Fred and George Weasley found themselves standing in their childhood room, full trunks abandoned near the door. George's hands were placed resolutely on his hips, and he was looking around the room as if displeased by something. Fred watched silently, considering his twin's feelings. It was their first time home under new pretense, and neither had a clue how to act. He decided a joke might put his brother at ease.
"Sorry, mate," Said Fred +said lightly, "It was all I could reserve at short notice."
George grinned and turned to look at him.
"Two beds, Freddie, are you serious?" He volleyed back.
"I didn't want reception to give us strange looks."
George absolutely cracked. He eyed the other Weasley with such disbelief and mirth before walking up to him and lacing his arms around the small of his back.
"We've given Mum enough heart attacks already, eh?" He said in a surprisingly gentle tone. The line caught Fred off guard. It was an uncommonly honest joke.
"Right, Georgie," he said, "Ten feet at all times."
It was only a taunt, but the disappointment on George's face was suddenly very obvious.
"Right," he echoed. Fred Hesitated. "No, you're right, Fred," George repeated, "As long as we're here, we shouldn't take any chances." Fred wasn't sure how this made him feel. It was impossible to imagine how any one member of their family might react to walking in on something private between them. He didn't want to think about it. He focused on the face his twin was making instead.
"Are you alright?" he asked. George took in a slow breath, eyes locked on the far window. His gaze flickered back to him.
"It's our room, Fred," he said quietly, "And I've missed sharing a bed more than I can tell you."
Fred felt the sentiment in every part of his body. To prevent the feeling from overwhelming him, he turned around. He felt George's eyes on him as he stood there, directionlessly. He impulsively walked over to his trunk and kicked it open, then began to unpack. George knew his brother had absolutely no interest in getting organized fresh off the Hogwarts Express, and he sat heavily on his own bed. He sighed as noiselessly as possible. He felt the urge to apologize, but he didn't know for what. He wondered if they were always going to dance like this. He wondered what Fred had meant when he said, "Do you want to just see where this goes?"
"Fred," he said very softly, "I love you."
The form of Fred's back paused deliberately. Something in his tone had made all the air in the room stop moving. George felt something writhe deep in his stomach. He stood up as if this would dispel it, and approached his twin. He leaned and kissed the back of his head unassumingly. "You go ahead and finish that up, mate," he said, "I'll be downstairs making sure nobody else is getting too comfortable." George rose without waiting to confirm that his brother had heard him. He felt colder with every step he took out of the room.
Fred, left behind with his trunk and his scattered thoughts put his face down against the open rim. It felt so much to him like he was at war with himself; caught up on every little thing and asking his brother to pay the difference. How do you meet him in the middle? Fred asked himself; but as always, no answers came.
"Fred," greeted Ron as George descended the stairs. He was sitting at the Burrow table and spreading jam on a piece of dark toast. Ginny was across from him, compiling a list of something-or-other that couldn't be read at a distance.
"Ron," greeted George, collecting himself into a presentably neutral state.
"Where's the other one?" Ginny asked without looking up from her list.
"What are you writing, Ginerva," George asked in return, completely ignoring her question. She didn't respond and George traipsed up to her and put both hands squarely on the back of her chair. He leaned forward and scanned a collection of semi-familiar names.
"Those are Quidditch players," he remarked. Ron rolled his eyes silently, knowing what Ginny would say next.
"Not just Quidditch players. The best players on the Holyhead Harpies to the worst," she said, adding Wilda Griffiths to the list.
"She thinks we're going to see the World Cup this year," said Ron lazily, taking a bite of bread.
"I didn't make it up, Ron. I overheard Percy talking to Mum," Ginny declared, putting down her quill.
"You should write for the Prophet with sources like those," continued Ron unfazed.
"Tell him to shut up, George," Ginny appealed, causing Ron's eyebrows to furrow in confusion for a moment. George squeezed his baby sister's shoulder, and casually began his departure.
"Do it yourself, Ginny. Invaluable skill, that," he said. Ron gave George the evil-eye all of the way out of the room. Fred entered at that moment, narrowly missing his brother. Ron shifted his attention to the newcomer and furrowed his eyebrows a second time.
"Fred?" He asked dubiously.
"I'm George, mate," said Fred. "These fifteen years have meant nothing to you, have they?"
Ginny smiled, and returned to her list. Ron stuffed the remainder of his breakfast in his mouth and leaned back in his chair, dedicatedly ignoring both siblings. Fred eyed The Burrows back door and thought he might find George through it when a different door opened magically, and Molly Weasley appeared from beyond it. Seeing a basket full to toppling with brown eggs, Fred went quickly to help her instead. It all felt so normal. At the very least, the lively crowd under The Burrow's roof was soothingly distracting.
True to their word, they slept apart, often talking long into the night. The way Fred's laugh became hoarse and breathless when he was giddy for lack of sleep made George's stomach tie in knots. The way that George made a soft low hum to indicate he had heard his brother when he was dozing off made the distance between them feel criminal to Fred. However, if both Weasleys were honest with their feelings, an empty room represented a tremendously provocative possibility. Laying there, in the quiet dark privacy of their own home, it begged the question; what would it mean to them to be completely alone? And with only one year left at Hogwarts, how long until they would find out?
On the final day before their departure, the twins took some time to themselves. They were both craving a small measure of solitude, and took off in the morning when the air was just starting to warm up.
The fields beyond The Burrow were much as they remembered them; summer had made the meadow pale, and the air fragrant. They wandered until they felt confidently unnoticeable, and came to a stop where the grass grew tallest. Fred sat down quite heavily, and fell backwards, tucking his hands underneath his head. George smiled at him for a moment before sitting down next to him. Fred reached out aimlessly for his brother's hand and George provided it. He rubbed over his twin's fingers very gently, and George was momentarily enrapt by the feeling. He closed his eyes and listened to the musical call of a thrush somewhere on the horizon. He wanted to tell Fred he loved him. Something held him back. He turned his sibling's hand over and lifted it to his lips, burying the words in his brother's palm.