Disclaimer: Any characters, places etc. that you recognise belong to J K Rowling. I'm just a humble writer who likes to play around and write love stories.

A/N: I've been under so much stress lately, eugh. I'm surprised I managed to find time to write this! Nonetheless, enjoy! XD

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Once again, I found myself on the back of Fred's broom, arms around his waist and fears fading away. We were flying at three foot today, and though I had had some definite reservations to begin with, I was getting used to it. George zoomed along somewhere overhead, impatient with our slow progress, but to my surprise, Fred was being very patient.

It was the third day of August, a Sunday, and the sun beat down on our backs, making the ride more uncomfortable than usual. Time had gone extremely, almost unnervingly, fast, and I had suddenly realised that morning that there was less than a month left until school. The thought made me feel grumpy - after all, it would mean an end to all the relaxing I had been doing that summer.

With heavy thoughts of complicated Transfiguration spells and parchment after parchment of Charms essays, I rested my chin glumly against Fred's shoulder. He squirmed slightly, to get himself comfortable, and we continued on our seemingly pointless journey around the garden.

Far above us, George flew around on his own, occasionally throwing exasperated looks down at us. I was dressed today in a sleeveless top and, God forbid, a skirt, thoroughly annoyed by the hot weather. I felt rude, but I wanted to ask Fred if we could give it a rest for the day. I had never been very polite when dealing with heat. I'd take the winter any time.

Just as I opened my mouth to tell him to let me down, George's voice drifted down to us, smug and mischievous. "Isn't it hot? Let's have a race."

"A race?" I asked, sharply, as George swooped down to our level. "What do you mean? I'm not going to -"

"Well, unless you're both afraid I'll beat you," George smiled, casually inspecting his fingernails. "I'll understand if a girl knows she's going to lose to me. It's only natural, and true."

"Excuse me?" I spluttered, firing up. "Just because I'm a girl I won't beat you? You're severely mistaken. As long as we race at this height only, you're on."

"Sure," he grinned, winking. "This height only. You're in, Fred?"

"Of course," Fred scoffed, and turned to look at me over his shoulder. "You're sure, aren't you? You're not going to have some mad hysterics once we speed up, are you?"

I hesitated for a moment, making his eyebrows raise. "No - no, of course I won't. Let's do it."

"You're sure?" Fred asked, suspiciously. "This isn't just because of George taunting you for being a girl?"

"No," I firmly lied, hoping against hope nothing would go wrong. "No. Come on, just go."

"Okay, then," he said, in a voice that clearly said he doubted my honestly. "Whenever you're ready, Georgie-boy."

"On the count of three, then," George laughed, sounding thrilled to actually be allowed to fly with his twin for once. I bit my lip, burying my face into Fred's back. "One. Two. Three."

Both broomsticks went, at full speed, through the garden, taking sharp turn after sharp turn. I screamed and held onto Fred as hard as possible, closing my eyes tightly, my hair whipping behind me. It was horrendous, and I was sure I'd throw up, but little did I know the worst was yet to come.

All I knew was that we were suddenly shooting upwards, which was most definitely not part of the agreement. My eyes flew open, and I realised George was winning by flying higher and higher, and then - my stomach lurching - we swooped down again. The promise had been broken, and I was so mad I could have murdered both of them in one go, but as we shot back to the ground, twins neck to neck now, I went light-headed and - pulling the traitorous Fred with me - tumbled straight onto the grassy floor.

We both let out an exclamation of surprise, but were only a foot or so in the end, so neither of us were hurt. I had landed, somehow, draped over the boy, and we both groggily stirred and moved to be more comfortable after the fall - until I realised I was blinking straight down into his face, and was doing nothing short of lying on top of him.

"You idiot!" I yelled, to distract myself from the heat strangely rising in my cheeks. "Why did you go that high?"

I hit him in the shoulder, and he smiled, and in the next moment we were rolling around in the grass, play fighting and grinning and laughing. We rolled down the short bank towards the house, happy and free in the summer sun, until we came to a rest, entwined, giggling and out of breath.

