Author's Note: Hope you guys are enjoying the story. If you're not, well, I'll try not to cry myself to sleep.

This part is gonna be more graphic than the last chapter, so consider yourselves very, very warned.

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Part Two

Harry stepped into the small room, quickly shutting the door behind him.

"You're not going to believe the dream I had last night," he began, tossing his books on the floor. "There was this huge mirror in the common room and our reflections came to life and were watching us do all these nasty things and…"

"You're nearly an hour late!"

He turned to see Fred sitting on the bed, homework spread out across the sheets.

"What're you talking about?" Harry demanded. "Five minutes at most, and only because Ron started asking about the potions lab we've got to make up."

"It's four fifty!"

"Exactly," Harry argued, holding his hand out. "See? Four forty-five. Five minutes."

"I didn't write that," Fred said with a frown. "I wrote four exactly."

"Maybe it smudged in my sleep," Harry said, looking at his palm.

"It doesn't matter." Fred dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I've got to meet with a study group in the library at five, so I need to take off."

"I only just got here," Harry objected, putting his hands on the papers that Fred tried to gather up. "Come on…" He leaned in and kissed Fred's lips briefly.

"I'm failing Defense Against the Dark Arts, I can't!" Fred pulled the papers from under Harry's hands.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you since I found the note brushing my teeth this morning." Harry lifted his hands, and when Fred finished pulling the papers up and slipping them into a book, pressed himself forward, pushing Fred down onto the bed.

"Your dental hygiene is impressive," Fred told him, "but…"

Harry bent down and kissed him languidly.

Fred broke the kiss and sighed. "Look, let me go and get the notes from Suki Sebastian and I'll be back. Half hour, tops."

"I like that plan," Harry told him, sitting back.

"You better be naked by the time I get back," Fred warned him, standing up and grabbing his book. He bent over and kissed Harry once more before darting out the door.

When Fred exited the room, George was watching him from down the hall, popping his knuckles. He was ready to tell Harry off, get him out of Fred's life. And if that failed, he was also prepared to beat the other boy to a bloody pulp.

He dashed to the door he was certain he'd never seen before and opened it, stepped inside, and shut it behind himself.

The room was small, warm, and dimly lit. There was a fireplace on one wall, the only source of light in the room, a bed on another, and an easy chair on the third.

Harry stood in the center of the room, shirt over his head, hair more tousled than usual, and looking surprised.

"That was quick."

The words froze George for a second. He opened his mouth and said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, did you Apparate to the Library?"

George was nodding. Why the hell was he nodding?

"Breaking the rules just for me?" Harry grinned at him and threw his shirt to one side. He stepped forward and put his arms on George's shoulders, dangling his arms over his back. "Didn't even give me enough time to get my kit off."

"I… Yeah," George said weakly. Why had he come here again?

"Still in those bloody robes," Harry complained, and one hand moved to George's chest and tugged at the gold and red tie at his throat. George swallowed as Harry loosened it and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Harry, I…"

Harry leaned forward and pressed their mouths together.

George nearly jumped out of his skin, blinking rapidly as Harry kissed him, his tongue moving slowly into George's mouth.

This was not like kissing girls.

Harry's hand found the back of his neck and held him gently in place as he deepened the kiss, coaxing George's tongue with his own. When George finally moved his tongue forward, Harry captured it between his lips and sucked it into his mouth. George inhaled sharply through his nose as Harry sucked on his tongue.

He let go and looked at George curiously.

"Something wrong?"

"Wow," George said weakly. He could barely move now, confused and elated and terrified all at once.

Harry grinned. "Thank you." He leaned in again, and George met his kiss this time, tongue excited, lips eager and impatient. Harry's hands were traveling down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and crawling inside the fabric to brush over his chest.

As young children, Fred and George had been acutely aware of how much they looked alike. Everywhere they went it stayed with them: school, church, the grocer's… People fawned over them when they were small and they took advantage of it whenever they could.

As they had grown older, it had not been on the front of their minds all the time. Being identical was fun, but it had its drawbacks. It was one thing to have people confuse your name, but when they started mixing up your personality traits… Fred had left a flaming bag of dog shit in the dorm of a Slytherin who had accused him being an anal retentive womanizer.

