Being married to a Weasley twin meant a lot of things. The most prominent one, however, meant that there wasn't going to be a day without something chaotic happening in your shared humble house with Fred.

During one snowy morning, your husband stumbled into the dining room, his hair a mess of half-damp fiery red and around his neck hung a white towel. He took one step, then another, while his hand was busy toweling his hair dry. Originally expecting to see his six year old son having a breakfast at the dining table, Fred was met with a peculiar sight instead.

"Hey, buddy. What are you haunting the corner for?" Asked the tall ginger in a playful tone, his pair of brilliant blues glinting with their usual mirth and mischief. He, however, then learned that his son was in a timeout for accidentally breaking a favorite vase of yours. And gone was the playfulness in his voice, as well as that cheeky glint in his eyes.

With an absurd amount of confidence, he straightened up and declared; "No son of mine is getting punished on my watch!" before turning briskly to confront his wife ─ you.

"How much you got?" This was said by Fred in a quiet whisper, a few minutes after he confronted you. And, no, he did not succeed in freeing his son from his timeout. No, he was now joining the youth in the corner ─ standing next to his son's tiny frame, facing the wall. "Fifteen minutes? Ugh, lucky. I got a full hour."