Triplets (George Weasley)

Pt. 4

When I first was introduced to the Weasleys, I wrongly assumed I would immediately befriend Ron, seeing as how he and I were the same age and would be in the same year at Hogwarts. This, however, was not the case. I mean, he was a good kid, but he wasn't the type I could be best friends with or anything. It was the Weasley twins with whom I would be spending the rest of that summer.
    Fred, George, and I spent our time playing pranks on the rest of the household, and, overall, the three of us just had fun. I was a bit reluctant when it came to playing pranks, solely because I was a guest in the house, but it turns out the Weasley family is quite numb to the twins' jokes.
    As the three of us were rolling on the floor laughing one Sunday afternoon, after Molly had quite the surprise when a firecracker exploded from inside her freshly baked cake, she scowled at the three of us, clearly unamused.
    "For Merlin's sakes, you're the third twin we never asked for, Audrey," she scolds me.
    "Sorry, ma'am," I apologize between fits of laughter.
    In a split second, Fred and George jump up.
    "Triplet."
    "Our triplet!"
    "That's what you are!"
    "The triplet we've always dreamed of!"
    The boys continue their commentary as Molly shakes her head at them.
    "Well, you 'triplets' need to get outside. I now have to clean up this cake mess," she reminds us.
    "Do you need any help?" I offer.
    "No. Just go," she sighs, knowing that's what I want.
     "Yes, ma'am," I reply.
    "Come along, Triplet," George grins at me as Fred lifts me up over his shoulder and carries me outside.
    That's how it came to be that Fred and George Weasley became my best friends in the entire world.

   

    "M'lady," George extends a glass of lemonade toward me in a faux french accent, bowing slightly to me in a goofy fashion.
    "Why, thank you, good sir," I return in the same way.
    Then, George sprawls out on my left side, wearing just a pair of navy blue swimming trunks. Fred, wearing a matching pair, lays on my right. We're all sunbathing today, requiring a rest from our nonstop pranks. I wear just a white bikini, stretched out across a lawn chair in the boys' backyard. The sun beats down on us, hot, as I go to take a drink from the glass George went inside to get me. The taste, however, is nothing like lemonade.
    "What is that?!" I splutter, spitting out the unexpected taste in my mouth.
    "Firewhiskey," George chuckles.
    "I may or may not have encouraged him to spike the lemonade," Fred grins devilishly.
    "Why?!" I ask.
    "'Cause it was hilarious!"
    "You should've seen your face!"
    I roll off my lawnchair to tackle George, him fending me off with his long, freckled arms, already slightly burnt despite the short exposure to the sun.
    Fred decides to join the fight, tugging at my braided hair as I poke George's side, giggling as he squirms. Eventually, I settle on just dumping half a glass of Firewhiskey-spiked lemonade on each of the boys' heads and calling it even.
    It was in a similar way that I spent most of the days that summer, and that was the way I liked it.