They are not the same person. Not just one sole being, but two, however small their differences may be.

It's easy sometimes, though, to forget that they are – individuals – because no one else seem to regard them that way. Strangers, friends, family.

FredandGeorge.

They can't help but wonder, every so often, which one is which. Who is Fred and who is George? They don't really know. When they grew up their mother would call one of them George at breakfast only to say Fred at dinner.

At three, it's confusing. At five, it's normal. At seven, it's starting to hurt.

Their mother don't know which is which.

FredandGeorge.

She calls for them as a unit, never as individuals. They start to never be apart so they can be each other's security blanket, so that when someone says George it doesn't hurt as much if you feel like a Fred, since you've got a George right next to you, and they could be talking to him.

It doesn't really make it any easier.

They get jealous easily. At Ginny mostly, because she's the sole girl and gets so much attention from everyone and stands out so much in their family just from her gender. And while none of them desire to be a girl particularly much, they can't help but wish that one of them had been born as one just so that they could be obviously different from each other.

No one would say FredandGeorgina as they say FredandGeorge.

They'd know which was which.

It's not always a joke when both of them turn their heads as someone calls one of their names, they respond to them both in equal manners, Fred and George and George and Fred.

It's certainly never funny.