromised potion in his hair.

She worked and cleaned, running her fingernails along his scalp. Small lacerations marred his scalp where clumps of hair and skin fell off. Merlin’s bits, she was being gentle and there was blood on his scalp where she was trying to get the goop off of him.

“I have to get you to St. Mungo’s as soon as possible.”

“For hair potion in my hair? Fuck no. That’s bloody well stupid.”

She lifted her hand in front of his face and his breath caught. He finally saw what she saw.

“Hugo,” he whispered. “We can’t – “

“Put your pants on and I’ll wrap a towel around your head. I’ll be along as soon as I can. I need to firecall someone to stay with him. Something happened with the potion for this to happen to you.”

“Shit,” Ron stepped out and wrapped the towel around his head and put on his soiled trousers. “Fucking stupid day,” he growled.

“I’m sure Ginny will come over to keep Hugo while he sleeps. But I’m not waking him and I’m not leaving a seven year old home alone.”

Ron went to the front closet and grabbed the first zippered jacket and put it on. His head was hurting worse now and he felt like vomiting from the pain. He grabbed some Floo powder and threw it in the fireplace. “St. Mungo’s” and he was off.

Hermione came running into the emergency department at St. Mungo’s, looking worse for wear in a track suit and her hair dripping wet. “Ron Weasley, he came in a few minutes ago.”

“They wheeled him back immediately. I don’t know anything else.” The nurse shoved the window closed.

“Wait, give this to the Healers,” She shoved the potion bottle to the Nurse and saw the triage nurse walk it back into the department.

“We heard,” Harry came running into the department along with Arthur and Molly. “Ginny is at home with Hugo and the kids are with her, bored already.  She said she’d stay there with him until he woke then take him with her to the house.”

“What caused it?”

“Ron’s been upset for months about his hair, after that witch Skeeter wrote about him looking like he was losing his hair. So he, after we came to the Burrow, stepped out to pick up a hair tonic from the shop. Maybe it was old or something didn’t do right. Anyway, I ran my hands through his hair and it was coming out in clumps, along with skin. I shoved him in the shower and then here as fast as I could.”

“He never said anything to us about his hair.” Arthur started and gave Molly a look that kept her from speaking up about nattering about his hair earlier in the day.

“He doesn’t talk about it except at home, and that’s mostly when – “

“I know,” Harry smirked.

“Anyway, he wanted the tonic because he was convinced that his hair was receding and he wasn’t ready to look like  Percy or you, Arthur.”

Molly exploded. “He’s handsome. He doesn’t need it.”

Hermione felt her anger boiling over. “Oh really? For the last 4 weeks we’ve been over, you’ve slagged on him about his haircut, or other nit-picky things. He went and got that haircut that you criticized today because of your complaints. I’ve spent so much time trying to remind him that he’s not what everyone criticizes.”

“He – “

“Molly, that’s enough. You helped me plenty when I was losing my hair.”

“But he’s – “

“He’s upset that people pick on him about losing his hair and it’s not helped him at all.”

George came bursting into the room, looking considerably upset. “Where is he?”

Hermione pointed and George went to the nurse and she took him back straightaway.

Harry looked at the closing doors. “What was that about?”

“I firecalled Angelina before I came. She sent George. It’s his potion so he might know how to help.”

Many minutes passed, with Ginny calling once so Hugo could talk with Mum. He fell back asleep after he talked with her and Rose. Hermione checked her watch and saw that two hours had raced by with no word from anyone after George raced into the ward.

“Mrs. Weasley?”

Two heads looked up. “I’m Mrs. Weasley-Granger. How is he?”

“Your quick reaction helped save most of the skin on his head. With both Mr. Weasley’s assistance, we figured out what happened and created an antidote.”

“Was it the tonic he purchased?”

“Oh, it was worse than that. Mr. George Weasley said he had a warning on the bottle to not mix with water. Well, your husband said his hair and scalp were still wet when he put the potion onto it. That alone wouldn’t have done the damage that happened.”

“So what did?”

“Your husband said that your son had been sick earlier. We checked and he hadn’t completely washed everything out. Mixing the potion with water and stomach acids caused the reaction.”

“How bad is he hurt, Healer?”

“We’ll bring you back to see for yourself.”

“Go ahead and tell us, please. He was an Auror for years. I can handle it.” She save Molly a side-eye look and Molly kept quiet.