Girls had called him by his brother's name on more than one occasion, which left him wondering why Fred was the more memorable twin. If it was in passing, George did not bother correcting them. It wasn't worth the time and effort. Fred was the one with the temper, and George did his best to remember that.

But as Harry's thumb brushed over his nipple and tweaked it lightly, George shivered. He scraped his teeth over Harry's lower lip and realized that he was not going to tell the other boy he was not Fred.

"You're so tense today," Harry murmured and stepped back, pulling George toward the bed. "Come on, lie down."

The panic from the night before was in George's chest, and he glanced at the door, then at Harry, who was slipping his shirt and robes off down his arms.

"Lie down?" he repeated. Harry's hands were sprawled over his naked chest, and his brain was shorting out.

"Mm-hmm." Harry was smiling. "Or we can try what I suggested last time, with the chair."

"I – uh…" George was starting to really feel the panic now; if he touched Harry, it would be a lie. What's more, if they did what Harry was suggesting, it could be construed as rape.

"Really, Fred, you okay?" Harry's hands moved to cradle George's face, concern on his face. "Are you bothered about earlier?"

"No," George said quickly. "No, I'm just…" He laughed shortly. "Sorry, I'm just a little out of it, is all."

Harry leaned closer and kissed him again. This time George brought his hands up to the younger boy's skin, the flat expanse of his chest, his shoulders. His hands trembled as they moved up to Harry's face, his hair, where they dug in and gripped the hair, hard.

"Ah," Harry hissed, and kissed George harder.

"It's my turn," George breathed into the kiss and Harry smirked.

Fuck, what was he thinking???

"Then what do you want to do?"

George blanched. "Oh… I dunno… I mean, whatever you want…" He hoped his stammer was not obvious.

"Ladies' choice, huh?" Harry asked easily. "Sit down, ginger." He pushed at George lightly until the backs of his knees hit the easy chair.

"Ginger?" It rubbed George the wrong way and he glowered at Harry until the boy grinned at him and bumped their chests together so that George tripped backwards into the chair.

"I told you I was gonna come up with a new nickname," Harry said mindfully. He leaned closer to George, putting his hands on the arms of the chair. "This is it. Ginger. My ginger."

"Your ginger," George echoed.

"All mine," Harry whispered, and put his knees on the chair cushion on either side of the redhead's legs. He towered above George, who looked up at him, mouth open slightly. His hands through George's hair as he gently pressed his pelvis into his chest.

"That's a dumb name." George tried to think of something better to say, but it was all he could find.

"You don't like it?" Harry murmured. "I like it. I like your ginger hair. I like it up here…" He ran a hand through George's hair. "…and I like it down here." He trailed a finger down his chest, bending forward to hook his finger in the front of George's jeans.

George felt his hands trembling and he gripped the chair arms to hide it. His cock was so fucking hard it was aching, and he didn't know why, didn't know why he liked Harry looking at him like that, touching him like that, talking to him like that… He'd never been more terrified in his life, and he'd never been harder, and he'd only been more excited about something once in his life, but he'd been six at the time, so he didn't really count it.

Harry straightened again and buried his hands in George's hair again. It made George's eyes close for a moment, and he opened them again to look up at the younger boy. His black hair was wild around his face, the dark shadows from the flickering firelight making it a solid fathomless halo, void of all color, around his pale face. His glasses caught the light of the fire, and the green eyes behind them were half-lidded and glittering at him.

"Ha – I…" The words were staccato and nervous, George could barely breathe.

"Do you want me?" Harry breathed, his hands making George's head roll back and then to the side.

"Yes," George choked out. God, he hadn't even known it was true until he said it.

"I want you. I want you so bad, Ginger. I've been thinking about you."

"Me?" George asked weakly.

"You," Harry agreed huskily. It hurt George a little at that moment, to remember that he was playing Fred. That pain was one of the prime reasons the twins had stopped playing their games. "Put your hands on me."

Tentatively, George picked up his hands and placed them on the outsides of Harry's thighs, midway up. He prayed Harry wouldn't feel the unsteadiness in his hands. His fingers trailed up Harry's legs to his hips, then traveled back down to his thighs.

