You should read Twincest into it, but it's certainly not overt.
This is the most uncertain I've been of a drabble thus far.
When Fred died, George spent a week curled up against the floor length mirror in the upstairs bathroom with his forehead pressed on its cold surface. The rest of the Weasleys had to use the tiny spare washroom downstairs, until Ginny finally barged in to brush her teeth. Only for a minute, she reasoned. Only because Ron had slammed the door in her face yelling that he needed some privacy in this "godforsaken madhouse."
George didn't look up but just as Ginny pushed the purply pink toothbrush in her mouth, he spoke.
"It never even crossed my mind that we wouldn't die at the same time."
Ginny saw herself in the mirror, toothpaste foaming around her mouth. George was looking at her too, through the mirror. A reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection.
"It's weird, isn't it?" He continued. "Looks like there's so many of us in this room."
Ginny nodded, feeling trapped. George stood up and she couldn't help but notice how strong his arms were when they wrapped around her from behind. For many moments they stood there like that, looking at each other, askance.
"One too few though." She whispered around her toothbrush. George nodded and after a few more minutes, left her with herself.