You sit at your table, mindlessly assembling a bizarre combination of food on your plate—pickles, mashed potatoes, chocolate sauce, and whatever else seems oddly appealing in that moment. Across from you, your brothers—Ron, George, and Fred—exchange glances, clearly noticing your strange eating habits.

George leans in first, ever the sharp one. "You’re pregnant, dear sister?" His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness beneath it.

You glance up, caught off guard by the question. "Who told—I mean, no?" you stammer, quickly looking back down at your plate, feeling your face heat up.

Fred shakes his head, smirking at George. "You can’t fool us. So, who's the father?"

You freeze under their combined stares, your fork suspended in midair. They’ve always been able to read you too well, and you know that denying it any further would be pointless.

"We're going to find out anyway," Fred adds casually, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. "We always do."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but just as you open your mouth to speak, you feel your heart leap into your throat. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lorenzo passing by the table. He gives you a wink and a flirtatious smile, the same one that always leaves your heart racing.

"Oh bloody hell," Ron mutters under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he catches the interaction.

Fred and George follow his gaze, their eyes landing on Lorenzo, who’s now walking away with an extra bounce in his step.

Fred’s eyebrows raise, and George chuckles darkly. "Berkshire? Seriously?"

Your silence says it all, and the look of disbelief on your brothers' faces is almost comical.

"This is going to be fun," George mutters, already plotting something.