I looked down again into his eyes, still chuckling softly to myself, but that stopped abruptly enough. As I gazed down into his eyes, I couldn't help but feel an odd, hot jolt deep inside, and my cheeks flushed red. Where had that come from? I tried to banish it from my mind, and rise off him, but he raised a hand and brushed a lock of brown hair from my eyes, making me freeze.

"Claudia," he said, gently, and my breath, for reasons unknown, caught in my throat. "Claudia, do you think we'll ever --"

"Mum says lunch is ready!" Ginny's voice came from the house, and I instantly pulled myself to my feet, stumbling backwards from him as though burnt. I'm pretty sure I looked burnt, what with my red cheeks. Or perhaps I looked like a dying, red fish, with my embarrassed, gaping expression.

Yes. I'm pretty sure that's just what I looked like.

It must have been something overly unattractive, anyway, because Fred stood up just as quickly as I had, and sped towards the house without looking back.

IIIIIII

"You've got to be joking," Fred and George said in unison, voices hollow. I looked, uncomprehendingly, from the twins' mutinous expressions, to Ginny's irritated one, to Ron's shocked one, to Mrs Weasley's nervous one. I couldn't see why they were all acting so dramatically about something so small.

"I can't see what's the matter," I stated, laughing slightly. Every Weasley I had met so far had been perfectly lovely, and I couldn't imagine them having a horrid relative. George took the letter from his mother's hands to read for himself, whilst Fred shook his head, seeming heavily annoyed. "Look, what's wrong with -"

"Dear Molly," George read out loud, wrinkling his nose. "I am coming round to your house for dinner this evening. I hope the house will be ready for me, although I will not expect to sleep there afterward - I shall Floo home, of course. I shall see you, Arthur and the children at about five this afternoon. Yours sincerely, Muriel."

"That's so rude!" Ginny exclaimed, open-mouthed. "She didn't even say please!"

"Well, manners are hardly her strong point, are they?" Fred scoffed. "She's always been a jumped-up, obnoxious old -"

"Fred, Ginny, please, Auntie Muriel is part of the family," Mrs Weasley admonished, although there was some uncertainty in her voice. "I'm sorry, Claudia, we're all being very vague. Auntie Muriel is my aunt, and the children's great aunt. She's not too fond of children, I don't believe, so it leads her to be somewhat, well -"

"Bitchy?" supplied George.

"George, really!" Mrs Weasley gasped, whilst Ron and Fred snorted with laughter. "Don't say things like that, especially about your family! She's just - well, she'll speak her mind."

"Yeah, in a bitchy way," George mumbled, but went silent at a sharp look from his mother. There was a long pause, until Mrs Weasley took the letter back, folded it back into the envelope and sighed, heavily. She rolled her sleeves up, swept her hair from her face, and looked around at us all.

"Who's helping with dinner, then? It will take a while to prepare, especially if she expects - well - extravagance."

"I'll help," I said, in chorus with all of her children. She smiled around at us all, and began handing out jobs. Ron was sent to the village to fetch a list of groceries, Ginny was sent upstairs to the spare room to fish out the best china from an over-stuffed cupboard, whilst the twins and I were asked to go and collect the eggs from the hen's shed in the garden.

As we made our way out towards it, I lost no time in questioning my friends about their Great Auntie Muriel. I was dubious she could be quite as bad as they were making out, if the rest of the family were anything to judge by. "What's wrong with her? I really can't imagine you having a nasty relative."

"She's nothing like the rest of us," Fred sniffed, as though offended to even be associated with her. "She's not a Weasley, either. She's a Prewett. Saying that, the majority of Mum's family are great. She's a bit of an exception."

"She hates us," George laughed, though bitterly. "Can't stand our pranks. Of course, that means we do them all the more to her."

"She's never satisfied with the family," Fred complained, as we squeezed into the dark, hen shed. "Nothing's ever good enough for her. Plus the fact we're - well, we're not made of money. She hates it, and blames Dad for it all the time. I reckon she thinks Mum could have done better with her life."

