Lemon Grass and Sleep

TOP AND TAIL...SUPPOSEDLY

"Wow, your hair is even fluffy while wet," George had commented when he returned in his pajamas to their bedroom. He ruined all my handwork of brushing through my hair by ruffling it harshly.

"Hey-" I bit out, slapping his hand and trying to fight him off. When he finally did let off, I glanced up at Fred to see him looking on in approval as he leaned against the side of his bed. "What, no help?"

"Afraid not," Fred teased, crossing his arms and tilting his head back a bit.

"That flavor changing taffy worked well on the first years who tried it out," George reported, taking his seat down in front of his bed on the floor. "But it didn't change their tongues at all, except for the color."

"What color did it show?"

"Usually a rainbow, but some randomly got solid colors, too."

"Mm, they didn't even say their mouths felt a little funny?"

"No," George said dejectedly.

"We'll have to use a different charm then," Fred looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, I've got it."

"Yeah?" George pulled out a bag that had some loosely wrapped taffy along with his wand.

"Engorgio," his eyes had that little mischievous glint in them, the one that made shivers run down my spine. "Feeling chilly, Soot? Grab a blanket or something."

George wordlessly reached over to some pullover left on the floor and tossed it to me, turning back to their conversation seamlessly. This hoodie...smelt heavenly. Whatever they used to wash the clothes must've been mixed with magic or something, and I pulled it over my head quickly.

"Fred, you are a genius," George muttered, beginning to cast the charm on the taffy.

"We'll need to test it," Fred mumbled, "Ron'll be fine, surely."

"Surely, a tough kid, that one."

The candlelight flickered, and I brushed my fingers over the threadbare carpet underneath us. Fred and George's voices were deep, low from the mumbling and muttering to avoid their mum hearing. It was soothing, in a weird way, and I felt the bass of their voices settle into the bottom of my head and rumble softly. My head flopped to the side and I barely caught myself from banging my forehead on the table.

"Sorry," I murmured, blinking slowly.

"Get into bed before you get another concussion," George fussed, pushing me over until I stood up sluggishly. "On you go."

He pulled back the covers for me and everything, treating me like a baby. Not that I minded, I was a bit too tired to really care.

"Glinda tells me he sleeps like a log," I heard George whisper to Fred as he turned his back to me.

I took a slow, deep inhale and reveled in the way the bed smelled just like Fred. Somehow, his bed was even more comfy than the couch downstairs.

"Really, now?" Fred laughed lightly, leaning his back against the bed. I could feel the back of his head just barely brushing against my back.

"Yeah, she talks about him a lot for someone who supposedly can barely stand him."

"Oh, those are the best friendships. How did we not meet them before this year?"

"I have no idea, they're absolutely hilarious."

"Soot's been at quidditch tryouts before too, I'm sure I would've noticed him."

"Why do you say that?"

I felt Fred shuffle against the bed, and the creaking of the floorboards clued me in that he shifted positions.