...I Suppose It's A Twin Thing

...I Suppose It's A Twin Thing

Alicia's Tale

How many times did Wood drum it into our heads? I swear to God and all that's holy and magical in this world, if he'd come barging into the girl's changing room one more time after practise to tell us off for flirting with Fred and George, he would have been hexed by all of us into the middle of next week.

I don't think the other girls minded so much. They both knew that there was only one girl who was serious about one of the boys. And she had been since that first Quidditch practise in her second year. She was only a reserve then, and spent most of the session watching the two new second year Beaters hammer the seventh year Seeker and Chaser relentlessly. There was something so very wild about the two of them.

Then the two flame-haired wildmen dropped down to ground level, and suddenly those obnoxious Weasley twins that I'd been cursing like crazy all through my first year were a lot more bearable. Wood treated them like his own sons at times, and us girls as his daughters. And everyone rose to it. The five of us second years became inseparable, and Lee Jordan, the twins' friend, evened up the balance. With him commentating on all our matches, we were the closest pack of teenagers in any of the houses. And Wood's rules on the boys not dipping their quills in the team ink made sure that the group stayed completely platonic.

"Shag, snog, slobber or grope and you'll be off the team so quick that you'll burn your backsides on the grass when you land," he thundered at us, at least once a month.

George and Fred started signing off their messages with 'Slobbers and gropes' after that. One of us girls started dreading opening their posts in case someone spotted her blushing.

Inevitably, someone did.

Simply put, with Wood around, no-one could mess about with anyone else on the team. It didn't stop certain members of the team having feelings for certain other members.

Oh, God, this is so pathetic.

Look, when I was thirteen, I had a bit of a crush on the Weasley twins. They were really cute, had everyone in stitches and they flew like every second would be the last of their lives.

When I was fourteen, I thought that I'd grown out of it. Wood's drilling of us was more than successful. I completely ignored everything I was thinking about one of the twins. Everything.

Last year, George missed a Bludger in practise and it hit me on the shoulder. He was with me before I even realised that it had happened, and made sure I landed safely, and then got me to the hospital wing and held my hand the whole time that Madam Pomfrey was fixing the break.

When I woke up - I blacked out. Dreadful, I know - he was there, just watching me. And the look on his face sent a shiver down my spine.

And ever since then, I haven't been able to hide it at all. I'm absolutely crazy about George Weasley.

Katie Bell asked me once how I could fancy one of the twins, and not the other.

"I can't really see a difference," she said. "I suppose it's a twin thing. They even dress the same, never mind the way the act, the way they think..."

And she's right, sort of.

Except, well, she's not.

You can't expect me to me sensible about this, surely. Fred is Fred, but George is George. And with that, you get everything.

Fred and George are brash, loud, fun, incredibly smart, handsome, thoughtful and sweet.

But George is the quieter of the two, the more thoughtful, the slightly more sedate one. Together, they're the total package, but put them on their own and they're two different people.

Not very different, obviously. But a little bit. Sort of.

You have to know them, I guess. Which is why all the way through my second year, I sort of liked them both.

As I got to know them, I realised that there were differences. George was slightly calmer, while Fred was the better liar. Fred was the more restless but also the more energetic. George was the calmer twin when one of us had problems with our boyfriends, but when George spoke to the boy, he stayed spoken to, as my grandad always liked to say.

Something else that my grandad used to say: You pays your money and you takes your choice.

There wasn't much to choose between Fred and George, really. They were really very similar. But I had chosen. I'd chosen George.

Now all I had to do was get him to choose me, too.

It's not easy, getting your best friend to look at you as anything other than, well, your best friend.

It was last year that I owned up to Katie and Angelina about it all. Apart from Katie's comments about choosing one twin over the other - I think she has some secret fantasies regarding two identical men, but I don't want to think about that too deeply - they were really understanding and helped keep Oliver off the scent.

Of course, as all that time spent with Oliver was time spent with George as well...

For a time, I wondered how much of a point there was to it all. When we won the trophy, George celebrated with a sixth year girl in the boys' dormitory rather than with the team. I'm sure he didn't do it to spite me, but with the Cup in the bag and Oliver deliriously happy, it would have been the perfect time to finally say something to him.

