Hey guys! So I don't normally do stories like this, but this was requested by my friend whose brother is disabled and a huge fan of Harry Potter- I hope that anyone who reads this gets the message of spreading positivity and inclusiveness into all aspects of literature! As always, please leave your reviews and your thoughts! I read every single one of them! :)

For as long as he could remember, Fred had always been George's best friend. In addition to being carbon-copy look alikes, the two were constantly coming up with some new, convoluted scheme together, be it pranks at school or new business ventures.

"You're such a prude, what harm would it be to hire a bombshell to bring some business in here?" Fred had complained one day after George shot down his idea of hiring a borderline stripper to bring in more customers.

"It's unprofessional and we don't need it- we're already past the projectile for this quarters profit," George had reasoned, "if you want someone to pay attention to that ugly mug of yours, go stand in diagon alley for a couple of hours."

"Oi, we have the same face, prat!" Fred jibed, poking him in the shoulder playfully.

"I think mine is-" George abruptly stopped talking, and although his mouth kept moving, only slurred, nonsensical noises came out.

Not missing a beat, Fred knelt down beside him. "Potion wore off that quickly this time, huh?" He asked his brother, whose lips twisted in dismay as he attempted a nod.

"Bloody contraband crook," Fred muttered under his breath as he thought of the man who sold them their last months worth of potion, "can't even make a communication spell right. C'mon, let's get you another."

He grabbed the handles on the back of his brothers wheelchair and pushed him into the back room, spelled to appear as a simple storage closet, but when you opened the door, it was the apartment they lived in.

"You have to ask around and see if there's anyone else we can get this from," Fred announced, walking over to the trunk that sat at the foot of his brothers bed where he kept all of his potions and medicine, "ever since pomfrey stopped selling them, we've been screwed over."

Withdrawing a small, red vile, he walked over to George and gently took his jaw in the palm of his hand, tilting his chin upwards so he could drink. He brought the bottle to his twins lips, pouring the liquid down his throat until he swallows clumsily, waiting for the effects to kick in.

Without saying a word, somehow just knowing, Fred went to unstrap George from his chair, undoing the chest buckle and carefully taking his tall, skinny frame into his arms and carrying him over to the bed. He laid him down on the covers, making sure he was comfortable, before reaching in the cupboard above the bed and withdrawing a clean, white disposable diaper. He gently pulled his twins pants down, reaching to undo the tapes of the soiled adult nappy he had on without a trace of judgment in his eyes. Years of practice had him get George cleaned up and redressed in under two minutes, tossing the soiled garment in the trashcan and pulling his trousers back up. It never even crossed the brothers minds that this was something others considered shameful, something weird. It was their normal. Fred had been taking care of George ever since he could remember, not batting an eye at any of it. It didn't feel like a chore or a burden to him, it never had. No one had ever assigned him the role, he just took to it like a fish took to water. It was as natural to him as breathing. Quite frankly, he didn't realize that there was even a difference between George and the rest of the world until they went to school. That's the way he was born, they'd never known anything different from the life they had. They felt like any other pair of best friends- always making jokes, always coming up with fun ideas, always making each other laugh. It never even crossed Fred's mind that George was any less capable than the rest of the world.

He'd been born without the use of his muscles, unable to walk or talk. When he got his first communication spell, it allowed him to talk to one person at a time through their thoughts, so Fred heard every word he said even though he never physically spoke. He was in a wheelchair and had to wear nappies, (he'd never even been toilet trained, because honestly, what was the point?). Fred never even considered not taking care of his brother- it was as normal and acceptable to him as his own right arm. He'd never treated or thought of George as being any different than your typical brother- sometimes annoying, occasionally getting into fights, but always best friends. It was when they entered their first year in Hogwarts that he learned that the world saw a different person than he did.

"What's wrong with your brother?" They other kids would ask when the two were going down the halls, George's wheelchair spelled so he could move it on his own just by thinking of the place he wanted to go.

Fred had been confused, looking to George, who was also just as puzzled. He wasn't sick, at least, he didn't feel ill. There was no sign of a prank being pulled or a spell at work.

"Nothing." Fred had replied, utterly echoing the words George spoke in his mind. Why would they ask that? "Are you feeling ill, Georgie?" He asked his brother briefly to confirm, who shook his head in the negative. He turned back to his classmates, "yeah, nothing's wrong."

The other kids were still staring at George like he'd grown three heads, all looking very uncomfortable. He remembers that night when they went back to the dorms, they'd been getting ready for bed, Fred getting his brother situated into a new overnight nappy, when he asked him, "why did those kids think there was something wrong with you, Georgie?"

George smiled at him, that joking smirk on the corner of his lips. "Maybe they saw me try to paint a portrait of Sarah Lee in the commons today?" He suggested.

They'd laughed and gone to bed, never thinking about it again.

"Fred? Hello? Earth to pea brain." His twins voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked down to see George staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "You alright?" He asked, potion having kicked in, allowing him to talk again, "I was talking to you for like, 2 minutes. You put my shirt on inside out."

Fred looked down, and indeed, George's 'hogwarts quidditch' team t shirt was on inside out.

"Sorry," he muttered, going to ease his brother out of it.

"Oi, watch the hair!" George scolded lightly as the fabric brushed over his combed, red locks.

"You'd do good to be a little less vain, brother mine," Fred admonished, folding the shirt so it was right side out, before redressing his brother in it.

"I'm not vain, I just take pride in my god-like good looks," he admitted, a toothy grin accompanying the statement.

"Hey George," Fred asked seriously after a beat of silence, propping his brother up in bed, pulling the blankets up to cover his nappy, "do you ever wish you could walk or talk?"

George frowned, puzzled. "I'm talking to you right now," he pointed out.

"Not that," Fred corrected, "I mean, without the potion."

George pursed his lips in thought for a moment, and Fred imagined that if he could have folded his arms, he would have. "I don't know... I guess for a while I used to think it might be pretty cool to run, but to be honest, I don't really wonder about it that often. Why?" He asked, concerned.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Just... making sure you're happy, is all."

George smiled softly, "Freddie, why would I not be happy?" He asked, "both my parents are living, my little brother is best friends with Harry Potter, I graduated from school with better marks than you, and I got one of the most successful shops in Diagon Alley."

"You mean we have one of the most successful shops in Diagon alley," Fred corrected with a smirk, "I get a little credit, too, you know."

George laughed slightly. "I guess it could be considered a team effort." He admitted, "But you'd be a sorry old bloke without me."

Fred threw a pillow at him before crawling into his own bed, the lights turning off automatically.

He knew life was subject to change, so he tried his very hardest to burn the memory of the feeling of contentment he had right then into his brain.