It's Always Been You
For as long as Fred can remember, it's always been George.
(How can it not be?)
It's George when they're three and their mum is parting their hair on opposite sides so she can tell them apart from across the room; it's George when they're four and Mum gives up, because one of them always changes the part, and they're both up to mischief at the same time anyway, so it doesn't matter which one she's yelling at. It's George when one of them falls off his broom at age six and breaks his ankle, and it's George when the other one leaps from his broom and breaks his ankle so they can still be identical. It's George when their Hogwarts letters come in one envelope. It's George when the Hat puts them in Gryffindor. It's George when they find the Marauders Map. It's George when they sit in their classes and take notes in messy handwriting that looks exactly the same.
And then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, it's Angelina.
"Fred," George says at breakfast, sweeping butter across his toast, "who're you taking to the Yule Ball?"
"You, if you'll have me," Fred says with a wink, and George begins to flutter his eyelashes and fan his face.
Across from them, Hermione rolls her eyes. "Honestly, you two, can't you take something seriously for once in your lives?"
"What's the matter, Hermione?" Fred asks. "Were you hoping to go with one of us?"
"Hate to disappoint you, darling, but we're taken now."
"Shame, really."
"You should have asked us sooner."
"Maybe we can include you and make a threesome. We're really quite flexible."
Hermione scoffs and goes back to the copy of the Daily Prophet she's been reading.
"Oy," George says, leaning over and tapping her newspaper. "Who won last night's Quidditch match? I had ten galleons on Holyhead."
Hermione leans back until the paper is out of his reach and continues to read in silence.
"Well, Georgie," Fred says, giving his brother a little mock bow. "Judging by that reaction, I'd say we're going to be alone for our little date."
"Oh, my," George says in a high-pitched voice that makes some neighboring Hufflepuffs look over at them. "What on Earth should I wear?"
"Something pink, no doubt," Fred says with an appraising nod. "You do want to be the prettiest girl at the Ball, don't you?"
"Oh, are we talking about the Ball?" Angelina Johnson sits down on Fred's other side and reaches over the table to scoop some scrambled eggs onto her plate. Her hair is damp from her morning shower, and it smells vaguely fruity, and it makes Fred sit up slightly straighter. "Have you lot asked anyone?"
"Yes," George says in his high-pitched voice, leaning to put his head on Fred's shoulder, just as Fred replies, "Not yet."
Angelina blinks, and then smirks. "I think that's the first time I've heard you two say something at the same time that wasn't identical," she says, stabbing her fork into her eggs.
"We're full of surprises," Fred and George say at the same time, and it's enough to get a laugh out of Angelina.
"But really, are you two actually taking each other to the Ball?" Angelina asks, eyebrows raised.
"Well, we were going to," George says, glancing at his brother. "But then we realized poor Hermione here didn't have a date, so we decided to put off our undying affection for each other a bit longer so one of us can take her."
"I do too have a date," comes Hermione's voice from behind the Prophet.
Angelina leans toward her. "Can you check in the Sports section if the Harpies won last night?" she asks. "I've bet George ten galleons they'd lose."
"Honestly," Hermione says, folding up her newspaper and narrowing her eyes. "Why is everyone at this school so obsessed with Quidditch?"
"Please," Fred says with a smirk. "You're just as obsessed as the rest of us."
"Don't try to tell us you don't want Krum's autograph," says George with an exaggerated wink.
"D'you think Krum has a date to the Yule Ball?"
"No idea. Maybe you could take Hermione, and I could take Krum?"
Hermione presses her mouth into a thin line and stands up, folding the Prophet over her arm. "Harpies lost," she says to Angelina. "George owes you ten galleons." She turns on her heel and stalks out of the Great Hall.
"She's just saying that," George says, but he looks nervous. "Holyhead's got a brilliant team this season, they couldn't—oy, you Ravenclaws, do any of you have the Prophet?" He gets up and all but runs across the room, quickly disappearing into the sea of students having breakfast.
"So," Angelina says, and Fred realizes he hasn't been able to look directly at her since she sat down. "In all honesty, do you have a date yet?"
Fred shrugs, looking down at his toast, and he can't figure out when he became so shy around her, because he's never been like this with girls—but then again, he's never liked a girl before, he's never wanted to spend time alone with one before, because it's always been George, always . . . but now George is somewhere else and Angelina is here and he's not sure how interactions like this are supposed to go.
"Who's asking?" he says as nonchalantly as he can, but he hears the awkward hitch in his voice.
"I am."
Fred blinks and finally looks up to meet her eye. "Oh?"
She shrugs. "Could be fun, that's all."
"Yeah," he says. "Could be."
(There's a smile creeping across his face, and it's quite different from the one he wears when he and George are causing mayhem.)
Angelina tucks a lock of damp hair behind her ear and gives him a smile of her own. "So it's settled?"
"I s'pose it is." Fred licks his lips. "D'you want me to ask George if he'll take Alicia, so we can do a Quidditch team group dinner beforehand or some—"
"No." She turns slightly pink after she says it. "I was thinking . . . just us."
"Oh." (Fred thinks he might be slightly pink as well.) "Angelina, I—"
"Harpies did win after all," George says triumphantly as he sits back down next to his brother. "You owe me ten galleons, Johnson."
Angelina smirks. "My boyfriend here will pay it on my behalf," she says, patting Fred on the shoulder and leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she's standing up and walking away. "See you in Charms," she says over her shoulder.
George turns to Fred. "Boyfriend?" he asks. "How long was I gone?"
"She's just my date," Fred says. His cheek is burning where her lips brushed it. "To the Yule Ball. She asked me." He looks up at George, eyes wide. "She asked me."
George lets out a low whistle. "Bravo, mate. I know you've had your eye on her."
Fred shrugs. "I s'pose, yeah. She's not bad-looking, or anything."
"And she's quite a good Chaser," George says.
"Right." Fred is still smiling. "And she's wicked funny."
"Nearly as funny as we are, I reckon."
"And her eyes—I dunno if you've ever noticed, but her eyes, they sort of glitter when she's laughing? Like she's in on a much bigger joke that no one else knows about, and I just—I really want to know what it is, you know?"
George raises his eyebrows. "I can honestly say that I've never noticed that, no."
"Ah, I dunno." Fred shrugs and shoves the last of his toast into his mouth. "Maybe I just have a crush."
"Just a crush?" George echoes. "I don't think so, mate. I think there's really something there for this girl."
Fred tries to snort, but it comes out like a weak chuckle. "Really," he says as he stands up and gathers his bag. "She's just a girl. They come and go."
"I've seen how you act around girls," George says as he follows suit. "And it's much different from how you act with Angelina."
"Is it?" (Fred is talking to George, he's walking with George, he's looking at George, but everything in his head is Angelina and the smell of her faintly fruity hair. . . .)
"Frederick," George says as Fred nearly runs into a wall. "Merlin. Did she spike your drink with Amortentia or something?"
Fred shakes his head. "Didn't drink anything. I think it's just her."
George looks at him fondly and shakes his head. "If I didn't know any better," he says in his high-pitched voice, "I think I'd be jealous."
Fred grins and loops his arm through his brother's. "Come on, George. No need to be jealous. You know it's always been you."
Quidditch League Round 4: Getting Those Feelings Out
Holyhead Harpies, Seeker
Prompt: emotion of love (without mentioning the word love); I interpreted this as both "puppy love" and "familial love"
Word Count: 1,427