Of course, I didn't, otherwise I wouldn't be telling you this. Sorry. It's just that, well, it's all a bit overwhelming. I do get a bit off topic when I talk about George.

Really, my story should start when Angelina came bursting into the dormitory a few weeks ago, just after the other schools showed up for the Tournament.

"Arsehole!"

Katie and I shared a look of amusement.

"What's Fred done this time?" Katie asked.

"I don't want to talk about that sod," Angelina snapped, lashing out at her trunk with a kick that made it topple over and spill its contents all over the floor.

"Well, o-"

"Do you know why he's a sod?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," Katie said, schooling her features into diplomatic blankness. I, meanwhile, buried my face in my pillow and tried not to laugh too loudly as the latest chapter in the Chronicles of Angelina and Frederick unfolded.

Over the next few weeks, there was a definite unbalancing of the group. Fred and Angelina weren't talking, and it was as though all the fun was gone. Try as they might, Lee and George were no match for Fred and George. Fred was too busy walking on eggshells around Angelina to even notice that his brother was suffering in his absence.

So when I left Angelina ranting to Lee and Katie in the library, only to walk in on the twins discussing ways for Fred to apologise to her, I couldn't help but grin.

Fred seemed thunderstruck by the concept of just apologising to Angelina, and while he sat and mulled the concept over, George and I...

Well, I don't know what was about to happen, because just then one of the fourth year girls came bursting into the room and telling everyone that there'd be a ball on Christmas Day.

George, of course, was swamped immediately. There must have been at least a dozen girls around him. There always is, whenever there's a Hogsmeade weekend or when there's a Quidditch match we're not involved in.

How can one girl, a friend for four years, compete against a group of girls he barely knows, who represent no ties and no complications?

I went to bed, suddenly very tired. I don't think he even noticed me leaving.

Tired or not, I didn't sleep very well. I hate this emotional rollercoaster that I've been on all year.

The next morning dawned grey and unpleasant. The best thing about not having Quidditch this year is the lack of early morning practises. We can actually stay in bed until nearly eight o'clock, which is just absolute bliss.

Fred and George, on the other hand, are always up early, beavering away on unfinished homework or their Wheezes. They reckon that they have to work here, because if they try at home then their mum destroys everything.

Today, though, George was the only one in the room.

"Where's Fred?"

"He's girding his loins," George replied, looking up from a Transfiguration essay with a maddening grin that told me that I'd get no more from him. He patted the sofa next to him, and I sat, a little uneasily. I had a feeling that he wanted to ask my advice about who to go to the ball with. He had the familiar look on his face that I'd seen innumerable times over the last few years, and my heart sank a little.

Good grief! my inner Oliver Wood roared. So he's not taking you to the ball. Are you going to let it affect your performance?

I snorted a laugh, and George's mouth hung open, whatever it was he'd been about to say momentarily halted.

I turned the snort into a less-than-convincing cough, and waved for George to go on.

"Er, are you okay?" he asked.

"Of course," I said. "Oh, it's a shame about Fred not being here, but I'm sure I can handle not seeing my favourite Weasley this early in the morning."

I grinned, but he looked a little strange.

"You went off to bed last night without saying anything," he said.

I coloured slightly, embarrassed that he'd noticed when I'd assumed that he wouldn't.

"Well, I... I didn't want to compete with your fan club, did I?"

George laughed. "Those girls who jumped me? They were gone a minute later when I told them that Fred had a date and I didn't know where Harry was."

I smiled, a little ruefully.

"Ali, really, is something wrong? I feel like I've barely seen you this year."

Probably because I'd been avoiding spending time with him, which may set a new record for patheticness.

"Did I do something to upset you?" he asked, more seriously than I've ever known him before. My breath catches in my throat as my inner Oliver screams at me to take the Quaffle and score.

"George, it's not you," I heard myself saying. "There's something I should tell you."

"Yes?" he asked.

"Well, it's just... The thing is... I've been meaning..."

"Yes?" he repeated, looking thoroughly bewildered.

I breathed out, and shut my eyes for a second. When I open my eyes, I though, I'm going to ask him.

I opened my eyes.

BANG!!!

"Morning, kids. Not interrupting anything, am I?"

I swear, if it weren't for the fact that it would have really upset George and probably crippled my chances of getting him to go to the ball with me, I would happily have killed Fred Weasley just then.

To be continued...