"no, a little more to the--" and George grabbed Fred's hand, and tugged it just a fraction of an inch to the left, and then he let out a soft 'sigh', in the stillness of the room. "Yes. there."
"you're welcome," Fred says, into the room, except his voice was too loud, and it echoed. He didn't know how George did it, managed to keep his tone quiet enough to make no ripples on the walls.
They pick up a girl in London proper, a Muggle that seems to have found her way to their neighborhood wizard pub. She seems to know what wizards are, because she's hanging with a girlfriend who has a wand.
"you two," she says, as they stumble the block to the back stairs leading to their flat. "I can't tell you two apart."
George whispered something into her ear, and she giggled. The girl had black hair, because it was a little odd trying to be with anyone with red hair - they inevitably looked too much like Ginny. "what did you say?" Fred asked, and in the still quiet of the middle of the night, it sounded brash.
George leaned over her shoulder, to open the door of their flat. "I told her you were bigger," he whispered to Fred, and his breath was hot in Fred's ear.
The shop was doing fantastically well. At least, they weren't broke yet.
"Perhaps toy swords," Fred mused.
"Swords? What?" asked George, irritated. He'd been irritated ever since some potion that'd been gargling away in their tiny kitchen had exploded. Couldn't truly blame him.
"Swords. I read about them in these Muggle comics Harry send us." Fred dug under the counter for one, and pulled out a comic book where all the pictures stood still, and ancient warriors did battle with one another. "Look. They're heroes, they fight one another."
"I don't see how that's very funny," George told him.
"Well, I don't know," and Fred tucked it away again. His face was burning, he was a bit embarrassed. "I liked reading them. There was one that talked all about these two heroes. They mattered so much to each other that when one died, he made the other promise to have them buried together."
"How'd he do that then, if he was dead?"
Fred sighed, and traipsed upstairs to check on the potion remains and whether they'd eaten through the counter yet. He called out loudly, "oh, nevermind."
Sometimes Fred picked up a girl or a boy without George. That night he picked up one of each, but the girl had red hair and the boy had light brown hair with red flecks. He sighed, and took a taxi home.
They didn't actually sleep together that often. It was too hot, for one, and for another there was always something to *do*.
"You know," said George, "I think these stink pellets are even worse than Zonko's."
Fred churned the cauldron happily. "I know they are."
They picked up an older witch, in her thirties or so, and brought her home. She seemed pureblood, at least she moved the way a pureblood seemed to. She could have been their mother. Fred, who'd had far too much firewhiskey to be good, giggled, and said, "psssst," over the sleeping woman.
George, perfectly soft, said, "ssshhh. You'll wake her."
Fred tried to be quiet. "I think she's a pureblood witch," he whispered, but too loud; she stirred, breathed in, and stilled again. "She could be related to us. We slept with someone we're related to," Fred said again. George looked at him for a long moment, and Fred rolled over.
He'd been up all night stirring the bloody cauldron again.
George snuck up and put his eyes over Fred's eyes. "Guess!" he said.
Fred answered, but his tone was dull, flat, quiet. "Ginny," he said.
George immediately took both his hands off Fred's face. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," Fred told him. He'd been up all night with the cauldrons, and there'd been that boy the night before that. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm just tired," Fred said, but they both knew it was a lie.
"Heroes, huh?" George asked.
"What?" Fred said.
"Heroes," George said again. "Fighting in a war. Bond stronger than anything."
"I guess, I don't know," Fred told him.
George looped an arm around Fred's waist and lead him out the door.