“Sliced the bloody ho!”

Hermione Granger-Weasley sighs in exasperation. “Emmy, that's naughty language. We don't say “bloody” and we certainly don't say "ho." Now eat your carrots, please...”

“Mow the jungle!” The toddler shakes her head defiantly at her mother, protruding her lower lip. "Old bag."

The bushy-haired witch glares at her husband.

“Sorry, dear, I know. I shouldn't have left her with Harry all day. Yes, we've been through this before....” The lanky, red-haired man has a resigned look that evinces his knowledge that this is a confrontation that he can only lose--the question being, how badly. He opts to try the "apologize immediately" strategy.

Emmy balls her hands into fists and pounds on the tray of her high chair. This causes pieces of carrot and macaroni pasta to fly onto her mother's lap. “Hold my balls!” she squeals with glee.

“Hey, what's up?” Harry saunters into the kitchen, tanned and relaxed. His smile disappears when he sees the fury on the faces of his two close friends.

“Just where the bloody hell did you go today with my daughter?” Ron shouts.

“Ron, language!” Hermione says, more out of habit and principle than genuine concern.

“Sorry, dear.”

“Bloody hell!” parrots Emmy. “Dump her in t'lake or bury her in the sand.”

“Look, guys...” Harry holds his hands up defensively, backing up a step.

The tension is arrested as the floo flares and Molly, matriarch of the Weasley clan, steps out of the fireplace.

“Harry!” She hugs Harry tightly. “I haven't seen you for ages! Are you eating well?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He rolls his eyes as he tries to find a way to pull out of her grasp. He knows that Molly means well, but being pressed so tightly against the woman's ample, sagging breasts gives him the screaming heebie jeebies.

“And have you found a lady friend yet?”

“No, ma'am.” He twists free and backs up against the wall.

“Well, Ginny is still available, you know. She always did have a soft spot in her heart for you, Harry....”

Harry and Ron share an awkward look as Hermione coughs. The silence stretches.

“Shank t' bitch!” Emmy giggles and looks at Ron. “Does Daddy have shank bitch!”

“W-what?” Molly yells, her face reddening.

“That's it!” yells Hermione. “Out!” The brillo-haired Weasley-in-law grabs a wooden spoon and chases Harry from the kitchen.

Several minutes pass. Outside, Ron approaches, a beer in hand. "Apparently, using the sentence "Does Daddy have to shank a bitch?" is considered unorthodox parenting. Who knew?"

“Heh, yeah. Look, Ron...” Harry explains the situation to his longtime friend.

“Just go apologize. I'm sure she'll understand, eventually.”

The two enter the kitchen to find Molly feeding Emmy. “Open wide... Hogwarts Express is coming through....” Hermoine has her head face-down on the table.

“Hermione, I'm sorry. Look, I took Emmy with me golfing today, and she picked up some of the phrases from the guys.”

“Golfing?” Hermione's jaw drops.

“Yeah. Sorry. I'll be more careful next time about the language and all.” Harry waves to the other occupants of the kitchen. “Anyway, I've gotta run. Bye all.”

“Bye, Harry.” Hermione grumbles as he apparates away.

“Choo, choo....” Molly tries to get Emmy to open up for another spoonful of carrots.

Emmy looks at her. “Gin-gin, ten galleons for a blow?”