I can still remember the first time I met them. I was very young – no more than six years old – but I can recall almost every detail. When I close my eyes, I can replay the entire day as if it was a film; sometimes I even notice things that I've never noticed before. Maybe I'm just imagining them, but the truth is all relative anyway.
I lived with my mother, in a tiny, rickety old trailer-house. It was the house's nature – my mother always said – that enabled us to live the lifestyle we did. There was magic in that rusty piece of junk that caused it to randomly migrate; it was rare that we lived in the same location for more than a month. Some mornings I would wake up to the smell of a busy Arabian marketplace, or a bustling urban city. One morning, I woke up and we were in Paris, right next to the Eifel Tower (nearby muggles couldn't see us, of course). However, we usually found ourselves out in the countryside; my mother much preferred wide, open spaces.
That was the case on this particular day; I woke up to the bright, country sun shining on my face and the smell of fresh air teasing my nose. I watched the curtains blow around in the breeze for several moments before I finally crawled out of my tiny loft and down into the main living space. The windows were all open, and there was a bowl of fruit sitting out for me. I munched on a mango while I changed out of the oversized t-shirt and into the white cotton dress my mother had set out for me, shoved a few more pieces of fruit into my hand knitted pouch, and I was out the door.
"Don't wander too far, my love," my mother said as I darted past her. I could hear her singing as I kept running, further and further away. Each note she struck on her lute resonated in the still, summer air,
"And here I dreamt I was a soldier, Where the barkers call the moon down,
And I marched the streets of Birkenau.
And I recall in spring,
The perfume that the air would bring,
To the indolent town.
The carnival was ringing loudly now.
And just to lay with you,
There's nothing that I wouldn't do,
Save lay my rifle down…"
Back then, I was quick and nimble, and I ran through the overgrown fields until I couldn't see my house anymore. I never worried about it; the house would always guide me back before it vanished. But my mother always worried; because I was a thirteen-baby and she was superstitious.
I'm still not sure if her fears had any base in reality; if meeting Fred and George on that day was really my punishment for some cruel action in a past life, or simply because of chance. I suppose it doesn't matter that much in the long run. All that really matters was that it happened, and that meeting them on that fateful day changed the course of my life forever.
After running for quite some time, I reached a clearing, where the tops of the grass only touched my ankles. I stopped there, catching my breath for a few moments before I sat down to enjoy the rest of my fruit.
"What's that you're eating?" a stranger's curious voice asked me. I jerked my head up, almost dropping my beautiful apple on the ground. The boy standing in front of me appeared to be my age, and had a full head of flaming red hair. His clothes were worn and old, and his face was splashed delicately with freckles. His brown eyes were wide with wonder.
"I-i-it's an apple," I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "Would you like a bite?"
"Sure!" he said, grinning broadly as he stepped towards me. I held out the apple, and as the boy reached for it, another hand knocked it away. A second boy, a mirror image of the first, had joined us.
I jumped back with fright, my jaw dropping, "There are two of you!"
"What do you think you're doing?" the second one asked. "It could be poison!"
"But she already took a bite of it," his double pointed out, pointing at the apple timidly. "If it was poison, she'd be dead."
"Oh," the newer arrival said, as if he hadn't thought about that already. "Of course. I knew that…"
"Um… I have more fruit," I said humbly, pulling a green apple and a yellow apple out of my pouch. "Would you like some?"
"Sweet!" one twin said, snatching the yellow apple out of my hand. "Thanks a bunch!"
"Here," I said, offering the other twin – the one who had appeared first – the green one. "You can have this apple, if you want."
"No, that's alright," he said, reaching down to pick up the red apple. "I'll finish this one."
I wrinkled my nose, "But it's been on the ground…"
He looked at the fruit quizzically for a few moments, wiped it off on his shirt, and then bit into it. He chewed a few times, then swallowed and said, "Tastes fine to me."
I giggled, biting into my own fruit. The green skin was tough, but once I bit into it, the flesh tasted tart and delicious.
"So, do you have a name?" the yellow-apple twin asked.
"Of course I have a name," I said, frowning. At that point in my life, I'd had little social interaction, especially with children my own age. For some reason, I thought that he was teasing me; I felt like I was going to cry.
"Well, what is it?" the red-apple twin asked delicately, as if he could sense how upset I was.
"It's… Lola," I said slowly. I wasn't used to hearing the sound of my own name. The only person I spoke to on a regular basis was my mother, and she usually referred to me my love or sweetheart.
"Lola," the twins repeated together, as if they were committing the name to a memory bank that they both shared.
"I'm Fred," the yellow-apple twin said. He bit into his fruit; juice trickled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. "Fred Weasley."
"And I'm George," said the red-apple twin.
"We're twins," Fred said, showing off his mouthful of half-chewed food.
"I thought so," I said, chuckling. "You look exactly alike."
I'm almost positive that my ability to correctly identify the Weasley twins is based on the fact that, when we introduced ourselves, they were honest with me about which twin was which. There were no funny games, no deceit; Fred was Fred and George was George.
"That was tasty," George said, throwing his core off into the distance with full force. "Thank you very much for sharing with us."
"You're welcome," I said, smiling as I finished off the last of my own apple. Instead of throwing it, I sat it down on the ground next to me, so it was standing up on its end.
"But I'm still hungry," Fred said, tossing his core behind his back. "Aren't you still hungry, Lola?"
"Well, a little…" I said, touching my tummy.
"You know what sounds really good?" Fred said, looking at George with a mysterious smirk on his face. "Eggs."