Nervously, George lowered his face and gently kissed Harry's ribs.

"I like that," Harry whispered, and George did it again, this time sucking gently at him. He trailed the kisses along Harry's abdomen, slouching down to kiss his navel, dipping his tongue in to taste the salt of his skin. Harry made a soft noise and with a smile in his voice, said, "That tickles."

George stopped and kissed his skin again, sitting up in the chair. Harry pulled away gently.

"You know the rule." Harry smiled at him. "When it's your turn, you have to suck me."

The panic came back, full force. Of course he should have thought about this. He'd have to look at Harry's dick, touch it, touch his ass. Harry wasn't a woman, didn't have parts George was… well not really familiar with, but certainly more orally familiar with. He nodded to cover the terror.

"Unzip my pants?"

The hands on Harry's thighs moved up to his hips, then traveled to the center of his body and undid the button. George was shaking again, his breath coming too fast for his comfort, and Harry ran his fingers lightly over his shoulders.

He unzipped Harry's crotch and pulled the fabric away part way. Harry was wearing dark grey boxer briefs, and the tight stretchy fabric did nothing to hide his erection. George's mouth was so dry that as he swallowed he coughed lightly.

"C'mon Ginge, you're killing me," Harry whispered and lowered his body so he was sitting on George's lap, legs still straddling him.

George pressed his hand to Harry's crotch and felt the thick, hard length of flesh there. Harry's hips lifted up slightly to press back against his palm, and George exhaled as he closed his fingers around the lump.

"I want it," Harry pleaded, and he leaned forward, rolling his hips so that his erection against George's thigh. He used that voice, the one Fred had obeyed. It melted George's inhibitions, and he fingered inside the Y front of Harry's underwear.

It was absolutely bizarre, to be touching a penis from this angle. George had never noticed how soft the skin of his own penis was, or how hot it was, or how naturally it fit into his palm. He stroked his fingers over it and Harry made a soft sighing noise.

As he pulled Harry's cock out of his underwear to look at it, Harry reached between them and began undoing George's pants. Before George could say anything, Harry reached into his pants and found his cock, slowly petting it through the fabric of his boxers.

George stopped stroking Harry's leaking cock, closed his eyes and gasped.

"Focus, pretty ginger boy," Harry whispered, and George's eyes opened, his cheeks red. He let go of George and stood, pulling his pants down around his ankles and then stepping out of them. His erection was hanging out of the Y front of his boxer briefs, where George had pulled it.

George's hands had a mind of their own, and were at Harry's hips, grabbing the waist band of the shorts and pulling it down to get a better glimpse of Harry's body. He stopped at Harry's knees, unable to look away from Harry's groin.

The red, swollen member was pointing straight at him, and Harry was watching him and waiting, calm and collected. George swallowed.

This was not what he had planned on. He'd had the whole speech worked out. He'd barge in, expecting to see Harry distraught or bored and cross, and rail at him for a few minutes. Then he'd tell him to sod off, go find some other boy to work his sexual perversions on. Then he would tell Harry that really, he wasn't that bad of a bloke, just misguided, not in the sexual orientation way, just in the way he treated people who loved him. He had also decided how he'd beat the snot out of Harry should it come to that: a single punch to the face, just to disorient him, then a few to the stomach, and when he was on the floor, a kick if the boy hadn't gotten the clue yet.

"We don't have to," Harry said, watching George closely. "If you're not in the mood. You don't have to screw me just to make me happy."

"I'm just… really confused," George whispered. He regretted saying it the moment it was out of his mouth. It was one of the other reasons that the twins had stopped their game. The older they got, the more complex the situations became; the more complex the situation, the harder it was to come up with an answer, to lie effectively and maintain the façade.

"Why are you confused?" Harry asked, kneeling in front of George. He put his hand on the older boy's knee and looked at him quietly. George's mind was racing for answer that wouldn't give him away.

"I… I don't know if you really want me here or not," he said finally.

"I do," Harry insisted, leaning forward to kiss George softly. "I want you here. Please. All I do all day is think about how much I want to be with you and how much I care about you."

And George forgot. He forgot he wasn't Fred, he forgot to remember Harry wasn't talking to him, and why he had come there, and what he had planned, and everything else.