“we had to create an antidote for the potion. That’s what took so long. Then an application of dittany to heal up most of the skin on his head was given. He’ll need probably one more. The skin is tender but somewhat healed.”

“You mean it will look like the splinching scar on his arm?”

“It’s possible. We don’t know if the hair will grow back in some spots, like the top of his head or in front. It’s possible it will grow back but then again, it might not. We’ve never seen this particular injury before with the contamination so we’re only guessing.”

Hermione sighed. “That was what started the whole ordeal in the first damn place.”

“He’s awake if you want to come back. His head is wrapped up, to promote additional healing, but he can go home in a few hours, as long as he doesn’t wash his head for a week and then only water for a month.”

“Christ,” Hermione picked up her purse and went with Harry with Molly and Arthur following. “He’s going to be a fiend for this happening,” she said to no one in particular. They walked back to his room and stepped in. Hermione saw him first, shaking her head. She heard two sniffles behind her.

“Go ahead and say it. I cocked up.”

“No, I won’t. It’s rude.” Hermione put her purse down and touched his face. All of the stubble was gone from his chin along with above his lip. “They had to shave off everything on your head, didn’t they?”

“It’s lucky that you didn’t run your hands on my back or more. They said the burns were bad before they treated it.”

“So you’re going to look like that idiot Quirrell for a few weeks, huh?” Harry punched his arm and Ron tried to laugh. “Shall I see about getting you a proper turban rather than looking like a half-wrapped mummy?”

“Go fuck yourself, Harry.”

“Ron!” two women erupted at his language.

“No! I’m sick of everything, of you harassing me for a ruddy haircut, Mum, and you, Dad, for letting her natter on when you know it bothers me. And you, git, for kicking me when I’m down, and comparing me to that traitor Quirrell.”

Hermione saw Molly about to cry and Arthur along with her. “Now that we know he’ll live, I’ll take him home when he’s released in a few hours and then owl both of you. I would say this hasn’t been one of his best days.”

Ron grimaced. “Mum, Dad, sorry. I’ll come visit in a couple of days. It’s really been one hell of a day.”

Molly came over first and kissed Ron on the cheek, saying something softly to him before she left his side. Arthur stood by quietly and escorted Molly out.

Harry sealed the door. “You can get mad at me all you want, but you leave them out of it. I know Mum can be a handful but don’t make her cry any more than she has.”

“I’m sick and tired of Mum treating me like I’m seven and got a hold of her knitting shears and gave myself a haircut. She acts like she’s never forgiven me for doing it that one time.”

Both of them looked at Ron.

“Damn.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.  “Anyway, that’s why I don’t let Mum cut my hair. I got a bad haircut because she was ripping my bollocks and I got it cut and she’s still ripping my bollocks. I’m sick of it.”

“Well, don’t rip into her again.” Harry and Ron shared a serious look before both nodding. Harry looked at Hermione and went to hug her. “I’m going home and tending five kids. You want them to stay the night with us?”

“Sure, if they will. Hugo might want to come home. Rose might want to stay and have a sleep-over with Lily Luna.”

“I’ll owl once we’re home. It should be only a couple more hours.”

Harry made for the door. “You look better off than the last time I saw Quirrell – but not by much.” Harry ducked out.

“Git,” Ron yelled at the closing door and hearing Harry laughing in the hallway.

“That means – “

“He says I look only slightly better than an incinerated dead man. The git.”

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“That’s Harry for you.”

“Ron, about your hair,” Hermione said before she was interrupted by a Healer making an appearance.

“So, Mr. Weasley, here are your instructions: You can wash your head with water only for the next month, and only wash it once a week. Your skin needs time to completely heal. The dittany we used did a decent job but since it’s on your head, it will hurt some so take some pain potion as you need it.” The healer handed over the first vial. “And this one is for keeping the skin soft so if the hairs that will come in won’t stretch the scars on your scalp. We don’t know for certain if it will all grow back or if it will even be the same color as your natural hair. It could come in grey, or even green, though your brother doesn’t think that the small amount of dragon’s blood in the tonic will affect you that much.”

“Healer, are there any limitations on outdoor activities and recreation? Any other limitations?”

The healer ignored Ron. “He needs to keep it wrapped for three more days, just to make certain. We don’t want any further infections. And he will need to keep his scalp shaded from now on. So hats any time he’s going to be outside for more than two minutes, which includes Quidditch or watching matches live. This includes swimming or any water activities.

