Weasleys, sort of, and other thoughts

[potioncat]

Potioncat stumbles into the office. She has boxes of tissues, bags of 
cold remedies, an instruction manual from her other job and a rather 
discouraging note from her son's teacher. She dumps everything on her 
desk, pulls up the Weasley file and butts in on Jen and Dot's 
conversation.

> Dot: No it doesn't. I'd never have been put in Gryffindor. But I 
> love this bloody country, and I don't want to leave unless I really 
> have to. Of course I could just clap my hands over my ears and sing 
> loudly and claim that the rebels and militias will disarm and we'll 
> have a free and fair election and everything will be fine. Tra-la-
la.

Potioncat begans to morph in front of everyone's eyes from a plump 
brunette (only her hair-dresser knows for sure) to a plump gingered 
hair matron. "Actually, Dot, the Sorting Hat would be 
shouting "Gryffindor!" before it even made contact with your head! I 
think you should sit quietly, listen to the birds sing, and get in 
touch with your inner Slytherin. It's time to slither out of there."

She turns to Ginger and smiles, "By the way, dear, what was the name 
of the dream-inducing cold medicine you were taking?"

She turns again, her hair brown, her slightly Southern accent back 
and speaks to the room in general, "Who has a giant sword, a big weed 
wacker, industrial strength doxie spray...I need something for all 
those 7th son posts!"

Potioncat, trying to shush her inner Molly, and hoping Dot is taking 
care of herself.