"Stand up," he whispered.

Harry did so, grabbing his wand from the floor, and George leaned forward to kiss his left hip, dragging his lips across his body until they reached his pubic hair. He took a deep breath and touched his lips to Harry's cock. It was so warm and he could feel the other boy's pulse against his cheek as he moved.

When he reached the head of Harry's penis, he kissed it slowly, taking the tip into his mouth. He lightly swished his tongue against it, and a salty taste filled his mouth. Nervously, he drew the cock into his mouth as if he would a popsicle, just an inch and a half. His left hand was holding it still, his other on Harry's hip.

He tried to remember his last blow job. It was hard, he hadn't really enjoyed it, and it had been awhile ago. The girl'd bitten him accidentally when her boyfriend had walked in on them, and he'd dashed out of the room laughing, nuts aching, pants around his knees as the couple had screamed at one another behind him.

She'd deep throated him; he didn't think he could do that. She'd also sucked on the head of his cock and jerked off the base at the same time. That seemed more reasonable, but only just.

Slowly he began to suck on Harry as if he were a lollipop, and moved his hand oppositely. The younger boy made a short whimpering noise and rose on his toes. Quickly George remembered to raise his hand expectantly.

"Lubridado," Harry said, tapping George's palm with the wand. His palm felt sticky and greasy, as if he'd spread Vaseline on it.

His hand moved between Harry's legs, as he'd seen Harry do the night before, and he found the crack of Harry's ass. It was sort of gross, reaching around to his ass, touching him there, wondering if he was clean or dirty, when the last time he'd bathed was… But he did it anyway, feeling around in Harry's crack for his asshole.

When he found it, he didn't realize it until his finger was already in to his first knuckle. Harry was moving his legs wider apart, breathing noisily through his nose. He pushed his finger further in and realized he had no clue what to do with it.

"You're playing easy on me today," Harry purred, arching his back as George sucked on him. "Don't. I want it rough. Another finger, I want it so deep."

It made George's cock leap in anticipation. He began working his middle finger up and in to join his pointer, and it was so tight that his knuckles hurt a little. Harry made a whimpering noise as George pushed further into him.

Suddenly, having his fingers in Harry's ass wasn't so gross anymore.

George had no idea what to do with his fingers, until he remembered fingering a Ravenclaw girl under the bleachers during a Quidditch game. She'd made him curl his fingers and scissor them inside of her, the movement of it had driven her half mad. He had to remember Harry wasn't a girl, wouldn't like the same things. But he could try it anyway, let Harry be the one to tell him to stop.

Glancing up at Harry, he began to wiggle his fingers and pulled them out slightly, shoving them back up into his anus. The movement made Harry jolt, and his hands, hanging limply at his sides, moved to George's shoulders. Encouraged, George drove his fingers into Harry again, then scissored them.

"Stop," Harry gasped, and George pulled his face and hand away abruptly, alarmed. Harry's face was red. "Not too soon, yeah?" He smiled at George, breath ragged again. He slid his pants down all the way, removing his socks and shoes with them.

Reaching down, he tugged at George's pants and boxers, pulling gently at them until George responded and lifted his hips. He slid the pants down to George's ankles, flipped off his shoes, removed his socks and pants in one fluid movement, then knelt on the chair again.

This time, when he pressed against George to run his hands through his red hair, it was his naked cock that pressed against George's chest. He took George's hand and moved it to his dick to remind him to coat himself with the lubricant.

"Touch yourself for me," Harry teased, but George couldn't laugh as he stroked his own length, spreading the warm substance over his head and shaft. The younger boy did not seem to mind his tension and quiet, simply running his hands over George's neck, shoulders, and chest.

When he had finished, he looked up at Harry.

"You ready, Ginger?" But Harry did not wait for him to say yes or, at the very least, to stop looking completely unsettled. He lowered himself so he could kiss George slowly, rubbing their dicks together.

George's whole body went rigid when Harry did it, and he dug his fingers into the fabric of the chair pillow beneath him. It was a mixture of awful wrongness, horrible pleasure, and delicious terror.

