Disclaimer: If this was real, do you REALLY think I'd be downstairs on a computer, writing about it? Didn't think so.
A/n: I got this idea from a friend of mine after we went and saw the fifth movie. It all kind of escalated into a "let's-ignore-the-bad-stuff-and-make-it-humorous/happy-instead." So excuse me for skipping along past the facts. Also, thanks, Katie.
Sometime last year… (aka chapter 1)
The moonlight did not filter. It burst – into the room and onto the floor in crystalline stripes, softly illuminating the old, worn, wooden floorboards. It stretched onward and conquered everything in its path…including the bed. It was this irritating fact that woke George Weasley from his most valuable sleep, so when he looked out the window only to discover that it was still in the early hours of the a.m., he managed to grumble his way underneath the covers, and fall back noiselessly asleep.
But not for long.
About an hour later, Fred woke up out of sheer, indiscriminate, randomness. And because of his tactless lack of appreciation, he followed the proverbial thread and woke his twin. "George…. George? George!" he shook the grumpy boy from a well-resting dream, and looked scandalized when George's temper flared.
"What are you on about, waking me up before sunrise?" He squinted in his near-blindness: it was dark and light all at once. The dark of the night still held fast to the walls and its shadows were still lingering…and yet, the moonlight seemed to draw itself – spitefully, in George's opinion – straight to Fred's pale skin and bright hair. This created a sort of halo…which of course was absurd. It was Fred, after all.
"I…I just wanted to say hi."
"At this hour in the morning?" Fred nodded. "Bloody hell, go back to bed!" and that was George's last comment on the situation.
"But…but…" Fred whimpered. He knew it was a pathetic attempt at being…well…pathetic. But all the same, he thought it was cute. Or he hoped, at the very least.
When the morning finally did approach, those moonlight stripes had been replaced: first by an ethereal light of soft green, then pale yellow, then finally, the sky was rewarded with its usual lively blue color. The bright light cascaded over the room, tumbling across the bed, heightening the all-around sharpness of the twins' features. It made their hair burn a bright, fiery shade of red; made their skin glow with a light of its own; made them seem like they were actually harmless. What a sight, right?
George was the first to notice this. He pulled back gently on the bed and propped his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the mattress. He remembered his little rant from last night, and he felt suddenly sorry. He reached out and lightly ran an open palm down Fred's side, barely brushing it. He let the hand rest on Fred's hip. Fred turned a little in his sleep and mumbled something.
"Fred." George felt bad for doing this, even if it was morning. "Fred wake up – it's morning."
A single, bright blue eye cracked open. "Is it, now?" George couldn't tell for sure if there was a malicious tone in that or not; it was too early. "Well then, I suppose I should be getting up; alright." He made to sit up, but before he could, George put an arm out across his chest to stop him.
"I'm sorry…for what I said. I was…out of line." He seemed like he was having a hard time saying that. It wasn't natural for a Weasley Twin, after all.
"Don't worry about it: you were tired." Fred shrugged it off.
That was one of the differences between Fred and George. Fred took everything with a wink and a shrug. George got too serious sometimes, when it was just them. Fred could always justify George's actions. Always. It didn't matter that he was sometimes wrong; all that mattered to Fred was that they were still together, in all senses of the word.
They lay there for a little while longer, just letting the sun warm their bodies; happy for the heat…it was winter, after all.
"George?"
"Yeah, Fred?"
"I'm cold." And with that, George went into action, wrapping his arms around his twin, snuggling up close to him, trying to share his own body heat.
"Any better?"
"Yeah."
And for a time, there was silence. George let his hands rub absentmindedly at Fred's neck, his back; his cheeks. Eventually – when he was awake enough – he planted a chaste kiss on his brother's neck, then his lips. Fred let out a soft sigh, and the kiss deepened, tongues gliding in sync with each other, all thoughts forgotten.
When the kiss ended, they both sighed against each other, and Fred said, "Hey George,"
"Yeah?"
"Did you realize that our door has been unlocked this entire time?"
"Oh…no, I…I didn't." A deep, truly Weasley blush hid his freckles from view. "God, can you imagine if someone had seen all that?"
George guffawed at the idea. "No! That would be bloody awful, and damn right hard to explain: 'Yes, that's right, Mum, Fred and I are snogging and to top it off, we're probably going to fuck one day.' Oh yes, that would be rich!" he shook his head in silent bewilderment of their own stupidity. You know why it would suck even more if we got caught?"
"Why?" Fred's tone was not of curiosity, but of amusement.
"Because then, we'd be separated. Then, I couldn't do this," and 'this' turned out to be a kiss: deep like before, only not as…rough. More like a quiet way of saying 'I love you.' And that was good enough for Fred.
"Yeah, I'd miss that." He said finally.
They both got up and went downstairs, looking forward to Christmas breakfast. It always was the best.