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It was a hot July noon, the kind of heat that made the garden buzz with insects, when Mum said a kid was coming over to play. Some girl, the daughter of one of Dad's coworkers. Mum said she'd been alone all summer—no brothers, no sisters, no one to keep her company.
George barely paid attention to the details. All he knew was a new kid was coming over. And that always meant possibilities. Good possibilities.
At lunch, Mum reminded them—again—that the girl, Betty, didn't have many friends, and that everyone had to be nice. She was six, a little bit younger than George and his twin brother Fred themselves, but a little bit older than their youngest brother Ron. Percy looked pleased, probably imagining a quiet, puzzle-loving playmate. Ginny squeaked and bounced, thrilled having a girl coming over to play with her. Then Mum's eyes snapped to George and Fred. That look—sharp and steady—said exactly what he already knew. She was warning them directly.
Not that he cared. New kids were always perfect targets. Some laughed at their pranks. Some cried, told them off, and never came back.
When Betty finally arrived that afternoon, she looked like the type who might just flinch enough to make it interesting. But not enough to tell them off. She was quiet. Too quiet. George watched as Ginny grabbed her hand like a Niffler snatching something shiny.
"Come with me," she said, giggling and bouncing next to Betty, fingers still sticky with jam.
But Betty didn't squeal. She didn't giggle. She just looked down, wrinkled her nose slightly, slid her hand free, and wiped it carefully on the hem of her skirt. Perfect. She walked behind Ginny across the room without a word. George's eyes followed her up the stairs. Her light brown hair was pulled into little braids, her dress so neat it looked like it belonged on a doll, not someone who came to play. No grass stains, no holes, no patches like on his own. Weird. Fred had noticed it too. They didn't need words. A glance, and a smirk—they already knew what to do.
"Water bucket?" George whispered, grinning.
Fred tilted his head toward the window, eyes wandering to the pond in the garden.
"Pond water," he said slowly, "with extra mud."
George's grin widened. "Nice."
They sneaked around the house toward the pond. They filled a wooden bucket with pond water—thick, a brownish colour, and awfully stinking. George scooped in extra mud for good measure. Fred even tossed in something green and slimy. George didn't dare to look too closely.
They glanced at each other, smirking mischievously. That'll ruin her neat dress.
In the shed behind the house, they stacked some of Dad's old Muggle boxes on top of each other, climbed up, and balanced the bucket on the half-open door. Carefully, they left the shed. As soon as someone opened the door, the bucket would fall right on their head. Perfect. Classic trick. Never failed.
Fred brushed off his hands. "Now we just need bait."
George grinned. "I've got an idea. Cats."
Back inside, they found Betty sitting with Ginny, watching her build a lopsided tower of wooden blocks. Her dress was still spotless, buttoned to the neck, and her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Perfect target.
Fred knelt in front of her, trying not to smirk. "Do you like cats?"
Betty's eyes lit up. She nodded.
"We found some," George said, "a cat and her kittens. In the shed."
Ginny jumped up, eyes wide. "I want to see them!"
Fred hesitated. "Betty should go first. She's the guest."
Betty stood, brushing off her skirt—not that there was a speck of dirt on it—and followed them out the door, Ginny skipping beside her.
George crouched behind the shed, holding his breath. The second Betty opened the door... nothing. No splash. Ginny poked her head inside, searching for the cat and its kittens.
"No cats in here! You liars!" she shouted a moment later.
Fred and George exchanged puzzled looks. Where had the bucket gone? They had placed it right on top of the door, the same door Betty was still holding. Nothing. No bucket in sight.
"What the—?" George muttered, scratching his head.
They laughed it off, explaining it was just a prank.
"Stupid prank," Ginny muttered, crossing her arms as they headed back toward the house.
But Betty stopped, turning to Ginny. "Let's watch the butterflies," she suggested.
Ginny immediately forgot all about the shed. Girls, he thought.
Then he opened the back door leading to the kitchen.
A rumble. Then something cold, slimy, and stinking poured over his head, soaking his shirt, dripping into his socks, clumps of mud sliding down his neck. He froze, blinking through the mud.
"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!"
Mum stormed in, wand already raised. With a flick, the mess vanished from the floor—but not from George.
"It wasn't us!" Fred tried, backing away.
George stood there dripping with pond water, watching Fred argue loudly and dramatically with Mum. He didn't bother joining in. Wiping a smear of dirt from his eyes, he glanced around.