“And as long as he’s not into yoga or football, I see no reason to limit his other activities, as long as he’s not on his head. Now let’s see how you’re recovering.” The healer pointed his wand at Ron’s head and the dressings unraveled, revealing Ron’s bald head with bright white patches over half his head. Even his eyebrows and ear hairs were gone.

Hermione gasped. “That’s –“

Ron picked up the mirror on the side-table and erupted in a venomous tirade that embarrassed Hermione. The Healer stood there, stoic. “Yes, most of his head was chemically burned when he came in. If he’d waited another ten minutes, he’d be here a while, because of the damage to his skin. You were quite wise to rush him in.”

“But you said water made it worse.”

Ron moved his hand over the side of his bare head, finding a bright white patch of skin almost the size of his hand. “Bloody fucking hell!”

“It spread the chemicals to burn his scalp, rather than only in some spots. When he came in and we took off the hair, he had second degree burns on most of his head. Had you not made him rinse it, he’d have burned the top of his head and the back patch of his head to the skull. Suffice to say, I don’t think Mr. Weasley will complain too much.”

Ron moved the mirror to the other side and erupted in more caustic epithets.

The healer performed another spell and the dressings re-wrapped on his head. “Mr. Weasley needs to return in a week for a fresh dressing and a check-up. But otherwise you’re free to go.”

“Thank you Healer – “

“It wasn’t just us, Mrs. Weasley. We called up one of our Master Potioneers who made the antidote with the other Mr. Weasley’s assistance. I believe you know him. He’s around the same age Mr. Weasley.”

“I’ll make sure to send him a thank-you note,” she replied with her professional voice. “If that’s all,” she pocketed the two vials for her husband. “We’ll owl if we have any questions or issues.”

The Healer handed over a parchment with Ron’s instructions for home and departed.

“That git,” Ron growled.

“That git helped you.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“I don’t expect you to. Now let’s get home. And no more potions, deal?”

“Sorted. I think today was my burn notice for worrying about my hair.”

[wizardrywilting]

my favorite quotes from cold as stone

ch. 1:

“Molly?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Don’t we have seven children?”

“Yes, five at the moment.”

“Only one daughter?”

Ginny laughed. “Yes, Dad!”

He frowned down at Lydia, then back to Mrs. Weasley. “Then why did I kiss two girls? An eighth child. Did we adopt another while I was at work?”

Molly gave a smile identical to the twins’ pranking grins. “Yes, yes we did.”

“How could you forget Lydia, Dad?” The twins gasped.

“Next you’ll say you’ve forgotten Percy!”

Percy snorted from his spot, while Ginny joined in the teasing with, “I can’t believe you forgot about Lydia, Dad! Don’t you remember? She’s Ron’s twin. Mum always says how shocked she was when she discovered a second set of twins.”

---

Ron, finally done shoveling food into his mouth, looked at her. “You're the girl that busted Malfoy’s nose, aren’t you?”

---

“You slammed him into a wall. And broke his nose. Then when he fainted you kicked his ribs.” “First of all, I kicked him to see if he was dead.”

---

Ron’s ham slipped out of his mouth and onto the table with a plop. Standing slowly and making his chair screech against the floor, he told them, “I’m going to bed to think over that insult. Goodnight.”

---

The twins set the half asleep Lydia on the table. She fell backwards and stared up at the ceiling as she tried to wake.

---

“Fred, since when are your ears pierced?” Lydia asked, not wanting to know but needing to.

“Since ten minutes ago. Like ‘em?”

“Tell me you didn’t just shove them in!”

“...Is that not the right way?”

---

“What sale’s going on to save us that much?”

The cashier leaned closer. “It’s called the hurry-and take-your-things-before-my-boss-sees sale.”

ch. 2:

“An errand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He is fourteen.”

Fred cut in, “He’s a very busy fourteen year old!”

---

Lydia wanted to liken it to possession, but that wasn’t a thing magic would do, right? So far magic had been safe, it would stay that way, she was sure of it.

---

It was a good thing Hogwarts was safe. Right?

ch. 3:

“Do get lunch before you make the trek to Miss Lovegood, won’t you? Madam Pomfrey is ever so worried about your health.”

