WOO. THIS ISN'T AU ITS REAL YES
George and Fred have shared a room since - well if you count their time in utero…it's been a long time. Which means they've been there for it all: nightmares, bed wetting, insomnia, and in George's case, Fred's sleep talking. And though they don't share such close quarters any more on a regular basis, staying at the Burrow for the holidays is a fair guarantee that they'll be snuggled up together once again.
The talking though, tends to be short little blurbs of conversation, if it can be called that, usually unintelligible snippets with varied emotions from extreme anger to uninhibited elation.
This particular evening, it's both complete sentences and something close to happiness, but the meaning remains elusive. Still, it's nice when Fred dreams about something other than Death Eaters and destruction - which is less often than most would think this long after the war.
After a moment of hesitation, George glances at the clock on his nightstand - the same one with some strange foreign cartoon Charlie sent from Romania his first year abroad - and sees it's just three-oh-five. He grabs a make shift projectile from the floor and lobs it at Fred's bum. "Oi!"
Fred leaps from the bed and thuds to the floor with a groan, "What the hell, George?"
"Oh, you're awake?" George asks, mock innocence making his tone sickly sweet, "It just so happens I have a question for you, lovely brother-of-mine."
Growling, Fred tosses the quaffle back and would have made excellent contact with George's head if not for their freaky twin 'I know what you're going to do next' connection and plops back onto his mussed sheets. "What."
"As you know, I tolerate and understand the whole sleep talking bit," George begins, with uncharacteristic gravity, "But why are you having a princess dragon dream - and why am I in it?"