It began with a cricket ball.

The summer they met, the temperature had reached a record high. Every night was swollen with humidity, and being outside in the sunlight was like stepping into a brick oven. Fred had done everything to avoid physical exertion, more than usual, but at the end of August he had begun training Ron in Quidditch, insisting he and George could help him improve.

It was hard work getting both brothers to agree to practice sessions, but the task became more daunting when their mother had screamed for them to "take it outside." When they broke an upstairs window, their Dad had taken their brooms away for a week, insisting they would get along just fine with his stupid Muggle-sport paraphernalia.

Despite all the setbacks, Fred was alive with the possibility - no, the promise - of impending success. Gryffindor Quidditch players were supposed to be superstars. Girl-magnets, even. He had his eye on a few seventh years, and was convinced improving at his position as a Beater would be his ticket to finally getting to second base.

Bloody sixteen years old and I haven't even seen a girl's knickers.

And with my charm! Makes me sick.

"This is our year, buddy, I feel it!" Fred called, referring to the cute girls in his Potions class, but knowing Ron would assume something else. He grinned, looking a little dazed in the heat. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stand on end in the front.

"I still don't understand how this is going to help!" Ron had yelled, swinging the bat in a circle. He rolled his eyes, kicked at the dirt, and nodded at his brother. "Alright, go on, then. You waiting for an invitation?"

Fred tossed the ball a foot upward and caught it again, rolling it around in one hand. "Well, frankly, George, you're behind in your aim, and it's embarrassing. Try-outs start as soon as classes do, and if you walk in there asking to be a player...doing...that..." He trailed off, the hand holding the ball falling slowly to his side. Ron was emphatically trying to toss the bat upward and catch it, and had dropped it on his own head somehow.

Fred stared at his brother, his face blank with disbelief. "Are you seriously that stupid?"

"Can I show him?" George had asked from the porch, trying to get a Dungbomb to last longer with a preserving spell. He held a Chocolate Frog package between his teeth, frowning with concentration.

"Shut up." Ron was either addressing Fred, or George, or both of them. He rubbed the top of his head and picked the bat up again. "Just...let's get this over with." He gave his brother a come-on-already motion, settling into a weird hunched over stance and swinging the bat over his shoulder.

"Ron, have you been watching American baseball?" Fred asked, incredulously. He tried, at first, to suppress a smile, but when Ron wiggled his hips like he was up at bat, Fred doubled over laughing. "Oh for chrissake, Ron, they're not even going to let me back on the team if you can't do this right! I'll be rejected by association!"

"Just throw it!"

"Okay, here goes nothing..." Fred laughed, winding up and tossing his little brother the ball at top-speed. He leaned full into the throw, his long arm swinging around to his side as his lean body turned in the effort. The ball sailed in a slight curve toward Ron, who looked comically focused on its trajectory, his eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, hi, is this...the Burrow?" a light voice asked from behind Ron, who turned without thinking.

"Ron, no!" Fred called out, but it was too late. The ball sailed right past his brother, continued a few feet farther than Fred had meant it to, and smacked the girl at their gate straight in the face. Fred almost exploded with glee at the sight of it, the girl toppling back over the fence, but he slapped both his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide. His brother, however, was not as discreet. George sat agape, the Chocolate Frog box sliding slowly of his mouth and hitting the ground. After a moment, George burst out laughing louder than Fred had ever heard him, hugging himself and falling off the porch into the dust. Ron looked horrified, holding the bat away from his body like a murder weapon.

The girl sat up on the other side of the fence slowly, one hand over her eye. The boys watched silently as she started to stand and look around her for something.

"Er..." Fred began, but the front door to the house swung open with a bang. Charlie ran down the steps looking concerned.

"What did you idiots do?" he snapped, shoving past Fred on his way to the fence. When no one answered, Charlie stopped and turned, glaring at all three boys. Fred stared wide-eyed at the girl, who was now bending over completely to pick up their ball out of the dirt. Her dress rose a little in the back when she leaned over, revealing her white upper thighs. Fred slowly raised an arm, pointing at Ron. "When are you going to grow up, you know?" Charlie spat, disgusted. "You're not kids anymore." With that, he turned and walked to the fence in three long strides, swinging himself over it with relative ease.

"I think this is yours..." the girl smiled weakly, holding out their ball to Charlie. Her silver fingernails glinted in the sun. Charlie pushed her hand aside with a familiarity that embarrassed Fred. He wanted to look away. Charlie framed the girl's face with his hands, tilting her head back.

"Move your hand, let me see it."

"Ch...it's fine, I'm fine."

"Jesus. That's gonna be a shiner, we'll get some anti-bruise cream on it. Fred, you really are a tosser, you know that?"

"IT WAS RON!" Fred yelled, flipping his long hair out of his face, his hands on his hips.