"Oh," I replied, nervously, as I scooped out an egg from underneath a disgruntled hen. "Well. I'm sure she'll - well, I don't. Hm. She won't be unpleasant tonight, will she?"

"Most likely," George replied, darkly, and then swore loudly as a hen, alarmed at the hand groping underneath her, pecked him hard on the wrist. Rubbing where she had done so, George grimaced and added, "You better watch your back, Claudia. She'll want to know everything about you."

IIIIIIII

We were all downstairs, each of us rather nervous. It was five to five, and she Mrs Weasley had assured me her aunt was never late. Fred, George and I sat in the living room near the fireplace, shooting looks at each other every so often. The rest of the family - including Percy and Mr Weasley, who were home from work - lingered about, occasionally straightening a curtain, or wiping down a dusty shelf.

"She's going to hate me, isn't she?" I whispered anxiously to Fred, who sat next to me on the sofa. He rolled his eyes at my question, evidently exasperated. "Don't look like that, I was only asking!"

"You always think the worst," Fred sighed, but then grinned, suddenly. "But yeah, she'll probably hate you."

"Perfect," I sighed, folding my arms. "I can't wait."

Mr Weasley leant by the fireplace, quiet and apprehensive. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. From what I'd gathered, the poor man got a very harsh time from at least one of Molly's relatives because of the lack of money the family had. Admittedly, it lead me to already judge this Muriel as somebody I'd most likely despise.

Before I could say anything to Fred, however, a sudden commotion took place in the fireplace. There was a vision of a spinning woman, and in the next moment the said woman was stumbling onto the rug, coughing heavily and clutching a blue-feathered hat to her grey hair.

Mrs Weasley rushed towards her from the window, looking heavily flustered and brushing her hair behind her ear hastily. "Aunt Muriel!" she exclaimed, taking the woman's travelling cloak. "How are you? Do have a seat - George, stand up and give Auntie Muriel a seat."

With an insolent look, George grudgingly got to his feet and took his mother's place by the window instead. The woman, who had straightened herself up and was brushing down her robes from the soot, took an appraisingly glance around the room.

Her gaze, much to my alarm, fell straight on me.

"Who are you?" she barked, falling heavily into George's recently vacated seat. "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"Claudia Paisley," I offered, surprised by her directness. "I'm Fred and George's friend. I'm staying for the summer."

"Taking on more strays, Molly?" she asked Mrs Weasley, who was busy hanging Muriel's cloak on the back of a door. "I don't think it's wise. I'm sure you have a hard enough time to feed all of your own family's mouths."

"Strays?" I spluttered indignantly, but Fred grabbed my hand to calm me. I glanced at him to see him glaring at his Great Aunt with gritted teeth, but he caught my eye and shook his head. Evidently, nobody was meant to lose their temper with the woman. I didn't feel quite up to testing the waters, and so fell back, silent.

"Now," Muriel continued, and I supposed she either hadn't heard me or was simply ignoring me. "Is William still working away from home? I'd hoped to see him very much."

"Yes, Bill's still in Egypt," Mr Weasley explained, and, with a hint of ice I'd never heard in his voice before, added, "though the rest of the children, except Charlie, are all here."

"Of course they are," Muriel laughed, dismissively. "How could I miss them? I feel like I'm in a furnace, with all of this red hair."

"Would you like to come through to the dining room?" Mrs Weasley intervened quickly, before any of the five, indignant children could reply to her rude comment. "I'll get you a drink, and I can begin to serve tea."

"Thank you, Molly," Muriel sniffed, standing up and gathering her robes about her. "I'm glad you have some sense of order in the house, what with all the havoc."

She shot one disapprovingly look around the room in general, as if the people themselves were the havoc, and swept after Mrs Weasley in to the kitchen. Mr Weasley ran a tired hand over his face, shook himself and went after the women. Ginny and Ron, sharing a look, soon followed. Percy, for once showing some disrespect for an adult, shot an exasperated look at the twins, and left.