I should have known something was up when George smirked back. But I was young and naive, and at the time I hardly noticed.
"Yes, you're right, Fred," he said. "Eggs would be wonderful."
"But where would we get eggs?" I asked, tilting my head to the side in confusion.
"We know a place," said Fred.
"It isn't far from here," said George.
The twins both stood up, dusted off their shorts, and held their hands out too me.
"Come on, Lola," they said together. "Let's go."
"Okay!" I squealed, grinning wildly as I grabbed onto their hands. They pulled me up and – without once letting go – led me through the field. My heart pumped wildly; I was finally going on an adventure with other children my own age! It was like a dream come true!
I was still feeling completely exhilarated when we arrived at the Burrow. At the time, I didn't know that the tall, unsteady-looking building was their home. Our sighs were set on a tiny, white shack, located several yards from the house itself. A flock of chickens was scattered about, squawking and pecking at the barren ground.
"That's the chicken coop," George whispered into my ear.
"That's where the eggs are," Fred whispered into the other. "All you need to do is go in there and get us some eggs. When you're done, hurry back here as fast as you can."
"It'll be easy," said George.
Fred nodded, "Easy as pie."
I gulped, "Why can't one of you go in there?"
"The chickens don't like us," said Fred with a scowl.
"But they'll like you," George added quickly. "You're pretty."
I blushed; no one – except for perhaps my mother – had ever told me I was pretty before. "But… Oh… I don't know…"
"Oh, come on," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "We're your friends; don't you trust us?"
"F-friends?" I repeated, my heart leaping into my throat at the very thought. "For real?"
"Of course," George said, completely sincere - despite the malicious intentions I would soon find out about.
"And friends help friends get eggs out of the chicken coop," Fred concluded.
"Yes," I said, easily buying into their idea of what friendship was. I punched the air in front of me, suddenly feeling very excited, "Alright, I'll do it! Then we can eat eggs together!"
It never occurred to me just how the three of us were going to eat raw eggs, or that what I was about to do was technically stealing. It never occurred to me that the sound of the twins cackling as I stepped out of the overgrown grass and towards the chicken coop was foreshadowing of the most dreadful sort.
I only became discouraged when I stepped inside the tiny shack; when I saw all those tiny chicken-eyes watching me. The air inside the coop was much cooler, and the only light was the sunbeams that managed to seep through the cracks in the walls of the poorly-constructed shack. The floor was covered with chicken droppings. What looked like a shelves lined each wall, and each shelf was lined with chicken-nests, several of which had chickens perched in them.
I stood on my tip-toes and peeked into one of the nests. About half a dozen eggs were nestled close together, like friends curling up for a nap. That thought reminded me of my new-found friends outside, and I grabbed onto the end of my dress and held it out, placing the eggs in the makeshift-basket I had created.
As I reached for the last egg, the chicken in the neighboring nest pecked at my hand. I let out a tiny cry, dropping the egg on the floor. It broke with a loud splat that seemed to echo throughout the coop.
At that point, all hell broke loose. I was suddenly mauled by a huge mass of feathers, beaks, and talons. I could feel them scratching my skin, ripping my dress, and pulling my hair. I screamed and cried, trying to keep hold of as many eggs as I could as I pushed towards the exit. The second I stepped out into the light, I lost my footing, sliding into a puddle of mud. The eggs were flung into the air when I lost my footing, and they landed on the ground around me. One landed on my head; egg yolk dripped down onto my face.
The pecking party didn't stop once I'd made it outside. Members of the flock that had been hanging around outside the coop joined in now, pecking and flapping and clucking like little winged demons. I curled up into the fetal position and cried hysterically.
"Shoo! Stop that!" I heard someone say from outside the fray. I moved my arm away from my face for a few moments to see what was happening. I saw a short, plump, redheaded woman standing over me, swatting the chickens away. It didn't take them long to get the hint, and within a few moments the wicked birds went back to their usual business.
"T-t-thank you," I whimpered.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, putting her hands on her hips. "And what on earth were you doing in my chicken coop?"
"I w-w-was getting some eg-g-gs," I stammered, slowly sitting up. I tried to wipe the tears out of my eyes, but instead ended up smearing mud all over the side of my face.
"Oh, so you're a thief," she said, grabbing my arm and jerking me up onto my feet. "I see how it is."
"No!" I sobbed. "I'm not-"
"Trying to steal my eggs," she ranted on. "The eggs I feed my family with. Did you ever consider that my children would starve if-"
"Wait!" the twins said, rushing out of their hiding place. "Stop, Mum!"
"Please don't hurt her!" George begged.
"It isn't Lola's fault!" said Fred. "We're the ones that told her to do it!"
The woman looked at her children, completely flabbergasted. Her grasp on my arm loosened, and I slipped my slender arm out of her hand. Eventually, she sighed, and it was as if all of her fury vanished, "I should have suspected as much. What were the two of you thinking? You know the chickens don't like children."
"We wanted to see if she was an angel," George mumbled, looking down at the ground with embarrassment.
"You wanted to see if she was a-" the woman stopped, rolling her eyes. "I swear, the things you boys come up with."
"We're really sorry," George said. I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me or to his mother.
She looked at me, "Come on... Um… I'm sorry dear, what was your name?"
"Lola," I said quietly.
"Lola," she said, smiling at me. It was hard to imagine her the way she was only moments before; yelling and screaming and threatening me. "Come on inside, and we'll get you cleaned up." She glanced over at her sons, furrowing her eyebrows, "I'll deal with the two of you later."
"I told you she wasn't an angel," I heard Fred hiss at George as I was led into the house.