Word count: 1301
Better Ready Yourselves
"Fred! George! It's time to wake up, come on, you're going to be late if you sleep in any longer!"
Fred groaned and rolled around in his bed, dragging his pillow to cover his ears. Even so, he could hear his twin do the same on the other side of the room.
"Fred! George! Don't make me repeat myself one more time!" Their mother's voice sounded angrier and more threatening this time, and Fred knew from experience that trying to ignore her wouldn't work, and definitely wouldn't be worth the lecture that'd follow.
Pick your battles wisely, son, their father had once told them after they had 'accidentally' made half their room explode and tried to hide it from their mother. Fred and George had taken that lesson to heart, and there was nothing wiser than choosing to appease their mother's rage, especially this early in the morning.
"What time is it?" George asked, yawning and stretching his arms as he struggled to get up.
George was a messy sleeper – he somehow managed to get tangled up in his sheets every night. Fred had lost count of the number of times he had been woken up in the middle of the night by the thumping sound of his twin falling off his bed, limbs too tangled up in fabric to get free without outside help or a lot of very noisy wriggling.
Fred had never had that problem, though George insisted that he kicked in his sleep, which in his opinion was "way worse, Forge, really, I'm going to have so many bruises, you owe me". They hadn't actually shared a bed in years, but George kept reminding him of that fact every time Fred made a remark about his falling-of-the-bed habit.
Truly, Fred was of the opinion that most of those bruises had come from George's falls of the bed, but his twin refused to hear it. Over time, it had become something of a joke – yet another one – between them.
"How would I know?" Fred replied, yawning himself. He shivered slightly when he left the warmth of his covers, and rubbed his hands over his arms to warm himself up.
"You're the one who can do the creepy sun thing," George pouted.
The 'creepy sun thing', as George put it, was simply Fred's uncanny ability to tell time by the position of the sun. Bill had mentioned it once in a story about pirates and both twins had been determined to learn it ever since. So far, Fred had been the only one to succeed, a fact that he liked to lord over his brother. It was a very useful skill too, especially when they spent their days outside and had to come back before certain hour.
"I have to see the sun for that," Fred replied, rolling his eyes. "And the blinds are still closed. But considering Mum said she'd wake us up at nine I'd say it's around that time."
George groaned, and Fred felt like echoing him. He also felt like flopping back down on his bed and going back to sleep though, and he knew that if they started that now, they'd never stop – and then they'd truly be late, and their mother would kill them.
They stumbled out of the room and down the stairs still half asleep, just as their mother was readying herself for another call.
"There's no need to shout, mother, really," Fred said, casting a hand over his heart and putting on a wounded face. Beside him, George echoed the sentiment, while at the table Ron, Ginny and Percy looked distinctively relieved.
"Yes, mother, one would think that you believed us to be deaf," George continued.
Fred gasped dramatically and turned to face his brother. "Oh my, Gred, why didn't you tell me you had lost your hearing?"
"What?" George asked, miming not understanding what had been said.
"I said, Gred, why didn't you tell me you had become deaf?" Fred asked again, putting on an air of betrayed disbelief.
"I don't know what you mean, Forge, I was born this way," George replied, shrugging his shoulders and shooting him an exaggerated apologetic look.
"My own twin! Keeping secrets from me," Fred lamented, faking tears. "What has this world come to?"
On the table, Ginny was giggling and trying to hide it behind her glass of pumpkin juice. Their father was smiling, and their mother shook her head fondly.
"Come on boys, it's time to stop the pleasantries – eat up, you'll need the energy today. It's a big day for you! Oh, I do hope your trunks are packed," she fretted, piling up food on the plates the twins handed her as they sat down.
Their father rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, which seemed to calm her.
That was honestly the thing the twins preferred about their father: how easily he could calm down their mother. Well, as long as he wasn't the one in trouble.
"Come on, Molly, I'm sure the boys are ready. And we can always owl them anything they forget."
Their mother huffed, but nodded. Their father winked at them when she looked away, and the twins winked back.
"Our trunks-"
"-are ready anyway-"
"-Mum, don't worry," Fred reassured her as they inhaled their breakfast.
"Good," she replied, mollified.
"Yeah, we're not Ronald," George joked.
Glaring from his spot at the other end of the table, Ron blushed bright red.
"Yes, well, your brother has plenty of time left to practice how to properly pack," their father stated, coughing lightly in the way everyone knew meant he was hiding his laughter.
Their mother's glare silenced any other stray chuckle, though it did nothing against the lingering smiles.
"I'm not that bad anyway," Ron mumbled, crossing his arms and pouting.
"No, you're worse," Ginny pipped up, stealing a sausage off his plate.
Laughing, Charlie, who sat next to him, ruffled Ron's hair. "You'll get better, Ronnie, don't worry about it. You should have seen my trunk the first time I tried to pack it. We still have no idea how we managed that."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," Charlie laughed.
Breakfast passed by quickly after that, and when all their plates had been polished off, their mother shooed them off to their rooms to get dressed and grab their trunks.
Their older brothers had already showered last night, and Ginny and Ron shared a bathroom, so that left the twins the bathroom to themselves. Fred grabbed their clothes and threw the handful of stuff they hadn't had the time to pack in their trunks, shutting them with no small amount of force and grunting, while George showered.
"I can't believe we're finally going to Hogwarts," George said when he stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist.
"I know, it's going to be great," Fred enthused, stepping in the shower. "Can you imagine everything we'll get to try now that Mum won't be around to watch our every move?"
"We're going to have so much fun!"
Even though he knew George couldn't see him, Fred nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, they were both downstairs, trunks beside them and heart pounding with excitement in their chests.
"Ready boys?" Their father asked, a proud smile on his face.
Fred nodded. He didn't need to look to know that George was doing the same.
"Yes," they replied in unison, wide grins stretching their lips.
"Then let's go," their father said, and they went.
As he twirled through the Floo system, one hand holding his trunk close, the other tucked at his side, Fred couldn't help but think that this was the start of something grand.
The whole world was spread wide before him and his twin, or so it seemed, and Fred wanted all of it.