Disclaimer: Not mine. No way, no how.
Twin by Sarah
You like being a twin.
People always ask you that, whether you like it or not, and you always reply, "It's what I am," because it is. You've never known what it's like to not be one, after all.
You, the two of you, are numbers four and five of seven children, but you always say, "We're the middle child." Who's to say who's four and who's five, after all? No one's even sure which one of you is which most of the time, except for your mother; she always seems to know despite your best efforts to confuse her.
You don't mind being confused with your brother, though. You don't mind when people call you Fred or when they call him George. It's funny, that's what it is, and there's nothing you like more in the world than jokes. It's what you live for, after all, you and Fred, and after you graduate from Hogwarts, you're planning on *making* it your life. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and all that, the two of you doing that together just like you do everything else.
People sometimes seem to think that you and Fred are one person, maybe because you're always together, maybe because they can never tell who is who. Sometimes individuality-conscious people apologize to you for that, saying things like, "No, Fred (or is it George?), I know that you're not George (or is it Fred?). I know the two of you are two different people." Because your mum brought you up to be polite, you always reply, "How *could* you confuse the two of us? And you call yourself my *friend*" while wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. It never really bothers you though because sometimes you agree with them; sometimes you can't really tell who's who either.
You are different people, of course, and you know this better than anyone else, except perhaps Fred. He's a little more outgoing and you're just a bit more bookish, and during Quidditch matches, he's more likely to send the Bludger in the direction of the nearest Slytherin while you're more likely to send it flying off into space, as far away from any person as possible. There are physical differences of course, too. You have a freckle on the very tip of your nose that he doesn't have, and his second toes are just as long as his big toes while yours aren't.
Thoughts-wise, though, you sometimes wonder. Sometimes you feel as if you share a brain. You don't know if it's a twin thing or not, but the two of you always seem to know what the other one is thinking and you always make leaps in conversation together, leaps that others just don't get. You like having a person with whom no explanations are necessary; it makes your life simpler, makes it move faster. It's doubly handy in terms of school because it means you can get your work done in half the time, leaving lots of time for other. more fun things. How does that saying go? Two minds are better than one and your two are best of all.
You like being a twin, being so closely connected with another person-a connection you certainly don't feel with the rest of your siblings. Sometimes you feel as if you don't really know them at all, no better than you know people you aren't related to. Bill and Charlie headed out into The Real World before you started in at Hogwarts. Percy is Percy and you're absolutely *sure* that he got all of the Weasley stuffy genes for your generation, leaving you without, something you're eternally grateful for. Ron is. the typical little brother, you guess. You understand him the way you suppose you're supposed to understand brothers, but you'll never share with him what you share with Fred. And Ginny is the baby, not to mention being a girl. You don't understand girls, not girls like Ginny anyway, the ones who play with dolls and would rather sew then splash around in some mud. You like girls who aren't afraid to take a Bludger to the stomach, to fall off their broom, or to sneak out of Hogwarts in the middle of night through one of your secret passageways.
So, in summary, you like being a twin. You wouldn't change it for the world.
Until you see her.
She absolutely blindsides you. At the end of one school year, she's just your little brother's best friend and should-be girlfriend, another reason to tease him until his faces is as pink as it can go, clashing sharply with the red hair that is the Weasley trademark. Then, suddenly, you're at the beginning of the next school year, the whole lot of you at Diagon Alley to get your supplies for the year, and she's just. She's more.
She's different, you know it, but you can't quite figure out how, can't quite put your finger on it. Maybe her hair is less frizzy, maybe she's taller, a little more delicate, or her voice a little more mature.
It's while you're staring at her that you wish, not for the first time in your memory-although it is a rare wish-that Fred didn't share your thought processes because he pokes you in the side-drawing your gaze away from her- and whispers, "Hermione's grown up a bit, hasn't she? Lookin' good, ain't she?" You don't hate him per se when he has the gall, no, the *guts* to go up to her and lay an arm across her shoulders, giving her a half hug, but you wish it had been you. Despite all of your similarities, your purported interchangeability, you wish you were him.