Betty stood a little off to the side—quiet, tidy, hands folded innocently behind her back. Her dark green eyes were dirctly fixed on him, sparkling, and a tiny smirk appeared on her lips. Not the surprised kind, not shy or playful. The knowing kind. The kind that said she had been one step ahead the whole time—and had enjoyed every second.
George froze for a moment, staring back. Somehow, that small tug on her lip told him more than words ever could. She had done it. It had to be her. Somehow, she must have found out. Must have switched the buckets. She had outsmarted them. But... how? They'd all been together the whole afternoon. She couldn't have done it without magic; but she was only six. George and Fred had accidentally done magic before—all their siblings had—but never on purpose. Never like that.
He kept staring at her, trying to work it out. And while he was thinking—still puzzled and dripping—his own lips curled into a grin. Betty was still watching him. He nodded mischievously. That quiet girl, the one who'd seemed so polite and proper when she arrived, had just become very interesting.
Later that night, when George was bathed, the stinky mud washed of his hair, and both twins lying in bed, George heard a muffled sound coming from Fred's bed.
"How did the bucket end up in the house? We put it on the shed," Fred whispered.
"It was Betty."
"Betty? No way."
"She knew, Fred. She grinned at me. Like... like she was proud..." Geroge grinned. "She knew."
"But... she was with Ginny the whole time!"
George shrugged under his blanket. "She still did it."
Fred sat up a little. "You think she did magic?"
"Maybe," George said. "Real magic. Not the oops kind."
Fred flopped back onto his pillow. "She's weird."
"I like her," George said.
Fred turned to look at him. "You like her?!"
"Not like that, you nut!" George called. "I mean... she's clever. She outpranked us"
"True." Fred was quiet for a second. "I hope she comes over again. So she can help us prank Percy."
George grinned. "Me too."
"We could be a team."
George smirked. "Team Trouble."
Fred yawned loudly. "Team Super Trouble."
They both giggled under their blankets, and from the hallway came a loud,
"SLEEP! NOW!"
They slapped their hands over their mouths, still shaking with giggles. And as George settled into his pillow, he thought again of Betty's little smirk, the way she hadn't said a word but still beat them at their own game. He didn't know how yet. But he liked it. And he wanted more of it.
Betty was to come over the week after. The plan was brilliant. At least, it had sounded brilliant when Fred whispered it to George under the covers the night before. They wanted proof; they wanted to catch her in action. Now, crouched behind the sofa with Ron fidgeting beside him, George wasn't so sure.
Fred peeked around the corner. "She's in the kitchen. Perfect. Get ready."
Their "trap" was a masterpiece. A bit of string from the doorknob to a stack of tin pans balanced on a chair, a neat line of toy blocks across the floor, and—best of all—a bucket of marbles perched dangerously on the arm of the sofa. If Betty was as sharp as George suspected, this would prove it, and not trip over.
Then suddenly quiet footsteps. The creak of the kitchen door. Then—silence.
George frowned. "Where is sh—"
"Boo," said a quiet voice, right behind his ear.
He and Fred shot upright, knocking their own pans to the ground. The clatter sent Ron spinning, and he flailed right into the bucket of marbles. They spilled across the floor like a hailstorm, bouncing and rolling in every direction. Betty was there, standing in front of them, no longer quiet and composed. She burst out laughing so hard she couldn't stop, clutching her sides as she dropped to the floor. Giggles spilled out of her in gasps, until she was rolling, pointing weakly at the twins.
"Your faces!" she wheezed, before dissolving into another fit of helpless laughter.
George froze, watching her. He hadn't expected that sound from her—so loud and bubbling. For a girl who barely said a word, it felt almost shocking. And yet, for some reason, it made something twist pleasantly in his chest. He liked her laughter.
Fred huffed, though there was the start of a grin tugging at his mouth. "How'd you know we were there?"
Betty wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, still hiccupping. She gave a little shrug from where she sat on the floor. "I just knew."
George tilted his head, grinning despite himself. He wasn't sure he believed her.
Fred scowled, half annoyed, half impressed. "You're good at this, aren't you?"
Betty tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Sometimes."
George grinned, leaning forward. "Alright then. Tomorrow it's your turn."
Fred started to protest, but Betty only gave that small, knowing smile again. The kind that made George's stomach twist.
Betty began coming over more often after that, and before long she stayed the whole weekend. Her mum had some boring conference in a country George had never heard of, so Betty stayed and slept on a guest bed in Ginny's room. But more than once, after the house had gone quiet, and everyone was asleep, she tiptoed down the stairs to slip into the twins' room. Those nights were the best. Low whispering voices, blankets pulled over their heads, and a notebook full of messy doodles and prank ideas.
