(A/N): R&R please! Flames will be laughed at and used to toast marshmallows; constructive criticism, on the other hand, is welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fred and George, Harry Potter, etc, etc.

Only

Summer fades in a distant swirl of color, the sultry damp heat of nights and scorching blaze of days dissipating under the chill caress of fall's temperamental breezes. The sky turns from a pure aqua dome to a mere shadow of its former self, the pale, disheartening shade of robin's-egg blue, and the merry green on the trees is replaced suddenly by dying red and brown. Days of laziness and relaxation are drawing to a close, soon to be usurped by weeks filled with endless study, strife, exhaustion, and my personal favorite – annoying teachers. As I sit at the window reflecting and brooding, the dread I've been restraining at having to leave these languid carefree days behind hits me full force and I press my forehead into my palms to try to shove it back down where it belongs. I love Hogwarts, don't get me wrong; it's like my second home. But here, at the Burrow, where I'm free to do what I want, where summer is still kept alive by memories, is where I want to stay.

We have a night of liberty left. It's not enough; I hunger for more, and the reasons why are simple enough. Late nights, sleeping in, free time to scheme with Fred about new products for the joke shop. He and I spend every moment together here, a good portion of it alone, holed up in our room so Mum doesn't find out what we're up to when we're making price lists or designing new things to promote at Hogwarts and start screeching, in her siren wail, that we'll never amount to anything if all we do is sit around and devote every waking second to pointless things like designing "ridiculous cheap toys". It's hard to make progress when your inventions keep getting stolen right out from under your nose and done away with.

I turn from the window then to check on my slumbering twin, sprawled out languorously on his bed, mouth half open as he breathes heavily in and out. One long leg trails off the side of the bed like an incomplete sentence. His expression is one of calm, restful peace, and I wonder idly what he is dreaming about.

He is so beautiful.

Even now, two months after I first realized I was in love with him, I shudder at the blatant wrongness of that thought. Fred is my brother and I am not supposed to feel this way about him. Well, Mum and Dad did a good job, I think dully. Raised me right. I have a conscience and the guilt I feel almost constantly when I'm around him is bordering on unbearable, but I'm teaching myself to ignore it. I can't help myself, I love him, ache for him, need him, and it's time I start to brush the shame aside.

It's too bad he'd never feel the same about me.

That's why I keep the secret. I am too afraid to tell him and be rejected. I am too afraid of the revolt that I know I'll see in his eyes if I ever decide to spill my heart to him. I cherish the relationship we have right now too much to risk it. And that being confirmed, I push my forbidden love from my mind – I can't brood. It tears me apart inside.

"Fred! George! Dinner!"

It's Mum knocking softly at our door. I yell that we'll be down, rising from my seat at the window to go wake my twin, who hasn't moved a muscle since I last looked at him. As I bend over him uncertainly, loath to disturb his obvious peace, he stirs as though sensing me hovering there, his sleep-bleary eyes fluttering drowsily open. We lock gazes.

"Dinner," I say, an apology in my grin.

He groans. "Do we have to?"

"Yes. I'm starved and I'm not going down there without you. Come on..." My voice takes on the coaxing quality that always works on him and, sure enough, he sits up, shooting me a halfhearted glare but obliging my request all the same. I offer my hand. He takes it, uses it to pull himself to his feet, smiles at me. I try not to show that I'm basking in his attention.

"Dinner better be good," he says in an unconvincing growl.

I grin again but say nothing and he puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me around, and pushes me gently out the door.

Dinner is a dull affair; we sit at Percy's end of the table, which turns out to be a tremendous mistake. We have to endure an hour of his arrogant rubbish about Mr. Crouch, Mr. Crouch, and, oh yeah, Mr. Crouch before we finally start whispering together, as inconspicuously as we can, about plans for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. At several points in the conversation his face is so close to mine I have to steel myself against pulling him close and planting a wet kiss right on his open mouth; then, when I've mastered that impulse, using a herculean effort, I have to remind myself that it is not only impolite to stare (thinking this makes me smile inwardly. It makes me sound too proper for my own good), but it could possibly be a huge giveaway if I am unable to keep my eyes off him all night. Accordingly, I do not have much time to keep up with his ideas, so I am glad when Mum announces that it is time for all of us that are off to Hogwarts the following morning to go to bed. We go quietly. It's not as though we're tired but she never knows when we stay up to talk late into the night. My twin and I say goodnight to our family, Harry, and Hermione from the stairs. Then we close ourselves off for the night.

Immediately Fred turns to me and says, catching my gaze to ensure the honesty of my answer, "George...are you okay? You seem sort of – I dunno – distant."

My heartbeat pounds a violent rhythm in my chest and my palms begin to sweat as the automatic pessimist in me declares darkly, he knows. "Er," I say aloud, taking a brave stab at calm and missing by a few mere inches. "Yeah. I just don't want summer to end."

