HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR

O most beloved mother of my flesh and fountain to my spirit,

I wouldn’t discount dying just yet. The more you write me, the more appealling the prospect seems. What, exactly, in my last letter implied that I want to continue this correspondence? I’ll be sure to correct it in future.

That said, I’d like it known that you have indirectly called yours truly ‘exceptionally clever.’ I have it in your handwriting, with your authentic signature. Let it hereby be decreed that I request to be buried with it.

I rather meant how all your spawn have scurried to the ends of the earth like hell was at their heels, which it was. I’m glad to hear John, Paul, and Ringo are returning the favour. (George kept Little George.)

Your profoundly affectionate offspring,

P. S. Ladies’ version Knickerugs? Sound too much like a wig for down under?

P. P. S. How do you power your vibrator(s), then, Mum?

Dear Mum,

Fred decided not to tell me you’d written. Found the things in his pocket while I was doing laundry. At least the pants on the floor are clean pants, all right?

W&W highly discoura

Who the fuck is using Puffs as vibrators? I just want to talk.

Love,

Brightest Star, who is my sun;

You are exceptionally clever, dear. Even through all our arguments I wouldn’t dare say otherwise. You wouldn’t be able to get as much of a reaction out of me if you were anything less than absolutly brilliant. 

Try not to let it inflate your ego darling.

As far as my children scattering to the winds, I’d rather be it because of me rather than something that actually is trying to kill them. I’m very lucky that no one died, and I can still exchange such charming correspondence with my sweet angelic babies. 

Maybe I’ll frame all your letters, wouldn’t that be an interesting choice.

I still plan on visiting, carpants or knickerugs aside.

With sweet regard,

Your Mother.

P.S. Knickerugs seems vaguely German. Exotic imports are all the rage, I’d see if there was a way to capitalize on it if there is truly no way to dissuade you. Though it may prudent to have unique name for the drapes, so the curtains, can in fact, match the carpet.   

P.P.S. I just got a letter from George and would rather not answer your question as he found my last reply in your pocket.

Dear George,

It’s great to finally hear from you dear, I was attempting to set up a civil visit and ended up sidetracked, though I am glad to hear from both you and your brother.

My comments about the puffs were in response to something your brother wrote me, and I’d be more than happy to bring over the letter for your review. I’d normally ask you to watch your language, but unfortunately in this case i think it’s unusually warranted. 

Not that I’m happy, mind you, but I suppose it’s something I’ll have to accept for the time being. 

With most things, I suggest having a talk with your brother.

If there is a good day for me to visit, please let me know. I want to bring over your favorite treats. For both you, and Fred, as much as he’s attempting to leach the color from my hair.

With love, your mother,

Precious sweet Mummykins dearest,

Thank you for this truly masterful exhibit of passive aggression. Why, it feels just like being home again.

You’re right to assume that surpassing most known magical limitations to create the merchandising phenomenon of the century—I assume that’s what you mean by our ‘little business’?—takes up a great deal of our time. It’s almost like folks can be successful without selling their souls to the Ministry, innit?

The furry vibrators? Yes, they’re really taking off. I’m sure dear Ms. Hummingbuck enjoys tucking one into her beef flaps of an evening. But I do hope you didn’t touch the poor tainted thing. Word on the street was, she was awful handy with some other aching bones, if you catch my drift, and Lord knows what else she’s stuck up there. Not to implicate anything of mine or George’s, you understand. I know my rights.

Much as we’d love to have a flaming row in person, just like the good old days, I regret to say we’ve just come out with new pants carpets (Carpants™?)—wall to wall of naught but skivvies, so your mum can’t tell if you’ve left yours on the floor. With matching drapes, of course. I really think popping over just now would do significant damage to your tenuous mental health.

If you miss having kids about the house, maybe you oughtn’t’ve harassed us all the way to London and Romania and bleeding Egypt. Just a little thought to keep you company in those empty halls.

Busy as we are, we tend to make time for people who support us. Give it a shot someday, eh?

Darling Frederic, light of my life

Your prose absolutely grows in absurdity and eloquence every time you take the time to write me. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve been able to enjoy you wit, such as it is. It’s good to finally hear some word from you, I might have thought you died in the meantime.