At first, Percy was their main target. He was easy, and his dramatic reactions always set them off. Betty, though, had a different idea.
"We should make him think he's going crazy," she whispered, eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
Fred frowned. "How?"
"Not big things," Betty said. "Little things. Switch his shoes. Mix up his books. Make him grab salt instead of sugar for his hot chocolate."
George grinned. It was perfect—Percy would never suspect a prank if everything went just slightly wrong. And sure enough, over the next day, Percy stomped around the house in mismatched shoes, groaned over his salty cocoa, and spent nearly an hour searching for a book that had been moved to the wrong shelf. His exasperation was worth every second.
With all the pranks going on, Betty never seemed directly involved. She stayed in the background, always near Ginny, quietly watching and asking questions or chatting just enough to keep herself unnoticed. No one suspected her, which made planning the pranks far easier for Fred and George.
One afternoon, their mother had baked a fresh batch of biscuit and set the plate high up on the shelf. "Nobody touches these until after dinner," she warned, leaving them out of reach. Fred and George stood beneath the shelf, glaring at the plate as if sheer willpower might bring it down.
Betty leaned toward them, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can show you something."
Curios, they turned to her. She raised her hand, eyes fixed on the plate. Slowly—almost lazily—it began to shift, than it lifted an floated down towards them where George caught the plate midair. George's widened as he turned to Betty.
"How—?" Fred started, as bewildered as George.
Betty only shrugged. "I just wanted them to float."
They devoured the biscuit, their mouths full, while Fred pressed on. "Does that... happen a lot? How much magic can you already do?"
Another shrug from Betty. "I can make things move. Mimi showed me how."
Ron immediately tried to mimic her, hand raised in fierce concentration—but nothing happened and frustrated he lowered his hands. Pouting, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. George thought how he'd once smashed a window without meaning to, Ron said a light had appeared by his bed after a nightmare, and Fred recalled the time they'd chased Percy only for him to end up stuck on the roof, Mum furious when she found him. All of them broke into helpless giggles. But not like Betty, not with intention. He hoped that he would meet her friend Mimi, so she could show him how to make things move, too.
"And how did you know we were hiding? And the bucket?"
"I don't know," Betty replied, chewing her biscuit. "I just knew."
Fred and George exchanged glances, not knowing wether to believe her. Later that day, their mother frowned, wondering aloud what had become of the biscuits, never guessing how the kids had managed it. The next time she baked, she hid the plate in a different spot. But again, Betty lifted her hand and the cookies came drifting toward them—straight into Percy's arms. Fred and George begged him not to tell, but Percy was Percy. Of course he told them off. The time after that, their mother sealed the cupboard with a locking charm. This time, when Betty's raised her hand, nothing happened.
Fred muttered, "Revenge, then."
The sun shone warmly on the edge of the pond where Ginny and Ron cowered, whispering in an attempt to catch frogs. Each time one was close by, it jumped back into the pond with a splash. Betty sat nearby at first, just watching. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her pale yellow dress and stepped straight into the pond. The hem of her dress became dark with mud, but she didn't care. George smiled by the sight. She moved slowly with steady hands until she bent down and cupped a frog in her palms. It didn't try to escape; it just blinked as if it trusted her. George, watching from the bank, blinked. She made it look easy. Ginny squealed with delight when Betty handed her the frog, and soon Betty had caught more, each one remaining calm in her gentle hands.
By the time she came back to the grass, Fred's grin was already wide.
"Percy's bed," he declared.
George's eyes sparkled, pointing to Betty. "You'll distract him. Fred and I two put them under his duvet."
The plan came together fast. Fred and George carried the frogs in a basket lined with leaves, while Betty made her way back towards the house, ready to go for Percy to distract him.
"Percy," she said sweetly. "Can I ask you something about Merlin?"
Percy looked up, his eyes sparkling with joy that someone had mentioned his favourite wizard. "Merlin? What do you want to know?"
As Percy launched into a long explanation, Betty nodded along, eyes wide and curious. Meanwhile, the twins slipped past, hearts pounding, and into Percy's room. They tucked frogs under the bed, into his drawer, even one right on the pillow. Then they darted out, muffling their laughter. Later, the three of them crouched by the stairs, waiting. Percy stepped into his room, humming to himself. It only took a few moments until—
"FRED! GEORGE!" he shouted.