---

Without looking away from Luna, Lydia snapped her fingers, and Fred shoved Ron’s face into his mashed potatoes.

---

“We should go inside, you need to visit Madam Pomfrey.”

“What? No I don’t.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, and just a minute later one of Lydia’s legs gave out. “Shall we go now?”

---

Madam Pomfrey smiled, and started shuffling the deck. “I will show you how. Now, tell me what the gossip is, won’t you? I’ve heard very little this week.”

ch. 4:

It had been Fred’s idea to coerce Rosy, an elf that adored Lydia, into helping them bake a cake. What he hadn’t taken into account however, is that house elves could get a little excited. Add that to himself and George, well let’s just say things easily got out of hand. Out of hand meaning they had baked and frosted a cake of Lydia’s own face, which had three tiers, reaching her waist.

---

Ron snatched five, (balloons) and tied Scabbers to the ends. The rat immediately fell to the floor, along with the balloons.

---

“Did...your dad give me a rubber duck?”

---

“Oh my god, no one tell me how expensive these were.”

Ron slowly reached over and peeled the price tag off the silver chain.

---

Harry didn’t expect Lydia to be such an ugly sleeper.

ch. 5:

Before she could even try to sit back up, an older boy had run over and was offering her his hand. Her first, embarrassing, thought was: Pretty .

---

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You think you can corrupt me? Cute. I’m gonna do it myself just to spite you.”

ch. 6:

Neville didn’t understand Valentine’s Day; He assumed it was one of those things you got with puberty, like acne and angst.

---

That was a lie, but he couldn’t just tell her ‘Oh, because you look about two minutes from crying and I’m a sympathy crier.’ Who says that?!

---

Lydia swiped her finger under her nose with a wince. “Blood, I’d wager. Unless I can produce jam through my nostrils… Want to taste and find out?”

---

“This means you shake my hand and we become friends,” she whispered.

---

“She didn’t beat me to a pulp. She beat me to a leaking jam biscuit.”

---

ch. 7:

“They old me being a Prefect would be fun! Well guess what, Mum’s going to kill me for losing her second daughter! I’m practically dead! Just stab me and save me the pain, Ginny.”

---

Luna will whisper about how the Nargles were taking her shoes more often lately, and that the girls in her dorm had torn her uniform to shreds one night without Lydia to yell at them for it.

---

Now, Luna didn’t know what was doing the petrifying, nor did she know how to stop it. What she did know however, was that it was a very mean thing, whatever it was. Perhaps she shouldn’t call it an it . That was rather rude…

---

“I swear I might just give up this badge! The staff expect me to help them when they can’t even keep children safe? Two sisters, two bloody sisters are gone! Mum is going to kill me! Just do it, spare me the pain!”

---

Percy turned very slowly to face her. She thinks it might be for dramatic effect. Percy was like that.

---

“ Boop?! ”

 “Sad boop for sad boy.”

Percy fainted.

---

ch. 8:

“I can promise you that I will never willingly look into a huge snake’s eyes again, Percy.”

---

 “I want to just go to bed and never come out of my room.”

 “That’s a bit depressing.”

---

“The funniest part? I don’t even have an uncle! ”

---

“Hello?”

 “Give me all your pudding or I’ll infest your clothes with Nargles!”

 “ Luna ?”

There was a pause, and then she said, “No, I’ll wait until you do something to deserve that. Goodbye!”

---

“Especially when Lavender started complaining about how much moisturizer her beak would need. Overall, eight out of ten.”

[funnythingshere0-blog]

35 of Blackadder's most cunning quotes and one-liners

New Post has been published on https://funnythingshere.xyz/35-of-blackadders-most-cunning-quotes-and-one-liners/

35 of Blackadder's most cunning quotes and one-liners

From election farce in Georgian times to poignant closing scenes in the trenches of World War One, Richard Curtis and Ben Elton’s historical sitcom Blackadder is so beloved it topped a recent poll of TV shows viewers most want back on the box.

Starring Rowan Atkinson as the titular schemer, Tony Robinson as sidekick Baldrick and a host of acting talent in guest and supporting roles, the show celebrates its 35th anniversary next week.

Ahead of the occasion, we’re paying tribute to one of Blackadder’s strongest assets: its array of memorable quips, insults and one-liners.