He says something to her, you don't know what, and she giggles and blushes and you feel something akin to a rolling boil in your veins. You don't know what the cause of it is-the fact that you don't know what he said (you know what you would have said, but for some reason you don't want him saying those things to her) or the fact that he was able to draw such a reaction from her.
"George," she says when you step forward and you smile widely, hoping you aren't blushing, because that shade of pink looks just as unattractive on you as it does Ron.
"Hermione," you say and you like the way her name rolls off of your tongue. "Fred and I are going to kidnap you today." It's never one or the other of you, after all, and saying 'I'm going to kidnap you' would be utterly suspicious. "My little brother doesn't deserve to be seen in the presence of such a beautiful lady."
She blushes again, giggles again, and for a few moments, you feel good that you were able to make her do that, too. Then she says, "Funny, that's exactly what Fred said," and happiness turns to ash in your throat. You grin anyway, of course, widely, showing as many teeth as possible because if the Weasley twins aren't smiling, something is definitely wrong. You knew what you would say to her, after all, but you didn't want him to say it, too, first.
It's a very odd feeling as you stare at the two of them, Fred's arm still draped around her shoulders, because you suddenly feel like he's an intruder. He's trespassing on your property when there's never been a property line before. All of your previous relationships have been something that you and Fred have done together, a date me, date my brother sort of thing. You're a team, after all, and when you double date, because you always do, you always find girls whom you both like, who get on well together. Girls who don't mind you and Fred finishing each other's sentences or turning into a canary if they eat one of your now infamous Canary Creams. You and Fred like to say that you know how to pick them, because you do. You both like to think you have very good taste.
Suddenly, though, something is different. You don't want him to know what you're feeling, you don't want him to feel what you're feeling, and it feels wrong, because that's what's tied you together for all seventeen years of your lives.
For the first time you want to be alone in something and for the first time, you realize, you *are* alone. You know he doesn't feel the change in the girl standing in front of you, beside him, he only sees it. He's reacting to her like he would to any pretty girl in Ron's company, like you would to any *other* pretty girl in Ron's company. You know that you're the only one of the two of you to seen that Hermione is suddenly so much more, because you know Fred's type-sporty, Quidditchy-and she definitely isn't it. Part of you is glad, though, because you're suddenly feeling selfish and you want to be the only one to see the change in her. You want to lock these thoughts you're suddenly thinking away in a place inside your brain that Fred can't reach, because you don't want him to start trying to figure out what you suddenly see in her, you don't want him to see those things.
"Well," you say awkwardly, knowing that only a moment has passed although you feel different, awkward, stranded without your backup, your second who is always there. "You know what they say. Great minds think alike."
Fred laughs like you knew he would. He says the words you expect. "And our minds are the best of all."
"Come on, Hermione, Harry," Ron says, glaring at you both. "We want to be well away from them when they start whatever pranks they have planned for today." He grabs her sleeve, tugging her along, out from under Fred's arm. Harry Potter follows close behind.
She laughs at Ron's words, says, "Yes, I suppose you're right," and then nods at you both. "Fred, George."
And you hate that she's leaving with Ron, because you know that he can't appreciate her the way you suddenly do, he's told you as much every time you've teased him about her for the last four years. You hate that she agrees with him so readily, is so ready to see you as nothing more than one half of a pair of jokesters (no matter that you've spent your whole life wanting nothing more than to be one half of that pair, despite that you have four fake wands and a handful of Tongue-Ton Toffees in your pocket). Indignation bubbles inside of you suddenly and you want to show her that you're more than that, you *want* to be more than that.
You open your mouth to say something to Fred about that, but he's already calling out after them, "Run, run far, far away, you cowards!" You close your mouth, because you never would have said that, not to her, and you don't say anything because you realize that he wouldn't understand. And, as you watch her leave, you realize that you don't want to explain it to him because the feelings coursing through you are *mine* not *ours* and that, you realize, scares you most of all.