This, apparently, is the appropriate answer, because Fred pulls a glum face as he crosses to the window to stare glumly at the roiling, moody sky, the clouds it holds visible even in twilight. "I know what you mean," he says. "I don't like Mum nosing around in our stuff and I'm dead tired of Percy, but everything good about summer makes up for that. I love doing what we want when we want."

"Within reason," I add reflexively, "but I suppose being at Hogwarts will make it easier for us to invent freely."

Fred laughs fondly. "Without Mum in our way, yeah, definitely."

I go to stand by him for a moment and say softly, "Although I'm not looking forward to the rain."

We can never sleep when it rains. Something about it keeps us awake, instills an insatiable restlessness in us so we're left unable to allow ourselves to be pulled into sleep's clutches. I have that feeling right now, and sure enough, as I peer out of the clear glass panes over his shoulder, I can see little droplets of water falling from the clouds. The moon and stars are hidden, but I see clearly the patch of gray behind which the moon is concealed; it is lighter than the rest of the mass, which is an ominous, opaque, monotonous black as far as I can see.

"Great," I say, a caustic bite to my voice. "Perfect ending to a perfect day."

"Ah, it's not as though we were tired anyway," he answers dismissively. "Cheer up or I'll have to accidentally fail to notice you standing in the way of one of my excellent Cheering Charms."

I snort, taking up the banter. "If you can even remember how to do one properly, that is."

Fred turns, playful fury on his face. "Now, Georgie, I don't want to have to hex you."

"Yeah, yeah, or curse me, or anything like that," I say in bored tones. "If you're going to do it get on with it so I can retaliate." I make sure he sees me dig into the waistband of my jeans for my wand, and I know he is considering his options. What I don't understand is why his eyes linger on my hip much longer than my hand stays there. Before I have time to think about this he says slowly, "Nah...I don't think you could handle it if I decided to jinx you."

"Coward," I tease.

"Arse." Fred pushes my shoulder gently as he walks over to his bed. I follow suit, yanking off my shirt and tossing it to the floor before falling gracelessly onto my mattress, from whence I watch him as he undresses, not bothering to be surreptitious about my unbroken gaze; his back is turned, he can't see me anyway. My eyes follow his every move, taking him in, his beauty. When he turns slightly to throw his clothes into the laundry bin I study his profile, falling in love for the millionth time with the way his silken fiery hair tumbles loosely into glittering, mischievous eyes; his pretty lips, his toned, gorgeous body. He is a physical masterpiece and one thing is for sure: I do not see that when I look into the mirror. So much for – as Mum calls us "identical down to the last freckle."

He catches me watching him, grins. I am amazed to see a pale flush blossoming on his face. "What?"

I silently curse myself for my carelessness. It is too easy to get lost in thought when I allow myself to stare at him like that. "Nothing." Yeah, great answer, George. Real convincing. "Just thinking."

Fred adjusts his boxers, and I refuse to let myself watch. He walks over to the light switch and makes to turn it off, but stops with his finger poised over it, turning to give me a look that I cannot interpret. That gives me a shock; I've always been able to read him, no matter what. But before I can begin to freak out about that, he shuts the light off and, jumping catlike on top of his covers, he says, "Dare I ask about what?"

"I don't know, do you?" I answer, trying to keep my voice level. My heart is throbbing madly again, so loud I am sure he can hear it.

Fred says, "I would, but I have a funny feeling the answer I'll get will be a lie."

"Correct," I say with a sigh. "Sorry."

"No problem." I can tell he, also, is struggling to achieve a casual tone. "I've got a secret, too."

While I give myself time to comprehend this, a relatively comfortable cessation of conversation takes over. Then I say confidently, "You know."

"Not quite." Fred sits up and looks over at me; I can see his eyes shining in the dark. "I don't know what it is. But you can't hide stuff from me for long, George. I know you."

"Well, you're obviously better at me than hiding, or I'd have figured out that you're keeping something from me,"I say, an embarrassingly grumpy note to my voice. I can't believe I haven't noticed. I always know.

"No, you wouldn't have," Fred says, in a maddeningly wise, matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I only just figured it out myself a couple of days ago. Besides, you're way too preoccupied with your own problems right now to try to figure me out, especially when – yeah, okay – I am better at hiding." There's a grin in his voice.

I laugh despite myself. "And you always have been."

He flops back down onto his pillow with a little sigh, allowing another lull in talk to follow. In the sudden, somehow deafening silence, I realize that is has stopped raining.

"Fred?" I whisper, at the exact same moment he says, "George?"

"Yeah?" we say as one. Then, "I'll tell you when I'm ready," we chorus, and laugh at our synchronicity. I roll over on my side, suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm tired; it doesn't take long for the rain-induced alertness to subside after the downpour has stopped.

"Goodnight, Fred," I say softly.

"Goodnight, George," he whispers. "I love you."

I manage to prevent euphoria from creeping into my words as I reply slowly, aware of what a very long time it's been since we've exchanged those sentiments aloud, "I love you too."

And with his words still reverberating around in my mind, I drift gently off to sleep.

Fin.

(A/N:) Let me know what you think! I have cookies! Lol.