Here are 35 of Blackadder’s most cunning quotes:

(Some rude humour ahead)

Baldrick: “I have a plan, sir.” Blackadder: “Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?” Baldrick: “Yes, sir.” Blackadder: “As cunning as a fox who’s just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?”

Blackadder: “He’s madder than Mad Jack McMad, the winner of last year’s Mr Madman competition.”

Samuel Johnson: “This book, sir, contains every word in our beloved language.” Blackadder: “Every single one, sir?” Samuel Johnson: “Every single word, sir.” Blackadder: “Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if I also offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafibularities.”

Blackadder: “Percy, far from being a fit consort for a prince of the realm, you would bore the leggings off a village idiot.”

Witch Hunter: “The suspect has his head placed upon a block, and an axe aimed at his neck. If the man is guilty, the axe will bounce off his neck — so we burn him. If the man is not guilty, the axe will simply slice his head off.”

Never short of an insult: Rowan Atkinson as Blackadder (Photo: BBC)

Blackadder: “Field Marshal Haig is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Berlin.”

Pitt the Younger: “I intend to put my own brother up as a candidate against you.” Blackadder: “And which Pitt would this be? Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt the Glint in the Milkman’s Eye?”

Blackadder: “Your brain is so minute Baldrick, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn’t be enough to cover a small water biscuit.”

Blackadder: “Tell me, young crone, is this Putney?” Young Crone: “That it be! That it be!” Blackadder: “‘Yes, it is,’ not ‘That it be’.”

Blackadder: “Give the likes of Baldrick the vote and we’ll be back to cavorting druids, death by stoning and dung for dinner.”

Blackadder: “There hasn’t been a war run this badly since Olaf the hairy, King of all the Vikings, ordered 80,000 battle helmets with the horns on the inside.”

(Photo: BBC)

Blackadder: “The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but Mr Brain has long since departed, hasn’t he, Percy?”

Vincent Hanna: “Can you at least tell me one thing. What does the ‘S’ in his name stand for?” Blackadder: “Sod off.” Vincent Hanna: “I guess it’s none of my business really…”

Queenie: “Oh Edmund. I do love it when you get cross. Sometimes I think about having you executed, just to see the expression on your face.”

Blackadder: “They do say, Mrs M, that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain. They are, of course, wrong, as you will soon discover when I stick this toasting fork into your head.”

Lady Whiteadder: “Wicked Child! Chairs are the work of Belezabub! At our house Nathaneal sits on a spike. And I sit on Nathaneal. Two spikes would be an extravagance…”

Lord Flashheart: “Am I pleased to see you or did I just put a canoe in my pocket?!”

Lord Flashheart: “Enter the man who has no underwear. Ask me why.” Others: “Why do you have no underwear, Lord Flash?” Lord Flashheart: “Because the pants haven’t been built yet that’ll take the job on.”

(Photo: BBC)

Blackadder: “Baldrick, believe me, eternity in the company of Beelzebub and all his hellish instruments of death will be a picnic compared to five minutes with me – and THIS pencil.”

Prince Ludwig: “We have met many times, although you knew me by another name. Do you recall a mysterious black marketeer and smuggler called Otto with whom you used to dine and plot and play the biscuit game at the old pizzel in Dover?” Blackadder: “My God.” Prince Ludwig: “Yes! I was the waitress.” Blackadder: “I don’t believe it. You? Big Sally?” Prince Ludwig: [Impression] “Will you have another piece of pie, my Lord?” Blackadder: “But I went to bed with you, didn’t I?”

Blackadder: “So let’s recap. If I admit that I am in love – sorry, head over heels in love with Satan and all his little wizards – then you will remove my testicles with a blunt instrument resembling some kind of gardening tool and roast them over a large fire. Whereas if I don’t admit that I’m in love with Satan and all his little wizards, you will hold me upside down in a vat of warm marmalade…AND remove my testicles with a blunt… oh I see.”

Blackadder: “Criminal record?” Baldrick: “Absolutely not.” Blackadder: “Oh, come on, Baldrick. You’re going to be an MP for God’s sake. I’ll just put fraud and sexual deviance…”

Blackadder: “I lost closer friends than ‘darling Georgie’ the last time I was deloused.”

(Photo: BBC)

Blackadder: “The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil’s own satanic herd.”

Blackadder: “Baldrick, I want you to take this and go out and buy a turkey so large, you’d think its mother had been rogered by an omnibus.”