At the buttom of the stairs, Betty pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. George nearly fell over, clutching his side, while Fred wheezed into his sleeve. Even Ginny was red-faced with giggles. As Percy stormed down the hall, still sputtering, all children started running off in different directions; George turned toward Betty, grinning ear to ear.
"Revenge for telling us off!" Fred yelled, running away.
The evenings often ended in the living room, the smell of woodfire mixing with the low hum of the radio. After dinner, everyone would gather, plates cleared away, the air full of warmth and chatter. Betty usually curled up in one of the old armchairs, Ginny tucked close by her side, always unwilling to leave her. "Because she's not a noisy boy like you," she said. Bill, nearly fourteen and proudly on the brink of his fourth year at Hogwarts, sat forward, telling stories of Hogwart's life—moving staircases, secret passages, and the professors he both admired and dreaded. Fred peppered him with questions, and even George couldn't help but listen. Betty didn't say much, only listened, eyes wide with awe at Bill's tales.
Sometimes even Charlie emerged from his room, cutting into Bill's stories with his own about dragons he had read about or seen in books. Betty lit up at those, sitting straighter, her calm slipping into bright excitement as she asked him everything she could think of. Charlie answered patiently, clearly amused by her fascination. Later, when the fire burned low, Fred would sketch out new prank ideas while George watched Betty, Ginny now asleep against her. In those moments, she seemed out of place—like she didn't quite belong—and at the same time as if she had never belonged anywhere else. George had no words for it, but he knew Betty felt like part of the family now, in a way that couldn't be undone.
It was an afternoon like many others, the sun hung high, the hot air shimmering over the pond, and Betty sat in the grass between him and Fred, knees pulled up, blackberries in her hand, fingers and clothes with stains all over. Fred was unusually quiet—which usually meant he was planning something.
"Have you ever heard of the Unbreakable Vow?" he asked at last, dropping back into the grass.
George propped himself on his elbows. "'Course. That's just a tale, isn't it?"
Betty shook her head. "No. What's that?"
"A vow you can't break," Fred answered. "We should try it."
George raised an eyebrow. "On who?"
Fred grinned. "On Ron. He'll go along with it if we play it right."
"And who's holding the wand?" George asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Betty, obviously. She's the best at magic out of us."
Betty blinked, silent for a moment. But then she nodded slowly. "Okay."
"We just need a wand," Fred said at once.
George thought for a second. "Charlie won't notice if we borrow his. Betty distracts him, we'll grab it."
The plan took shape quickly. Betty waited at the foot of the stairs, drawing Charlie into a conversation about his dragon books, while George and Fred crept into his room. George's heart beat faster as Fred finally pulled the wand from under Charlie's bed. When they came back down, Betty was already waiting in the hall, hands tucked behind her back. She looked at them sharply, as if checking the plan had worked, then gave the faintest nod. Convincing Ron turned out easier than expected.
"Ron, want to see something really cool?" George asked.
Ron's head shot up. "What is it?"
"A vow you can't ever break," Fred said in his most serious voice. "But you've got to join in."
"Do I have to do anything?"
"Just swear," George told him. "Then you're with us no matter what."
Ron nodded eagerly, not quite understanding, and followed them upstairs.
In the twins' room, Fred shut the door and drew the curtains. Betty stood a little apart, clutching the wand tightly. She looked tense but said nothing.
"Okay, Ron," Fred began, "you just have to take my hand and swear you'll never tell on us again."
Ron hesitated but placed his hand in Fred's. "And then what?"
"Betty, hold the wand over us," Fred instructed, pointing at their joined hands.
George watched as Betty lifted the wand. Her fingers trembled the tiniest bit, her brow furrowed as if she were trying to concentrate. Fred recited the words solemnly, as if quoting an ancient ritual. Ron giggled nervously, clutching Fred's hand tighter, while Betty hovered the wand above them. George held his breath. Something about the way Betty clung to the wand made him shiver. Her lips were pressed tight, her green eyes fixed on their hands as though she knew she was crossing a line.
"Repeat after me," Fred said. "I, Ronald Weasley, swear—"
The door burst open. "Boys, have you seen—"
Dad stood in the doorway, watching the kids with furrowed brows. "What... are you doing?"
"We're doing an Unbreakable Vow," Ron said innocently. That caught him an angry look by Fred.
"You are... WHAT?!" Dad's voice errupted, his expression unlike anything George had ever seen on him.
Fred flinched and instantly let go of Ron's hand.
"Put the wand down," Dad said, his voice was so quiet it sounded more dangerous than any shout.