"Say something," Harry coaxed, kissing him again and pressing their chests together. He was sitting on George's cock, his own stiff against George's belly.

"I…" George swallowed and tried again. It wasn't right, him here with Fred's boyfriend, touching him like this, lying to him like this. He had to tell Harry before things got out of control and he turned into someone he didn't want to be. "I'm not…"

And then Harry was raising his hips, reaching between them, and pushing George's erection into himself. The sting of pleasure wiped the red haired boy's mind completely. Harry sat straight up and slowly impaled himself further onto George's cock.

"You're not what, Ginge?" Harry murmured, kissing George's forehead. He moaned softly, and let his full weight pull him down around the dick.

George's breath was gone as the tightness of Harry's body closed in around him. His arms wrapped around Harry's narrow torso and he stifled a desperate groan, shoulders shuddering as he leaned his head against Harry's chest.

"Do you like that, pretty ginger boy?" Harry whispered, and George couldn't even think of the words to tell him yes, nodding fiercely against Harry's chest. "You feel so good." To prove his point, Harry rocked his hips and panted, running his hands down George's back.

George cried out softly and his hips lifted involuntarily. He was clinging to Harry so tightly that the younger boy must have been in some sort of pain, but he said nothing. Harry's legs were working, lifting his body and then letting it slide back down the shaft of George's cock.

It was like a dream of a dream, and George was looking in on himself through a window, so distant and hazy. Obviously, someone was having sex with his brother's boyfriend, but it wasn't his brother, and it wasn't him. Someone was half way between having a nervous breakdown and an orgasm, but it couldn't possibly have been him either.

"Look at me," Harry was whispering in his ear. "I don't like it when you hide from me."

George couldn't do it. He couldn't look up at Harry and see their bodies joined together. It was driving him crazy knowing that the intense sensations in his body were because of a boy, because of this boy, because of his brother's boy. Knowing and seeing were two separate things, and he didn't think he could handle it.

"I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore," Harry's voice was soft, pleading, and it made George loosen his arms, sit back a little, and look at Harry, who was almost eye level with him.

As he fucked himself on George's cock, Harry leaned forward and down, kissing the other boy deeply. His legs were working furiously to raise and lower himself, his hands on George's chest, thumbing over his nipples, rubbing over tickling ribs.

"Harry…" George's voice was strained, desperate. He wanted to tell Harry to stop, to tell him how wrong this was. Instead, he moaned and leaned forward to find the younger boy's lips again. He was so close now that it was starting to make him a little wild.

"Tell me what you want," Harry breathed, connecting their mouths roughly. It was barely a kiss, their tongues thrusting forward, teeth knocking against each other.

"Faster," George moaned.

"You don't get to cum first, I do," Harry said, but sped up his movements, twisting sharply at George's nipples and making the boy cry out. His ass dragged at the mass of the cock buried in it, gliding like a glove of sensitive skin.

"Did you hear me?" Harry growled, and when all George did was whimper and tilt his head back, grabbed him by the hair and yanked his face back to his. "Wait for me, Weasley."

George shook his head madly and panted, "I can't." his brow knitting. He grabbed Harry's shoulder and tried to force his downward thrusts to be rougher, harder, but Harry fought him.

"That's the rule, Ginger. You made it up, you follow it. Fair's fair. I'm doing all the work, and you're not even trying."

"Merlin, what do you want from me?!" George cried out, his fingernails digging into Harry's skin.

"I want you to touch my sodding cock!" Harry tweaked at George's nipple so sharply that he winced. But it worked, and his head cleared enough for him to move one of his hands from Harry's back to between their bodies.

When he grabbed Harry's erection, swollen, hot, and trembling with each downward thrust, George felt Harry finally give in to his forceful pull to be rougher.

Harry slammed their bodies together as he descended, ramming George into his ass so deeply that they were both shaking and gasping for air.

"I'm… so close…" Harry moaned, rising, falling, lifting, thrusting, ebbing, rushing. George kept his hand firm on his prick, trying his hardest to maintain the rhythm that wanted to get washed away in the tide of Harry's body.

"I'm gonna cum," George whimpered, and Harry shook his head frantically.