Blackadder: “You really are a beginner. You forgot your comedy breasts!” Lord Melchett: “Au contraire, Blackadder.”

Baldrick: “Morning, Mr. B.” Blackadder: “Leave me alone, Baldrick. If I wanted to talk to a vegetable, I would have bought one at the market.”

Blackadder: “I’ve never had anything you doctors didn’t try to cure with leeches. A leech on my ear for ear ache, a leech on my bottom for constipation.” Doctor: “You know the leech comes to us on the highest authority?” Blackadder: “Yes. Dr Hoffmann of Stuttgart, isn’t it?” Doctor: “That’s right, the great Hoffmann.” Blackadder: “Owner of the largest leech farm in Europe…”

Queenie: “I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant.”

General Melchett: “Field Marshal Haig has formulated a brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the field.” Blackadder: “Ah. Would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of our trenches and walking very slowly towards the enemy?” Captain Darling: “How could you possibly know that, Blackadder?! It’s classified information!”

[embedded content]

Prince George: “Someone said I had the wit and intellect of a donkey.” Blackadder: “Oh, an absurd suggestion sir. Unless it was a particularly stupid donkey.”

Blackadder: “Baldrick, your head is as empty as a eunach’s underpants.”

Blackadder: “Am I jumping the gun, Baldrick, or are the words ‘I have a cunning plan’ marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?”

Blackadder: “Baldrick, you wouldn’t recognise a subtle plan if it painted itself purple and danced naked on a harpsicord singing ‘subtle plans are here again’.”

Mr. Pants: “You’ve really worked out your banter, haven’t you?” Blackadder: “No, this is a different thing. It’s spontaneous and it’s called wit.”

Two seasons of Blackadder and the Christmas special are available to watch on Netflix UK

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More Blackadder on i

How Blackadder captured the absurd tragedy of war

When Blackadder turned election farce into inspired comedy

Blackadder is the show we most want a new series of

More quotes:

64 of the funniest Seinfeld quotes to sum up everyday life 100 of Homer Simpson’s greatest quotes 50 of Terry Wogan and Graham Norton’s most scathing Eurovision quotes 27 brilliantly funny quotes from This Country 50 of the funniest (and most puerile) quotes from The Inbetweeners 20 of the most absurdly funny quotes from Nathan Barley 39 of the greatest Brass Eye and Day Today quotes 25 of the most outrageous Summer Heights High quotes 25 of Rik Mayall’s greatest quotes 25 of the funniest ever Still Game quotes 50 of the funniest Father Ted quotes Red Dwarf: 30 of the funniest quotes and one-liners Derry Girls: 35 of the funniest quotes and one-liners 25 of the most cantankerous Martin Crane quotes from Frasier 25 of the most ‘textbook’ Alan Partridge quotes 50 of the best lines from Peep Show 20 of The Young Ones’ most gloriously silly quotes 20 of Malcolm Tucker’s most cutting insults 25 of the greatest Absolutely Fabulous quotes, darling The 20 most nonsensical quotes from the W1A team 50 of the funniest Friends quotes and jokes

…and some jokes:

25 of Katherine Ryan’s most cutting jokes and quotes 100 of the best jokes for kids that are actually funny 100 of the funniest short jokes and one-liners that will have you laughing in seconds 31 Best Man speech jokes that will work for any wedding 28 Star Wars jokes that will make you laugh (and cringe) 41 of Bill Bailey’s most gleefully funny jokes and one-liners 25 hilarious dad jokes you’ve probably never heard before 40 of the funniest jokes about Brexit 25 of Spike Milligan’s greatest gags 100 of the best clean jokes and one-liners 25 of Peter Kay’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 26 of Stewart Lee’s most gloriously acerbic jokes 49 of Monty Python’s funniest jokes 45 of Ricky Gervais’ funniest jokes 17 of Ken Dodd’s most ingeniously funny jokes 27 of Sarah Millican’s laugh out loud jokes 50 of Jimmy Carr’s funniest jokes and one-liners 50 of Milton Jones’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 50 of Tim Vine’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 50 of Frankie Boyle’s funniest (and darkest) jokes 25 of Charlie Brooker’s most cutting jokes and insults 25 of Lee Mack’s wittiest jokes and one-liners 75 of Billy Connolly’s best jokes, one-liners and quips 30 of the best-ever jokes about Scotland – from Scotland