Twin by Sarah
You like being a twin.
People always ask you that, whether you like it or not, and you always reply, "It's what I am," because it is. You've never known what it's like to not be one, after all.
You, the two of you, are numbers four and five of seven children, but you always say, "We're the middle child." Who's to say who's four and who's five, after all? No one's even sure which one of you is which most of the time, except for your mother; she always seems to know despite your best efforts to confuse her.
You don't mind being confused with your brother, though. You don't mind when people call you Fred or when they call him George. It's funny, that's what it is, and there's nothing you like more in the world than jokes. It's what you live for, after all, you and Fred, and after you graduate from Hogwarts, you're planning on *making* it your life. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and all that, the two of you doing that together just like you do everything else.
People sometimes seem to think that you and Fred are one person, maybe because you're always together, maybe because they can never tell who is who. Sometimes individuality-conscious people apologize to you for that, saying things like, "No, Fred (or is it George?), I know that you're not George (or is it Fred?). I know the two of you are two different people." Because your mum brought you up to be polite, you always reply, "How *could* you confuse the two of us? And you call yourself my *friend*" while wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. It never really bothers you though because sometimes you agree with them; sometimes you can't really tell who's who either.
You are different people, of course, and you know this better than anyone else, except perhaps Fred. He's a little more outgoing and you're just a bit more bookish, and during Quidditch matches, he's more likely to send the Bludger in the direction of the nearest Slytherin while you're more likely to send it flying off into space, as far away from any person as possible. There are physical differences of course, too. You have a freckle on the very tip of your nose that he doesn't have, and his second toes are just as long as his big toes while yours aren't.
Thoughts-wise, though, you sometimes wonder. Sometimes you feel as if you share a brain. You don't know if it's a twin thing or not, but the two of you always seem to know what the other one is thinking and you always make leaps in conversation together, leaps that others just don't get. You like having a person with whom no explanations are necessary; it makes your life simpler, makes it move faster. It's doubly handy in terms of school because it means you can get your work done in half the time, leaving lots of time for other. more fun things. How does that saying go? Two minds are better than one and your two are best of all.
You like being a twin, being so closely connected with another person-a connection you certainly don't feel with the rest of your siblings. Sometimes you feel as if you don't really know them at all, no better than you know people you aren't related to. Bill and Charlie headed out into The Real World before you started in at Hogwarts. Percy is Percy and you're absolutely *sure* that he got all of the Weasley stuffy genes for your generation, leaving you without, something you're eternally grateful for. Ron is. the typical little brother, you guess. You understand him the way you suppose you're supposed to understand brothers, but you'll never share with him what you share with Fred. And Ginny is the baby, not to mention being a girl. You don't understand girls, not girls like Ginny anyway, the ones who play with dolls and would rather sew then splash around in some mud. You like girls who aren't afraid to take a Bludger to the stomach, to fall off their broom, or to sneak out of Hogwarts in the middle of night through one of your secret passageways.
So, in summary, you like being a twin. You wouldn't change it for the world.
Until you see her.
She absolutely blindsides you. At the end of one school year, she's just your little brother's best friend and should-be girlfriend, another reason to tease him until his faces is as pink as it can go, clashing sharply with the red hair that is the Weasley trademark. Then, suddenly, you're at the beginning of the next school year, the whole lot of you at Diagon Alley to get your supplies for the year, and she's just. She's more.
She's different, you know it, but you can't quite figure out how, can't quite put your finger on it. Maybe her hair is less frizzy, maybe she's taller, a little more delicate, or her voice a little more mature.
It's while you're staring at her that you wish, not for the first time in your memory-although it is a rare wish-that Fred didn't share your thought processes because he pokes you in the side-drawing your gaze away from her- and whispers, "Hermione's grown up a bit, hasn't she? Lookin' good, ain't she?" You don't hate him per se when he has the gall, no, the *guts* to go up to her and lay an arm across her shoulders, giving her a half hug, but you wish it had been you. Despite all of your similarities, your purported interchangeability, you wish you were him.