"Wait, wait, wait," he pleaded, and fuck, fuck, fuck, George wanted to wait, but he couldn't, it was aching, it was building inside of him.

"Harry," he begged. "Please cum. Please. Oh Merlin. Please cum on me." He didn't even know why it came out of his mouth, but once he had started, it was like a torrent of shit, every filthy thing he could think of spewed from his mouth, things he hadn't ever thought of before. "Fuck, I want your cum on me, I wanna fill you up with mine, oh FUCK, Harry, you're so tight, I wanna ejaculate," he spat the word out in syllables so hard that Harry grunted when he said it, "so deep in your arse and feel you clamp down on my cock, I want you to know that I'm fucking you, it's just me inside you, you're mine."

Harry cried out and suddenly George's hand was hot and wet and sticky, and his grip on Harry's dick was too slippery to hold on to. The wet heat was on his stomach, and he could feel it weighing down the golden red hair that trailed down his abdomen.

And he was slamming his hips upward into Harry, his whole body shook, he was crossing over a threshold into another fucking universe and he was jerking Harry's body down roughly onto himself until he was blooming inside, exploding, falling to pieces.

He yanked Harry down onto his cock three times sharply as the orgasm tore his mind to pieces. He didn't even know where his semen would go once it was all the way out of him and into Harry, but as it left his body rocking with pleasure, he could feel the distance between himself and the rest of the world.

Each pant that pulled itself from his heaving form yanked a small noise with it, a small moan of exhaustion. He was clinging to Harry desperately, his dick now hypersensitive and terrified of the journey out of Harry's body.

Harry's hands were on his back, and they were quivering as they pet him.

"Where…" Harry's voice was unsteady. He laughed weakly and tried again, "Where did that come from?"

The words would not come, and George shook his head helplessly. He didn't know, honestly. Harry's hands were gently, swirling up his neck into his hair.

Slowly, Harry pushed up, trying to separate their bodies. He grunted in pain and immediately fell back down. They both winced as George's dick rammed back up into him.

"I hurt you." George had already begun berating himself when Harry laughed.

"No, you prat, my legs are cramped up." Harry's hips and legs were trembling, and George sat back a little. He rolled his hips back, slowly removing his softening member from Harry's ass.

"Here, hold on, this is gonna hurt," George told him, and hooked his arms underneath Harry's bum, scooting to the edge of the chair. He stood slowly, feeling Harry's legs extend as he lifted the younger boy. Harry's arms hugged tightly around him with a small pained grunt.

"Bloody hamstrings," Harry growled. George took a short step to the bed and leaned forward, his hands moving from Harry's bottom to his knees to keep them from draping awkwardly. The arms around his shoulders kept Harry from toppling over backwards.

Harry let go when his back met the mattress, and he watched as George gently lowered his legs to the bed, keeping his knees bent. The legs shook violently in the air, and Harry clenched his fists. George sat on the bed between his thighs and extended his lanky legs underneath Harry's knees, giving them somewhere to rest.

His hands moved to one of Harry's thighs and began to massage it delicately.

"Ah," Harry hissed, and his hands moved to George's feet.

"Tell me if I hurt you," George said, and pressed a little harder, working his fingers into the stiff muscle.

Harry's torso twisted and he bit his lip. He made a pleased noise though, and his fingers moved up George's feet to his calves, stroking the wiry red hair that covered them.

"Not going to just magic it away like usual?" Harry asked, a teasing note to his voice.

"No, that's –" That's Fred who uses magic for bloody everything, the lazy git. George stopped himself and said, "Well, yeah. I mean, I guess I just thought I'd try something different, and…" He started to get up, go for his wand.

"No, wait." Harry sat up and grabbed his ankle before he could pull away. "I like different. Different is good." He smiled warmly at the older boy, who smiled awkwardly and moved back into his spot.

George's hands moved back to Harry's thigh and resumed his ministrations on Harry's worn-out muscles. Harry closed his eyes and sighed softly.

"That feels brilliant," he commented, and ran his fingers up and down through the golden hair on George's legs.

"This is an ancient wizarding secret passed down through generations of Weasleys," George said mysteriously. "I learned it from my father, who learned it from his father, who learned it from Tibetan monks."

