A/N: Finally, I'm continuing this story! The chapter, again, isn't too long, but I hope you'll enjoy it. I apologize to everyone who's been waiting for me to update... I know, it's been a month & four days!
Thanks to everyone who supported me and urged me to keep writing (especially you, Hallieeee!). And thanks a million to all the reviewers and anyone who's put my story on their alerts. I appreciate it!
So, umm, I realize this is terribly short, but I put a lot of effort into it and I hope you like it. Please review!
..Amelia..
P.S. I also realize it's a bit... sluggish. ;) However, I will continue it because once the two get older (i.e. first year at Hogwarts), there are new friendships... and romances... that will spring up. Keep checking for updates... I am back.
"George! Err, Fred, yes…" mum mused, noting the "F" on his sweater in her peripheral vision. "Uggh, that's atrocious," she murmured, "but I suppose it's only to be expected. Charlie, dear, could you mop that up really quickly?"
Not again, I thought, but still I couldn't help thinking these boys were still rather rebellious for the age of two, which brought a slight smile to my face. I suppressed it as mum's eyes drilled into my own. "Yes, mum, but why can't you just use - "
"It's good for you, dear, to have a muggle chore or two once in a while. Your father would approve," she snapped, levitating a kettle onto the stove with a flick of her wand.
How ironic. I half-smirked before resuming an expression of utmost disgust as I turned toward the filthy, ragged mop, whose handle had snapped cleanly in two years ago. George giggled, as if to mock me, and I smiled back at him. "Do you have any idea how much pain I have to go through with you two for brothers?"
Fred cocked his head.
"That's what I thought." Still, it wasn't nearly as bad for me as it had been when Percy was their age. I was six years old at the time, and still mum insisted Bill and I clean up after his messes. But of course Bill was in charge of taking care of the finicky boy… I'm sure that was not too pleasant a task.
As I finished the disturbing duty and returned the mop to its closet, I heard, "Fudge, how he dare!" I pivoted to see two sets of tiny freckled faces on mum. The post had come in – Errol was perched contentedly on the window and mum was staring at the paper. Apparently the minister of magic had done something terrible once more, something my eight-year-old mind couldn't comprehend.
But apparently the twins could.
"Mark my words! Mark my words! Mark my words!" they squealed in unison. I burst out laughing.
"Mum, they're imitating you! Listen!"
She grinned softly. "Perhaps if they knew what I was saying they wouldn't be so quick to act."
I contemplated that. "Do I know what you're saying?"
She just smiled. "Possibly, dear – could you hand me that rag?"
I didn't get it – why in the world did she have me doing everything by hand when she could easily do it through magic? Still, I was always willing to help. I grabbed it and tossed it over.
"You know, Charlie, I think your brother is - "
The door opened and dad stepped in, a broad grin plastered across his not-yet-wrinkled face. "Daddy!" I leapt jovially into his arms.
"Hello, Charlie! How was your day?" He beamed down at me and I chuckled.
"Great, Daddy. I finally found that one gnome you were complaining about; it was under the garden wall, hiding. Isn't that great?" I gazed up at him, anticipating a gratifying response.
"Charlie, dear, just where did you put said gnome?" Mum probed suspiciously, though I could feel an undertone of amusement in her voice. My father shot me a mischievous glance and I winked back. Mum's eyes issued a silent warning, Her glance brutal as usual.
Dad's quick response: "I taught him to use the Gnome-B-Gone spray last night. That creature is now as obsolete as… manual toothbrushes."
Mum let out a slight squeal, eying her husband playfully, but then recomposed herself. "Alright then, whatever suits your fancy."
If only she knew that the gnome was concealed in a cage in my room. I wanted to learn more about it, care for it. My father had told me I could keep a creature of my own (mum, on the contrary, had not). What would he say now?
"Bill, Percy, supper!" Mum called wearily, her voice hoarse. Murmuring something about a long day, she levitated a pot of yellowish chowder onto the table along with three loaves of bread and a dish of broccoli. My siblings came racing down the stairs. I grinned smugly at the both of them, and Percy glowered at me.
"What's this stuff?" Fred demanded just as George announced, "I smell yellow." My mother rolled her eyes with disdain. The twins were young, but that wouldn't stop her from giving them the look. We all knew that. I snorted.
"They do have pretty good vocabularies for two-year-olds, mum. I mean, it's witty, isn't it? I couldn't talk like that when I was two, could I?" My older brother mused.
Milk flew out my nose. Mum appeared revolted. "S – sorry," I murmured.
"Charlie!" Fred reprimanded teasingly.
These were my brothers?
I didn't know why, or how, it happened. But I did know, somehow, that I had the most brilliant, amusing family in the world. And somehow, that little fact let everything else fall into place.