"Wow," I breathed, laughing nervously. "Your Great Auntie is really something, isn't she?"

"She's horrible," Fred grunted, as the two of us stood up from the sofa. "She treats Dad like he's a piece of Hippogriff dung. Dad's never been anything but hospitable to her; I'm surprised he hasn't cracked and shouted before. Even he's not that good natured."

"He must be," George mused, sadly, before shaking himself and grinning. "Never mind, eh? We'll cause enough trouble on behalf of everyone."

"Trouble?" I asked, wondering what on earth they were up to now. "What are you going to do?"

"You'll see in good time, Miss Paisley," Fred winked. I suddenly became aware that he was still holding my hand, and automatically looked down. He noticed it too, it seemed, for the next moment he had let it go and bustled away after the rest of his family.

"Come on then, best get off to dinner," George said, bracingly, before I could even begin to think about what I was feeling. "It's going to be great fun."

IIIIIII

"Don't chew your food so messily, Ginny," Muriel snapped, in between forkfuls of Yorkshire pudding. "It isn't ladylike at all. Having all these older brothers can't be a good influence on you."

"Sorry," Ginny muttered, red-faced and glaring at the table. "Dad, have you managed to hear any news about the Quidditch World Cup?"

"The Quidditch World Cup?" echoed Muriel, before Mr Weasley could reply. "Really, Arthur! It's bad enough all the boys seem to have been obsessed with the horrid sport, let alone your daughter."

"Well, I think -" Mr Weasley began, angrily, but Muriel cut across him again, focusing her scarily blue eyes on me. "Do you like Quidditch? An alarming rate of girl's seem to be getting into it nowadays. It's quite despicable."

"Actually, I'm not a huge fan," I admitted, ignoring the glares Fred and George were so predictably sending me. "I like it at school because of the House competitions, but aside from that I'm not too bothered about it. I never play."

She stared at me for another minute, expression indiscernible, whilst we all ate around her. When she next spoke, her voice was a mixture of curiosity and superiority. "And just who are your parents, Miss Paisley?"

I choked with surprise on my mashed potatoes, and didn't recover until Fred had thumped me hard on the back. Eyes streaming, I flushed red with embarrassment at my clumsiness, and mumbled, "Harrison Paisley and Dorcas Meadowes."

"Oh, Harrison Paisley?" she asked, ignoring my coughing fit. "I know of him, I believe he's good friends with most of the wizarding world and holds nice dinners, doesn't he?"

"I - well - yes, he does like to have people around for dinner," I admitted, rather uncomfortable at how much she knew. The fact that my father was on good terms with different sectors of the wizarding world was often a prickly topic with me. I hated the fact that he got on with stupid, Pureblood supremacists such as the Malfoys, despite his half-blood status. "He's at work a lot, though. My stepmother usually hosts them nowadays."

"Your stepmother?" Muriel asked, raising an eyebrow. "You know, I believe I know of the name Dorcas Meadowes. What is your mother's profession?"

She knew. I knew she knew that my mother was dead. I could see it in her impassive expression, behind her blue eyes. Fred and George, either side of me, seemed to sense it too, as they bristled with anger. Shaking my head to tell them I didn't need them to intervene, I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "She was unemployed, I think."

"Was?" Muriel asked, brow furrowed. "What do you mean by was, child?"

"She's dead," I said, bluntly, as though I stated it all the time to strangers.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Muriel sighed, although she didn't sound it. "I did wonder why she didn't share your surname. Have you and your father had it changed since her death, or -?"

"Well, no," I smiled brightly, trying to press down the bubbling anger rising inside at her blatant rudeness. "My parents were never married."

"Oh dear," Muriel said, with a sad smile, and then turned to ask Percy something about his job. I blinked, more than a little hurt at this cold dismissal, and sat back, folding my arms. I'd lost my appetite now, even with Mrs Weasley's scrumptious food in front of me.

"Just ignore her," George muttered under his breath, looking sympathetic. "She's just an old hag who knows no better."

"Yeah," Fred agreed fervently, nodding. "And anyway, she'll get what's coming to her soon enough."

