Chapter Text
Someone, somewhere, must have absolutely hated them.
Briefly, they wondered if they ever did anything so wrong as to garner such a horrible fate.
They hadn't done anything bad... well mischievous yes, but bad? Never!
They hadn't stolen anything.
They hadn't killed anyone. They hadn't lie… well, technically, telling Ginny that her hair looked fine (even though it didn't, due to a strange occurrence of flying birds, whizbangs, and an all too conveniently placed jar of hippogriff feed), wasn't a complete lie, right?
Certainly, trying to appease a homicidal little sister didn't induce karma to such an extent, did it? Besides, they were acting on their survival instinct, and their survival instinct told them not to comment on what a mess the birds had done to her normally straight red locks. Nor should they comment on how her normally straight red locks had spontaneously turned a little purple (well, Fred thought it was more of a navy blue).
Also, they hadn't locked anyone up in a closet anytime... recently.
Nor had they exchanged anyone's favorite bottle of strawberry mint shampoo into a bottle of that wonderful thingy muggles called superglue. Once again, their survival instinct had told them not to comment on why Ginny's normally flowing straight hair was stuck up in random spikes like that also, oh so wonderful thing, muggles called porcupines. Those hair needles could practically poke your eyes out, mind you. And they were mischievous, not suicidal.
Thinking back, the twins wondered what could have possibly set off such a horrible chain of events.
Did they offend someone? Nah, that couldn't be it.
Maybe someone wanted to get back at them for a prank they pulled? Plausible. But nobody ever out-pranked the Weasley twins. Not to say that they didn't try, of course. It was just that no one had yet succeeded, though.
Could it be that maybe someone just really hated them enough to hex them this terrible misfortune? But who would try to jinx them?
They had positively done nothing wrong. They were practically the embodiment of model wizards. The epitome of pureness and innocence! The greatness of all that is to be called -
"Fed! Reorge!"
A small, high-pitched voice shattered their reveries. The twins snapped to attention, eyes darting nervously at the little girl below them.
The small girl looked back at them through large brown owlish eyes, a small pout tugging at the corner of her pink lips as she cocked her head to the side. Seeing as how the two large men in front of her were refusing to respond or even offer any coherent sign of consciousness, she called out their names again.
Well, at least, what she believed were their names.
"Red? Weorge?" she called, this time a little uncertain.
Instead of replying, they gave her an incredulous look.
Oh no. Maybe she had gotten their names wrong? Puzzled, she nibbled tentatively at her lips and tried to remember. She couldn't really remember them well. It was as if there was a weird sort of haze that was fogging up her mind. All she could remember was red. A lot of red. And freckles. And fireworks? But just as soon as she thought about it, her face scrunched up again. What were fireworks?
This time, the little brown haired girl looked up at them expectantly, her brows furrowed in concentration as she stared at them with a pensive expression on her small, chubby face. Her cheeks were puffed out with a slight coat of pink, and her little button nose wrinkled in concentration.
Then, in a flash of inspired clarity, her eyes lit up. A grin bloomed across her face as she bounced on the balls of her tiny feet.
"Red" she shouted, this time a little louder, pointing at the red-headed boy (er, one of the red-headed boys) again. "Reorge!" now pointing at the other twin.
She gave them another dazzling smile and launched herself at them.
Unfortunately for Fred and George, this miniature bundle of energy barely reached their knees.
The result? The twins, legs hopelessly entangled by the enthusiastic five-year-old, tottered like two wobbly towers.
Cautiously, eyes wide with disbelief, the twins looked down at the girl and back at each other. And then down again.
And sure it enough, there was a little girl flouncing in front of them.
A little girl who wasn't supposed to be a little girl.
So how in Merlin's name had they managed to turn a 18-year-old girl, not to mention their brother's best friend, into a 5-year-old?