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“Shh! He’s coming!”
Finger to her lips, Roxy ushered her brother into the hall closet, pulled the door partway shut behind them, and handed him one of the bottles of butterbeer she’d spent the past five minutes shaking.
Seconds later, the front door creaked open. In walked George, expression distant and sorrowful, as it always was on this day in private moments.
“Now!” Roxy hissed. They sprung from the closet, letting the bottlecaps fly.
At the sight of his stunned, dripping father, Fred could no longer contain his giggles. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
A slow grin lit George’s face. “Thanks, kids.”