"What do you mean by that?" I whispered back, raising an eyebrow. "Don't do anything too bad, alright? It'd be stupid causing more trouble. Evidently things are bad enough without a prank thrown in the works."

"S'too late to warn us now!" George laughed, looking mischievous and excited. "Pranks always make things better. You'll see."

Before I could reply, Fred's hand had slipped under the table and squeezed my thigh. I jumped about a foot in the air at that, knocking my legs against the table. Everybody fell silent and looked at me questioningly - Muriel stern and disapproving - but I shrugged and looked down hastily at my plate.

Once everyone was preoccupied with their conversations once more, I glared at Fred and whispered, "What the hell was that for?"

"I was just trying to comfort you!" he hissed, cheeks slightly red. "I couldn't say much, or she'd hear me. Stop being ungrateful."

"Ungrateful?" I laughed, somewhat mirthlessly. "I'm not being ungrateful. You just squeezed my leg underneath the bloody table, and I'm being ungrateful?"

Unfortunately for me, there had been a general lull in the conversation at my last question, and after a second or two I realised everyone was staring at the two of us with open mouths - except for George, who was doing his best to smother his laughter, to no avail.

"Well, well," Muriel laughed, after a few moments of awkward, shocked silence. She looked at Mr Weasley, with the air of one about to begin a long lecture. "You see, Arthur, this is what happens when you let your boys date bastard children. Utter disaster for the family."

Several things happened at once.

I stood up, furiously, to shout that for one thing, Fred and I weren't dating, and for another, who the hell was she to call me a bastard?; Fred jumped to his feet a second after me, and grabbed my shoulders, trying to pull me towards him for goodness knows what reason; Mr Weasley slammed down a fist on the table in anger and began to shout and, with the most impact of all, a Dungbomb went off underneath Muriel's chair.

The smell was horrendous, and we all fell back, retching. Muriel stood up with an extremely alarmed expression, running with surprising speed from her seat, for one so old. Fred and George collapsed on the floor with hysterical laughter, and in seconds, everyone realised what must have happened.

"Fred, George!" Mrs Weasley shouted, though there was a surprising trace of amusement in her voice. "Apologise at one and clean it up!"

"Apologise?" shrieked Muriel, over the renewed roars of laughter from the twins. "I don't want an apology! I have never been so offended in my life! Fabian and Gideon were pranksters, but they were never common!"

A deathly silence fell then. Mrs Weasley went very straight backed, her expression upset. Mr Weasley and his children went stony faced, evidently at her lack of tack and her description of the twins as common. I, on the other hand, stayed in the corner of the room, not wanting to get involved.

My chest was still heaving as I tried to rid myself of the adrenaline of anger. What preoccupied me more, however, were the sudden events in the day between Fred and I. First, he seemed tender as I bloody lay on top of him. Then, he had held my hand for a fairly long time. Thirdly, he had squeezed my thigh out of the blue. And then, just as the Dungbomb was exploding, he had pulled me towards him in a manner that - had it been anyone but the infamously immature Fred Weasley - I could have interpreted as romantic.

Lost in confusion and very much forbidden thoughts about what it could all mean, I barely noticed the livid Muriel marching from the room to Floo home, a tearful Mrs Weasley hurrying along in her wake. The woman had been foul, but I could take that. I could take the jibes about my family, and her insults - but it was Fred's actions I couldn't take.

I turned to study the giggling boy, as he clapped George on the back and congratulated him. He was exactly how I'd always seen him. But was he? There was something different went I looked at him, something stirring in the pit of my gut, like insects lurching to life and attacking my stomach lining.

He turned, grinning, and caught my eye. We gazed at each other for a moment - the sensation inside growing to an outrageous scale - before I looked away, made my excuses, and hurried away to the bathroom.

At least there was a locked door in that room.

At least there I could hide from Fred Weasley, and the stupid, damnable, disgusting crush that had blossomed inside.

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A/N: Please review? You've all been so kind to me with this story, I love you!

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