Fred Weasley woke up with the most debilitating splitting headache. He winced at the bright light streaming in through the shop's window and reached for his wand.
Then he stopped.
And blinked.
Why the devil had he reached with his left-hand – he was right-handed? George was the left-handed one.
Due to the pounding of his head, he tried to put the thought out of his mind, and instead swung his legs over the edge of the bed to head toward the loo.
And promptly slammed his shin right into the nightstand, which was on the wrong side of the bed.
He blinked again, beginning to become seriously confused and concerned. Why was his brother in his bed? Why was he in his brother's bed? Although slight, they had their boundaries which, while unspoken, were universally respected. Sleeping in the other's bed, at least without a really good reason, was definitely on the list of things "not to do".
He scowled, but didn't figure it important enough to wake his brother, and staggered off to the loo. He fancied a shower and definitely wanted to rid his mouth of the vile taste.
That potion they'd drank the night before – a new product they were testing, must have caused this horrific hangover. Strange, since it didn't have any narcotics or alcohol, but it was having a quite vile after-effect.
Upon reaching the lavatory, he absently moved to the toilet to empty his bladder. Only barely awake, he levelled a glance down to ensure he was hitting his target – and immediately froze.
There he was, again, using his left hand for things he normally used his right hand for.
He frowned, finished his task, and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He looked at himself thoroughly in the mirror, realising that he looked . . . off, somehow, although he couldn't explain it.
He was, however, starting to get quite suspicious.
He made a point of brushing his teeth, and realised that by using his right hand – the hand he normally used for such a task, he felt really clumsy. He'd never brushed his teeth in his life with his left hand, but he was doing so this morning.
The following shower yielded more of the same, but as the hot water and suds cascaded over him, he thought carefully about the contents of their potion, and the spells they'd cast while making it.
Having reached a temporary conclusion, he dried off and went to wake his brother.
"George," he whispered, then a little louder "Oi, George!"
"Hm? Oh, my head!"
"Yeah, I know. Hey, listen, I think that potion may have had an unexpected result – loan me your wand, will you?"
"Mmmm," George said, wincing, and flailing with his right hand toward the nightstand. Or, at least, where he expected the nightstand to be.
Reaching only air, George finally pried his eyes open, and looked suspiciously around the room – and at his flailing right arm.
"Why'm I in your bed?" he asked his brother, a suspicious look on his face.
"I'm not quite sure yet, but I'd like you to reach your own conclusions and see if they match mine," Fred hedged cagily, but with what he thought was very good reason.
"Well then, why'm I reaching for my wand with YOUR hand?"
"Hm. Same reason I did the same thing this morning, I'd bet."
George got up, eyeing Fred carefully. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said, a look of deep concentration on his face.
"You do that," Fred nodded, then sat in an old, overstuffed armchair to think.
They were mirror-image twins, which is why Fred was (normally) right-handed and George (normally) left-handed. They had identical freckles and cowlicks, but on opposite sides of their bodies. As they'd gotten older, they'd discovered that every part of them other appeared as if in a mirror, yet they were so similar otherwise that very few people could tell them apart. Over the years they'd perfected the art of standing in such a way as to hide their differences, to the point where it was automatic; instinctive. As a result, even their parents had difficulty telling them apart sometimes, which was an anomaly they delighted in.
But not today.
George opened the door to the lavatory, and stared at Fred with an indiscernible expression on his face. "What's up?" Fred asked, eager to hear George's conclusion.
"Am I you . . . and you me?" he asked.
Fred paused, but nodded slightly. "It would appear that way."
"Bugger me," George sighed. "What do we do now?"
"The first order of business, I would think, would be to see if anyone notices. Bill's wedding's in a week, and we really can't bollocks that up for him. He's enough problems right now. I'd rather not look for the antidote until they're safely away with the mead."
George nodded. "If anyone can tell, it'll be mum. Let's go see what she says. I just hope I can blasted write with the wrong bloody hand!"
Fred snorted in appreciation. "It seems like the bodies have muscle memory – we'll just have to let matter overrule the mind for a bit."
"Fancy going to see Mum for a bit?" George asked.
"All right," Fred said.
"I think we should do some experiments with our wands, first – find out of the wands are tied to our bodies or not," George sighed in exasperation. Fred nodded to show his agreement, and they spent the next two hours getting used to casting with the "wrong" hand and "wrong" wand, in order to properly evaluate the results.
"This could come in useful some time," George called over his shoulder, as he cast one spell with his wand and another with his brother's, simultaneously.
"Maybe we should go get new wands now?" Fred pondered aloud. "We can afford it, even if we have to buy two different ones later."
"Where're we gonna get 'em? Ollivander's gone."
"We could go to Gregorovich – Krum had a good wand."
"We'll have to take a PortKey from Knockturn Alley, and I'd rather tell someone where we're going before we do that."
"Good idea. Let's get the PortKey and then go home and see if anyone can figure this out." George nodded and grabbed his things, then they tripped down the stairs.
"Blimey, we've got to get this figured out," George scowled, trying to disentangle himself from his brother.
"Yeah, if we can't walk people're gonna know something's up!"
The twins stepped into Borgin & Burkes, and asked the proprietor if he knew where they could obtain a PortKey to the Bulgarian wandmaker's shop. He happened to have one for sale, so they bought it. Fred wanted to go to the stationery shop to buy a gift for his girlfriend and ended up picking out a peacock feather quill and a pot of Scribbulus' Ever Changing ink.
With everything arranged, they Apparated to the Burrow, nearly tumbling over each other.
"Oi! What's the matter with you two?" Ron shouted.
The twins exchanged an alarmed glance, then George called out "We took a Confusing Concoction, and we're a little unsteady on our feet still."
Fred shrugged – that was as good an answer as any and seemed to satisfy their youngest brother who promptly ignored them.
"Mum next," Fred muttered under his breath – George nodded sharply.
They entered the house by the back door to find their mother, as usual, preparing a large feast.
"Hey mum," George began, cautiously.
"Hi dear!" she said absently, not looking up from the dish she was preparing.
"George and I decided to go get some backup wands, in the event something happens to ours, and we've got a PortK to Gregorovich's shop, but we didn't want to go without letting someone know what we were up to."
Molly nodded, then looked up at her sons. She frowned, and glanced between them, suspicion building in her expression.
"What?" George asked fearfully, his blood running cold.
" . . . nothing . . . " Molly said, eyeing them carefully.
"Well, uh, okay then," Fred muttered, backing away slowly and followed by his twin."Of, um, there's nothing else, we'll just go, uh, get our spare wands, then . . . "
George swallowed heavily, and they walked to the edge of the garden. "She knows," he whispered. "Think she'll tell anyone else?"
"Dunno. Not before the end of next week, maybe, but after that, I'm not sure."
"Boy, we really got outselves in deep this time," George said, shaking his head. And I thought the boils were bad!"