Perhaps it’s my old fashion sensibilities, such as they are, but selling food to be fed to the ‘furry vibrators’ is a funny way of fueling them. Oh well, I suppose you have to make a profit of of something you have already sold somehow, even if it may seem disingenuous.

Still, I suppose it could be worse, the carpants (panpet?) are a exceptionally clever idea for boys who are determined to make their mothers bald, I’ll be sure to look up a sample if you ever add it to your catalog of things. Though I wonder if it’s a pattern or enchanted to look like a new pair shows up every time you glance around. Knowing you, probably the latter. 

As for our trips, if I recall correctly you kept getting into trouble, if it came off as harassing not to enchant every little new thing you got your hands onto, I’m not really sure how, or if, I should apologize for that. The carved scarab beetles you brought back are still fluttering around the house, even though I keep trying to blast them. 

Please ask your brother to write if he has a chance.

Your loving mother,

In her usual dramatic flair, it is a howler, and enchanted so that the moment it is touched by one of the pair, it opens itself up. Instead of the yelling that may be expected, it’s actually got quite a pleasant tone, especially for how disapproving Molly was about the joke shop.

“Dearest George and Fred,” It begins, reading itself out “I know you’re incredibility busy these days, with how running your little business takes up all of your time, and I know it must be so difficult to write your poor mother these days, I decided to write you first. 

It pains me to admit it, but the house has gone rather eerily quiet without you here, and while I do apreciate being able to sleep without something sneaking around, I do wish you were able to find the time to visit. I see that your little fads are popping up everywhere. Ms. Hummingbuck, the one you two always made fun of as children even had one of your purple purring things, though I can\t remember for the life of me what it was called. She says she adores it, and that with her bones aching these days, the little thing is almost perfect for a detraction.

I’ll be popping in to visit you in a few days, unless of course you don’t want me to visit you that badly; I know how much you value your privacy. That being said, PLEASE PICK UP YOUR UNDERWEAR! The last thing I want to do is show up and pick up after you after I’ve had to do that for ALL OF YOUR LIVES.

Love, your mum.”

@perfectmum

Georgia jumps, quite violently, at a commotion from the fireplace and has to take a moment to breathe and find her heartbeat again before turning around to greet her visitor. There’s a particularly potent kind of stress that comes with hostessing one’s mother for an afternoon, and another for introducing her to one’s lover, and Georgia has no idea what she was thinking when she decided to impose them both on herself at once.

”Mum! Hi! Okay, er… we’ve got tea in the pot, should be brewed by now, and a shi—I-I mean, a ton of cake. Fred’s down in the shop but she said she’d drop in when she gets a moment, and I think Vati’s just… powdering her nose.” In fact. Parvati’s getting changed, as they both have several times that day in spontaneous panics that their skirts are too short or heels too high or necklines too low. “Come in, sit down, make yourself at home, okay?”

It was so bizarre coming out to the girls flat like this, she had been here before to be sure, always feeling slightly out of place in the apartment. After all, it was nothing like her home, and what should she expect! The girls were under no obligation to make their home suitable to their mother, but! Alas.

The shop was busy as well, like a hoard of bees had infested it, bumbling about their ways. A waste of money! And yet one that funded her girls, so it’s not like she can be terribly upset. Oh but how would Fred find anyone nice now! Georgia she didn’t have to worry about as much, she had sense thee poor dear, though it was not as much as Molly could have hoped for. There was no way she was going to traverse that nonsense when they had a perfectly good fireplace.

How long ago had it been that the floo network had been restricted? She’s sure she has the exact date marked on an old calendar and how DREADFUL it had been. Every time she uses it now, she can’t do it without stopping and thinking of the times that she couldn’t. But! Her she is, here she is! There’s her beautiful daughter and she can’t help but gasp a little at seeing her face. 

“Oh Georgie dear!” She bustles over, coming to kiss both sides of her face, bringing her in to a tight hug. “You look so lovely dear, so happy! The flat looks nice, you must have clean before I came, you’re really trying to get me to like this girl, aren’t you?”

