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Dating George Weasley isn’t as tiring as one might expect. Despite his mischievous personality and tendency to take nothing seriously, he’s been nothing but attentive, kind, and thoughtful for the two months you have been dating. The thought of him never fails to bring a smile to your face, just like the one stretched across your lips as you step through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. You scan the room, spotting Angelina, and waving as you make your way over to her. You are prevented from reaching her, however, by a call of your name from behind you. Spinning around, you’re met with two identical grinning faces. Your smile grows at the sight, as you look from one to the other.
“Hey honey!” They chorus in sync, causing you to raise a bemused eyebrow. ‘Honey’ wasn’t out of the ordinary for George, but Fred?
“Hi?” You reply cautiously, still looking from one to the other in an attempt to discern your boyfriend from his twin, to no avail. You frown to yourself. Normally, it’s no problem for you to tell the twins apart, but today they look especially similar. Both with their hands tucked jauntily into the pockets of their robes, both with that irritatingly familiar grin painted across their freckled faces.
“Oh look at that!” The ginger on the right coos. “Doesn’t she look confused. How adorable.”
“You’re right.” The one on the left observes. “What’s up darling, can’t tell us apart?”
But the way you can hear the smile in his voice, see the gleam in his eyes, has given the game away. You step closer to the boy on the right.
“Damn, Fred, you do a good impression, you know that?” The matching scowls on their faces has you bursting out laughing, as George looks at you calculatingly.
“How did you know?” He questions.
Your lips curl into a cocky grin. "A good magician never reveals their secrets."
You had expected another attempt to confuse you into not being able to tell Fred from George, but not quite so soon. It comes as a shock therefore, when you descend the stairs from your dormitory the next day, ready to meet George and head to breakfast together as you do every Thursday, and instead see two mops of shaggy red hair at the foot of the stairs, whispering together about something. You sigh and lean over the banister, calling "Good morning!" from the top of the stairs. Both boys look up at you with a soft smile, returning your greeting. This time, however, it's easier for you to tell them apart. George is standing to the right, gazing up at you adoringly. Fred is clearly *trying* to do the same, but his attempt looks more wistful than lovesick. You giggle to yourself. If that's how they're going to be, then you're going to have some fun of your own. When you reach the bottom of the stairs to stand beside the twins, you look at them, faux-confused and wide eyed, running a hand through your hair.
"Am I meant to guess who's who again?" You ask, in a perfect imitation of confused innocence.
"Is that you saying that you can't tell?" Fred asks victoriously. You see him and George exchange a look, clearly both believing your act.
"Well," you say thoughtfully, looking sweetly between them. "I'd know if you took off your shirt. George would have a hickey right-"
"OKAY, okay!" You're cut off by George, who is laughing, quite the contrast to Fred, who's turned bright red and seems to be choking on air. "There's no need to out me like that!" George takes a step towards you. "Morning love."
You compose yourself, holding in your laughter at Fred's reaction. "Hi Georgie!" You take his hand and pull him towards the Great Hall, shooting Fred an apologetic look and a "sorry" as George smacks him on the back.
"You knew from the beginning, didn't you?" George speaks as soon as you're out of the portrait hole.
"Of course I did. Did you really try to get Fred to copy your face?" You giggle, swinging your connected hands.
"Of course I did!" He responds, as if it's normal. "But how could you tell?"
You only laugh and shake your head.
It's the same thing when you stop off at the common room at lunch to drop off your book. Fred and George both look up from their conversation with Lee and call you over, both flirting and calling you "Love." You'd find it funny, if it wasn't for the looks on their faces when you instantly tell them apart. As if this is just the beginning.
Your suspicion is proven when you walk out of potions class, laughing at Roger Davies' desperate attempts to catch Cho's attention, to see both twins standing beside the door. They've clearly tried, again, to make themselves look identical.
"Hi Love! How was class?" The one on the left says.
"Davies being a prat again." The one on the right laughs. "Come watch our quidditch practise?"
"Sure!" You smile and roll your eyes. "So whose number am I wearing?" You ask sarcastically.
You see both grins grow wider.
"Mine, of course." The boy on the right speaks.
The boy on the left elbows his brother. "Don't be stupid, you'll we wearing mine."
You pray for strength, and an idea comes to you. You smile wickedly, before pulling absently at the neck of your robes, as if in deep thought. You carefully study the twins' reactions. The one on the left's eyes are locked on your neckline, his eyes widening interestedly as you pull it lower. The one on the right however, if looking to the side, carefully avoiding looking at you. You scoff.
"George, you bloody perv." You laugh, linking your arm through the boy on the left's.
He looks at you guiltily, as the three of you head towards the quidditch pitch.
The practise in uneventful, although Harry does pull off a spectacular catch of the snitch towards the end. As you always do on practises like these, you pull a textbook out of your bag, pretending to be absorbed in the boring words, but instead studying George's profile. You laugh to yourself. It's easy for you to tell them apart, even from this distance, and not just because of the names splashed across their backs. The subtle differences in their appearances and personalities have been ingrained in your mind from the years of friendship with them both. You are snapped out of your thoughts by George turning in mid air to wave at you with both hands, nearly falling off his broom in the process. You snort, waving back cheerily, and after that, George keeps his eyes fixed on the bludgers, much to your disappointment.
After the practise, a sweaty and muddy George sweeps you into a bone crushing hug.
"What's up with you?" Concern seeps into your voice as you pull back and study his face.
"Nothing." He hums, smiling softly. "I've just not seen you properly for ages."
"What are you talking about?" You laugh. "You've been pestering me all day!"
"Exactly." George pulls you back against his chest. "Pestering you. Not talking to you. Not properly."
You smile warmly. "You're so cute."
"Shut up." He groans, walking towards the castle with you pulled against his side.
When you get back to the common room, George heads to his dormitory to take a shower, leaving you sat on the sofa nearest the fire, listening to Celestina Warbeck on the radio. You are just drifting off when you feel the cushion dip beside you, a familiar voice speaking quietly. You can't quite make out the words he speaks, but you would recognise George's voice anywhere. You mumble sleepily and lean against his shoulder, wrapping a sleepy arm around his waist. You feel him freeze and suddenly notice that he smells different. The realisation hits you like a truck, accompanied by a celebratory yell coming from the top of the stairs leading to the boy's dormitories. You lurch back from Fred, apologising at the top of your voice.
"I'M SO SORRY, I'M SO SORRY, I WAS HALF ASLEEP, I THOUGHT YOU WERE GEORGE, I'M SORRY."
"We win!" You hear George yelling, certain this time that it's who you think it is. You feel him flounce down on the sofa on your other side.
You look up at him, frowning as you blink yourself more awake. "That doesn't count! I was literally asleep!"
"And Fred just came down to tell you that Angelina's looking for you. But you flopped all over him and so WE WIN!"
"Oh my God." You groan, flopping dramatically onto George this time. "I hate you."
"And I love you too." He sing-songs. "Let's get you to bed before you fall asleep."
"I wanna sleep here." You whine, grabbing onto his robes.
You feel his chest rumble as he laughs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sure thing."
And as you stumble into bed, you can't help but think that at least it's over.