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“What's it like to be a twin?”
That was a set of words George Weasley became acquainted with throughout his life. More than not he didn’t answer seriously, instead making a comment about how it's like having a roommate for life, being stuck with them until the rest of the semester, so you either learn to get along with them or suffer. Along with how bothersome it is sometimes to share almost everything with Fred - even toothpaste.
But he discovered after a while that the true question that people always wanted to ask first would usually come out of their mouths only a couple seconds later. It always happened the same way, every single time, without fail.
“Who’s the more intelligent?”
“Who’s less noisy?”
“Who’s the hardhead among twins?”
It would become awkwardly silent until they looked at each other and with a meaningful look, began to accuse who must be worse at what. At the beginning they would feel bad to hear the answers for these questions, particularly when one of them wasn’t favored, even when the responses were shared between them and worse when it was their mom and dad. There were times that because of this comparison they did quarrel.
The last time they encountered themselves in this type of situation was on their first year when one of the Gryffindor students were chatting about who was the better one amongst twins in the common room. And they’ve chosen George for him being less noisy, more behaved than Fred, who’s more talkative and brash. Not that they knew who was who. Regardless, that made George mad. Simply because they didn’t know what they’re talking about. He hated it when he was compared to his brother because of being identical in physique. Fred felt the same. Their House learned not to make the same mistake again after every student woke up smelling of something dead under their robes, a prank that even Professor Mcgonall couldn’t find a counterspell to.
That’s why they began to take turns. It happened that in March and July George was really bad at Poisons, and Fred only in February and December. On the weekdays Fred was an unbearable singer, but on the weekends he gave a performance worthy of the muggle award Hermione told them about - the Oswald Award or something.
They wouldn’t let silly things strangers talk tear them apart. They were better than that. Other than the petty squabbles that didn’t matter much when they grew up - except holding to the belief that 13 minutes meant he were the older brother - the problems didn’t fell on them, rather their parents, that had to learn how to raise two children at once after having Charlie and Bill getting out of Hogwarts. It meant double baby duty, double homework help for Percy - although their differences allowed them to help each other in the subjects they excelled in - and twice the cost. Thankfully Molly and Arthur were incredible to endure them.
Telepathy was also a point of curiosity among observers. They wouldn’t tell a soul, but contradicting the evidence that the twins could do telepathy - the complex complementary phrases and movements, the looks and lack of words - they couldn’t perform Occlumency, yet . It was that oftentimes, originating from the fact that they’ve always been together, they knew each other - they knew how they thought and decided on such things. So they always had the same thinking at the same time. Because of that they were seen as whole by everyone except for their family and close friends. By default most people saw them as “the twins”. They did not bother to see them as two separate people, and quite understandably pushed by the fact that it takes extra effort to tell twins apart. They learned to not be upset — they had to — after all, even their mother was confused at times.
But in reality George had an answer he didn't share with anyone besides Fred. It felt too intimate and personal to share with anyone else. That sometimes, he feels that his brother knows and understands him better than he knows himself. When Fred’s words confirmed what he thought, it brought relief to him. This meant that even if he didn’t understand himself, he had his brother there to fill that hole, and he would do the same in return.
He’s grateful for all their friends and family, of course. All of them care about him and Fred in their burning and endless way. They would kill for them — as Molly did killing Beatrix Leatrange at the Ministry. But George thinks Fred is the only one who would live for him. He’s already sure Fred would die for him too.
At six, after they celebrated Ron’s birthday at the Burrow and they felt somewhat left out — getting scolded for creating the sketch lines for their joke shop, sharing their ideas at the lunch table and everyone didn’t seem believe them — observing how mum caressed and kissed their little brother’s red smiling face, they go to bed earlier.
They’re both awake staring at the roof when George speaks into the dark.
“I think I loved you first, you know,” he whispers in the quiet stillness of the room,” I’m sorry if I took too long to tell you.”
Fred’s heart stops before thundering loud enough for both to hear. He rolls onto his side so they can face each other.
“Do you mean that?” He asks, tone even, shy. George can only see the outline of his body and the brightness of his eyes. Their red hair blurred, the mark they share with all Weasleys. They’re so equal, but so different. If the world could see them, right at that moment, he would say for sure they wouldn’t believe that was them.
“Yes,” he replies. Tone to show certainly, a rock for Fred to grab while he swims into this angry sea full of jealousy and pain.
After a while, that seemed too long, Fred’s face broke into something heartbreakingly happy. All for his worries forgotten. He gets up and jumps into George’s side, murmuring a response, while they both laugh and whisper their reassurances over and over with their faces burning with embarrassment replaced by comfort that spills out of their eyes.
They sleep soundly that night. And when Charlie steps at their door to wake them up, he couldn’t stop the smile from reaching his lips for the whole day.
People often get out of war being half of what they were. George felt no different. He longed for simpler times when he would often relish having the feeling of being whole again.
After the battle it didn't feel like a win. Not after they’d lost so much. After he lost so much. As he sat down on the cold marble floor where once was the Great Hall he had a fleeting thought that he couldn’t differentiate it from Fred’s skin — hand in hand. He heard people cheering and couldn’t even look at them.
The victory was lasting peace, not war.
And there, sitting beside his little brother's dead body, he wept. He cried like never before, like this was the first time he truly cried for it felt he would never cry like that again. He couldn’t feel anything rather than sorrow. How could his heart beat if it was sprailed for all of them to see. If it was bleeding, partied in half while he hugged the body closer enough to hoppufelly share his life with it. He wanted to share now — he wanted Fred to wake up, tell it was all a joke. He wanted his eyes to sparkle, his voice to shake, his hand to hold. But he didn't. He couldn’t.
The air didn't even have the decency of smelling like ashes.
George couldn’t stand mirrors anymore. Not when he saw Fred on his face every morning he tried washing his face or in the corner of his eyes when he turns to go to the kitchen. A painful reminder of what it was and what will never never be. He saw it on the extra seat at the table. The extra bed and the green toothbrush beside his purple one. On the set of clothes that were not his on the closet and the extra Christmas gifts at the bottom of the tree. He always ended up taking the two home, but there was a growing pile of unwrapped packages at his office. It was in the way mum would always make too much food, just enough for one more son to eat.
Still every time George sees a redhead man in the streets he stalls. He sees Fred everywhere because Fred was his everything and he still is. He can’t just not be a twin any longer. It was painfully awkward to not have that second company at night, at work, at life. Because that is what it is. His twin, his brother is dead. And nothing could bring him back.