"You threw it..." Ron protested, tossing the bat on the ground beside him. He leaned from one foot to the other, looking like he wanted to take off running into the house. George snickered as he approached his twin, sidling up next to him to get a closer look. The girl was tall, even next to Charlie, and she wore a blue and white dress that cinched at her waist with a ribbon. Her gold hair was tied up in a mass of wavy tendrils, and a few hung prettily around her face. Her lips were lacquered with a bright red that surprised him. When the girl greeted his brother "hello," her voice had an earthy kind of sound to it. Flat, almost sarcastic, and an American accent.

"Research partner, huh?" George hissed at Fred, his hand on one side of his mouth. Charlie took the girl's shoulder bag and opened the gate for her, glaring at his brothers again over her shoulder. "Isn't she a little...delicate to be dealing with dragons? Or wait...wait, there's a cock joke somewhere in there..." George rubbed his nose, grinning wickedly. "Ask her who her favorite Beater is, maybe it's you." Fred made an odd shushing sound, waving his hand vaguely in his brother's direction and walking toward Charlie and the girl.

"Wow, Charlie, you know how to pick 'em." Fred heard himself say. He stopped short, wondering where his internal filter had gone. If Charlie had been frustrated before, he was spitting fire now. The girl looked up at Fred, then, visibly hurt. "W-wait, I meant...I didn't mean your eye, I meant you're..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Fred Weasley, forever alone!" George cackled.

"No, I meant, you don't look like the usual...the dweebs Charlie usually brings home to uh, help with research. Glasses and all that." He blinked at her, taking her in fully now that she was facing him. She had lovely shoulders, and as he noticed this, he wondered why it had occurred to him. All that time he had spent staring at Angelina's hips in class, at least was normal. But there it was. This girl, Emily, had a graceful neck and long legs, and met his gaze with too much confidence. He cleared his throat.

"Emily's not here to help me, really. She's just visiting London to work on her own stuff, and I offered to let her stay with us."

"Stay with you?" George called, having a grand time. Emily looked at Fred, and then at Charlie, confused.

"Guest room," Charlie assured her. He turned to Fred and clarified in a lower voice. "Percy's room."

"Oh. I hope you don't mind the lingering smell of betrayal," Fred said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Does Mum know?"

"Of course Mum knows, why did you think she's been cleaning the house for days?"

"I dunno, menopause?" Fred shrugged. To his surprise, Emily laughed at this.

"So you're George...?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and looking at him sort of curiously.

"Fred."

"I know, I'm teasing you. Charlie gave me the discerning details. Fred's a little shorter than George," she recited, "and he has a freckle right...there," she reached out and brushed just underneath his right eye with the tip of her finger. "Right?" she smiled warmly, looking back at Charlie.

"Yeah, this tosser's Fred, the asshole behind him is George, and that's Ron-the-baby."

"Ginny's the baby!" Ron cried, indignant.

"And then Percy, whose room you have, and Bill's away for a few weeks. Ginny, the only girl-"

"Poor thing..." Emily smiled, rocking back onto her heels playfully. Fred was suddenly aware of his shirt sticking to his back, probably in a deep V of sweat from being outside for a few hours.

"-and of course, Mum and Dad. So that's everyone. Ron's friends will most likely drop by now that it's August. They're all starting to get ready to go back now."

"Hogwarts?" Emily asked politely, turning to Fred again. He nodded, wishing he had something funny to say. He wasn't sure if magic jokes would go over her head, but she did seem familiar with the Wizarding World. Reading the confusion on his face, she added, "I graduated last year from Salem Witches Institute."

"That makes you Percy's age," Ron stated, sort of matter-of-factly. He had apparently mustered up the courage to join the conversation, although he stayed a step or two out of the odd triangle that had formed between Fred, Charlie and Emily. "How do you know..."

"I did a period abroad, met your brother in a Magical Creatures course." Emily shuddered. "You really helped me through that one, huh?" She smiled at Charlie beside her, who beamed back rather handsomely. "I'm not really a fan of dragons, they're too big for me..." George almost choked at this.

"I think you could do it." Fred blurted out. "Everything I've ever heard about Salem, it's that you're all kind of..."

"Valorous?" Emily offered, amused.

"I was going to say brave," Fred replied, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. Charlie snorted at him, and Emily looked away. Fred licked his lips uncomfortably, touching a hand to his dirty hair. "That's the same thing, isn't it?" he asked glumly.

"We should get you inside..." Charlie offered, shifting Emily's bag on his arm. He clapped his brother's shoulder as he passed him, leaving Fred in front of Emily. Fred's mouth felt suddenly dry. Ron shuffled toward the house, and George approached them, positioning himself between them. He grinned at Fred, placing a hand on his twin's shoulder and a hand on Emily's.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think things are about to get interesting around here," George grinned, glancing from Fred to Emily and back to Fred.

"It's Finbar Quigley, by the way. My favorite Beater." Emily said suddenly. Both boys turned to look at her, their eyebrows raised. She shrugged, looking only at Fred. "I like the Irish boys." With that, she walked past them toward Charlie, who was holding the front door open for her, looking as proud as if he had arranged for the goddamn Queen of England to visit them for the summer. Fred stared at the ground where Emily had been.

"Oh yes..." George said softly, cracking his knuckles. "Interesting indeed."