She gives Georgia’s shoulder a little teasing squeeze, before looking around for a moment. 

“I think,” She decides, already moving to make herself a cup, “We should have tea and chat while we wait, don’t you? Lovely.”

“Lilac’s perfect. You’re the best, Mum.” Georgia leans in to peck her mother’s cheek, shamelessly ingratiating herself now she feels she’s come out ahead in this conversation. She even laughs at what she hopes is a joke, perhaps a little too exuberant in her relief after that moment of blind panic as she realised what she’d said. Though she hadn’t expected a scene, as such, she hadn’t ruled out the possibility of one. It was always hard to tell with Molly.

“Hey, they’re blind; just send Fred. Anyway, we’re only dating a little bit. She’s in Beauxbatons so she’s just here for the year.” Equal parts chuffed and embarrassed by Molly’s sudden interest in her love life, Georgia shifts her weight and brings her shoulders forward, her face heating up. “Reckon I could bring her back for Easter if you wanted to meet her,” she dares to suggest. “Show her around Exeter or something.”

Her lips titch up at the kiss, but soon enough she’s back to scowling, lightly swatting Georgia’s arm. “That’s not nice to say about your sister, though-- I suppose it’s not a bad idea, as long as you’re okay with Fred ruining your good name with strangers, and yet when has that ever stopped you? I think I shall.”

Georgia recoils at her mother’s vehemence, though she ought to expect it by now, and wrinkles her apparently-unsuitably-complexioned nose at both the suggestion and the fussing.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try ’nd resist the urge to climb any mountains in an evening gown. But blue’s boring,” she protests. “Really, I wouldn’t worry too much about the yellow, Mum. It’s pale enough so it’s not banana-y. And she’s got dark hair to offset it. A darker green would be fine—oh, or purple!” She brightens at hitting upon this ideal compromise, excited enough to forget that she intended to break it to her mother gently that she was going with a girl. “And patterned, with little bits of other things in it. Like green! And gold! Wouldn’t that be gorgeous?”

“Well if she’s got dark enough hair, then I suppose that a pale yellow would look fetching if she’s got the right skinto-- Oh?” Utterly taken aback she realized with a shock that Georgia’s going with another girl. She blinks for a moment, before slowly going on again, already too deep in thinking about the dress to natter on about that.

@perfectmum gets spam

“So, any chance of getting m’ own dress for this do at school? I mean, I can’t very well wear the boys’ hand-me-downs for this one.” Unless Molly herself has hand-me-downs, but Georgia would rather go naked than in some fuddy-duddy fifty-year-old number twice her size. “Date’s in yellow, so I was thinking pink…?”

“Ah-- YELLOW?” Molly finally pauses in what she’s doing, rounding on Georgia with something of a scowl; but wild child Georgia should know that this wasn’t one of disapproval, no more than usual but one that she should be weary of all the same.

@proditeur

Of course dear! All you have to do is dye your hair Weasley Red and you’re welcome by any time, no questions asked. I’ve got quite a few children so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t learn your name right away, but the more the merrier I always say!!

I know you would not be. Thank you.

I never took you for a cruel, unreasonable woman, Molly. I will admit to my mistake, and the disrespect I showed your home and I apologise for them, but to bring that to my daughter is unacceptable. To bring my child, who has suffered far too much for my actions enough already, it is not something I would expect a mother to do. I would show you the same courtesy if our situations were reversed.

        .........

       Fine.

You seem to be under the impression that I am going to allow you to continue. My personal affairs are my own to tell Luna if I see fit. Not for you to decide.

I’M HIS BLOODY GODFATHER!

As much as you’d like for that to be different, I’m the one James and Lily wanted to have look after him! And you won’t get in the way of that. He’s MY GODSON and there isn’t a thing you can do about it!

You already think I do, don’t you? Don’t be shy now. Even if I’m not innocent of selling out my best mates, I must be guilty of something, right Molly? It’ll get me nice and out of the way so you can take my place with Harry.

Well I’ll be damned–we have something in common after all. You’ve met the hag screaming bloody murder from behind the curtain, haven’t you? Well she thought the same thing. I wonder what other views you share…