He says something to her, you don't know what, and she giggles and blushes and you feel something akin to a rolling boil in your veins. You don't know what the cause of it is-the fact that you don't know what he said (you know what you would have said, but for some reason you don't want him saying those things to her) or the fact that he was able to draw such a reaction from her.
"George," she says when you step forward and you smile widely, hoping you aren't blushing, because that shade of pink looks just as unattractive on you as it does Ron.
"Hermione," you say and you like the way her name rolls off of your tongue. "Fred and I are going to kidnap you today." It's never one or the other of you, after all, and saying 'I'm going to kidnap you' would be utterly suspicious. "My little brother doesn't deserve to be seen in the presence of such a beautiful lady."
She blushes again, giggles again, and for a few moments, you feel good that you were able to make her do that, too. Then she says, "Funny, that's exactly what Fred said," and happiness turns to ash in your throat. You grin anyway, of course, widely, showing as many teeth as possible because if the Weasley twins aren't smiling, something is definitely wrong. You knew what you would say to her, after all, but you didn't want him to say it, too, first.
It's a very odd feeling as you stare at the two of them, Fred's arm still draped around her shoulders, because you suddenly feel like he's an intruder. He's trespassing on your property when there's never been a property line before. All of your previous relationships have been something that you and Fred have done together, a date me, date my brother sort of thing. You're a team, after all, and when you double date, because you always do, you always find girls whom you both like, who get on well together. Girls who don't mind you and Fred finishing each other's sentences or turning into a canary if they eat one of your now infamous Canary Creams. You and Fred like to say that you know how to pick them, because you do. You both like to think you have very good taste.
Suddenly, though, something is different. You don't want him to know what you're feeling, you don't want him to feel what you're feeling, and it feels wrong, because that's what's tied you together for all seventeen years of your lives.
For the first time you want to be alone in something and for the first time, you realize, you *are* alone. You know he doesn't feel the change in the girl standing in front of you, beside him, he only sees it. He's reacting to her like he would to any pretty girl in Ron's company, like you would to any *other* pretty girl in Ron's company. You know that you're the only one of the two of you to seen that Hermione is suddenly so much more, because you know Fred's type-sporty, Quidditchy-and she definitely isn't it. Part of you is glad, though, because you're suddenly feeling selfish and you want to be the only one to see the change in her. You want to lock these thoughts you're suddenly thinking away in a place inside your brain that Fred can't reach, because you don't want him to start trying to figure out what you suddenly see in her, you don't want him to see those things.
"Well," you say awkwardly, knowing that only a moment has passed although you feel different, awkward, stranded without your backup, your second who is always there. "You know what they say. Great minds think alike."
Fred laughs like you knew he would. He says the words you expect. "And our minds are the best of all."
"Come on, Hermione, Harry," Ron says, glaring at you both. "We want to be well away from them when they start whatever pranks they have planned for today." He grabs her sleeve, tugging her along, out from under Fred's arm. Harry Potter follows close behind.
She laughs at Ron's words, says, "Yes, I suppose you're right," and then nods at you both. "Fred, George."
And you hate that she's leaving with Ron, because you know that he can't appreciate her the way you suddenly do, he's told you as much every time you've teased him about her for the last four years. You hate that she agrees with him so readily, is so ready to see you as nothing more than one half of a pair of jokesters (no matter that you've spent your whole life wanting nothing more than to be one half of that pair, despite that you have four fake wands and a handful of Tongue-Ton Toffees in your pocket). Indignation bubbles inside of you suddenly and you want to show her that you're more than that, you *want* to be more than that.
You open your mouth to say something to Fred about that, but he's already calling out after them, "Run, run far, far away, you cowards!" You close your mouth, because you never would have said that, not to her, and you don't say anything because you realize that he wouldn't understand. And, as you watch her leave, you realize that you don't want to explain it to him because the feelings coursing through you are *mine* not *ours* and that, you realize, scares you most of all.