Betty froze, her hand trembling, then dropped the wand on the floor.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened?" His voice erupted, louder than George had ever heard. "An Unbreakable Vow! If you had broken it, Ron would have died!" His words cracked, each one sharper than the last.
Betty's eyes went wide as the force of Dad's voice hit her. She stumbled back, trembling, arms wrapping tightly around herself. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
"I didn't...know," she choked out, voice breaking. "I didn't want to—I never wanted—"
The words dissolved into sobs, her whole body trembling. His shout faltered as he saw her shaking in front of him,. etty sobbed, each breath tearing out of her chest. Then suddenly, it came a sharp crack—the sound of glass splintering. One of the windows shattered, thin cracks spread across the glass like spider webs. Her eyes flickered to it, horrified.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—" she gasped, her voice shaking.
Fred and George exchanged a look. They had seen magic flare like that before—fear too strong to hold back. Ron's sobs joined hers now. Dad's face tightened, torn between fury and helplessness.
"Molly!" he called, his voice cracking.
Mum was already running upstairs, kneeling beside both crying children.
She pulled Betty into her arms, murmuring, "Shh, it's alright, love. You're safe." She turned to Dad. "What happened, Arthur?"
"Unbreakable Vow. On Ron," he pressed.
Mum drew Ron close in her other arm while still holding onto Betty, patting Ron's back as his tears streaked down. Dad's shoulders sagged slightly and the tension in his jaw eased just enough for him to breathe. However, his eyes still glinted with anger and fear. George took a half step forward—but before he could move closer, their father's hand clamped down hard on his arm.
"OUT! Both of you."
The twins stumbled as Dad pulled them out of the room and down the stairs, their bare feet hitting the wooden floor. It was only when they reached the kitchen that he released them, turning on them with such fury they had never seen on him.
"For Merlin's sake, what possessed you? What made you think this was clever? Doing that to your little brother—dragging Betty into it—forcing her to hold the wand?" His voice rose with each word.
Fred's face drained of all colour, George kept his eyes fixed on the floor, both boys' heads bowed as if the weight of their father's rage pressed them down. Dad's chest heaved as he glared at them, his voice cracking with both anger and fear. "You don't play with death, not for a joke, not for a prank, not ever."
The twins remained silent. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and Dad's heavy breathing.
"From this moment," he went on, his voice lower, "You'll do chores, every one your mother asks of you, and not a word of complaint. And you will not so much as whisper about pranks until I can trust you again."
Fred swallowed hard. George nodded without looking up. But Dadwasn't done. His face softened for a moment, grief flickering beneath the anger.
"You put your brother's life in danger, did you know that? You terrified Betty by dragging her into it. You'll go upstairs and apologise—to both of them. Properly. They deserve nothing less."
Before going upstairs, George glanced back toward the sitting room. Betty still hadn't let anyone comfort her, her shoulders shook as she sat trembling, Mum's hand resting uselessly on her shoulder. As he turned, he caught his mother's muffled voice, low to Arthur, "I'll let Lucinda know to pick her up."
The house was unusually quiet once Betty was gone. The fire downstairs had died down, and night fell over the Burrow like a heavy blanket. Fred lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head. He hadn't moved in what felt like hours. Across the room, George lay turned toward the wall, but his eyes were just as wide open.
"Well... that was close," Fred muttered at last. He tried for a laugh, but it came out flat, swallowed by the silence.
George didn't answer. His mind replayed Betty's face again and again—white from fear, streaked with tears. And then there was Ron, not realising what could have happened to him, clining to Mum. He squeezed his pillow tighter; the restless, creeping guilt refused to go away.
"Dad said Ron could've died," he said finally. His voice was uncertain.
Fred shifted, scowling at the ceiling. "He exaggerates sometimes."
George shook his head in the dark. "Not this time."
"Do you think Betty will come back?" Fred asked quietly.
George shrugged, although he could feel the weight of the answer sitting in his chest. "Maybe... someday. But not soon."
Fred covered his face with both hands. "I hope she does. I liked her."
George turned his head on the pillow to glance at him. "Yeah. Me too." His voice was soft, but steady. They fell quiet again. After a long while, Fred spoke again, his voice low. "Maybe we should come up with something else. Something that doesn't end in..." He trailed off.
George rolled onto his back, staring into the dark. "Yeah. Maybe."
But long after Fred's breathing evened out and was replaced by an even, faint snoring, George stayed awake. The image of Betty clinging to her mother, too shaken even to look back. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had no urge to plan their next prank.