"Really?" Harry asked, opening his eyes and lifting his head.

"That or Oliver Wood taught me in the boys' locker, I always get 'em twisted round." George grinned and Harry laughed, putting his head back down.

"Oliver teach you anything else in the boys' locker?" Harry teased.

"I never kiss and tell," George told him primly.

Harry snorted. "Since when?"

George winced inwardly. He had no clue if Fred had ever made it with Oliver; it was turning out there was a great deal his twin was hiding from him. But in his attempt to avoid a lie, he'd forgotten that Fred was a bit of a braggart.

"Since Oliver gave leg rubs to every boy on the Quidditch team who sat still," George told him matter-of-factly. "I think he used it as an excuse to feel us all up."

"I'd have let Oliver get Wood off my legs any day," Harry said, and George made a gagging face. They both laughed, and George moved to Harry's other thigh. "He never offered one to me, though."

"He never caught you with your pants round your ankles. Besides, you were just a kid." George grinned. Harry's hands were exploring his ankle, and he felt… comfortable and awkward at the same time. Harry watched his hand travel down the length of George's foot.

"Why isn't it always like this?" he asked softly.

Nervously, George shrugged and pressed his fingers more firmly into Harry's leg.

Harry propped himself up with one elbow and reached down to take George's hand from his leg. George abandoned the massage and let Harry pull him forward, until he had to move his legs and crawl up the bed. Harry used his fingers to urge him onto his back, then moved closer.

Uncomfortably, George let Harry twine their bodies together. The intimacy was intimidating, Harry's leg between his, Harry's arm around his waist, Harry's soft groin against his hip, Harry's head on his shoulder.

"This was good," Harry whispered.

George nodded, grateful for something he could be honest about.

"You were incredible."

This made George's ears turn red and he tried to hide the small smile that crept onto his face. "Yeah, well."

"How do you feel?"

"Good," George admitted. It was too hard to say it to Harry's face though, and he had to remember that he wasn't George feeling good, he was Fred feeling good. He looked at Harry. "Bloody brilliant, really. You've got a talent, don't you?"

"I like you when you're like this."

George held his breath and looked away. "Yeah?"

"Sometimes I feel like you're continents away from me."

"I'm sorry," George said quietly. "I don't mean it." He felt like a bloody sop, cleaning up Fred's mess, and a small ball of panic began to build in his stomach.

"I know." Harry's hand stroked his skin. "I could fall in love with you, ginger boy."

The panic, rather than build slowly inside of George burst into flames, exploded, and released millions of screaming tiny panics into him. He sat up abruptly and cleared his throat.

"Good lord, I just forgot," he said, getting up. "I'm so thick sometimes! So fucking thick and dense. I've left all my notes with the study group, haven't I?"

"You went all the way there to get them, though," Harry argued. "You went over, didn't pick them up and came back?" He sat up and watched George grab his clothing.

"Guess so!" George jammed his legs into his pants, his chest tight, terror ripping through him. "I'm just going to pop over and get them and… I'll be back, you won't even notice I'm gone."

"I'm noticing right now," Harry pointed out as George yanked his shirt on and quickly buttoned it up, jamming his tie in the pocket of his robe.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," George said, and moved back to the bed awkwardly. "I really… I don't mean anything by it, I swear. It's just you know I'm failing Defense, and if I don't have those notes I'm sunk."

"Well, then wait for a moment," Harry said, getting up on his knees. He reached up and pulled George down by his neck. Their lips met, and it was soft and sweet, and Harry's tongue was warm and melting and inviting and George had never felt anything more horrific in his entire life.

"I'll be back," he whispered.

"I'll be waiting," Harry murmured.

George turned and bolted out of the room. The door shut silently behind him and he began brusquely walking down the hall. As he was halfway down, he saw his brother round the corner.

Fuck.

If he went in to find Harry, spent, exhausted, and waiting for him to have a post-coital lie down, he'd probably figure the whole stupid mess out.

"Oi, wanker!" Fred called with a grin.

"How's it, knob boy?" George replied, nodding. Fred stopped next to the armor and tilted his head.

"Where you coming from?"

"Ah… Down the hall." George half-turned and pointed over his shoulder.

"I can see that," Fred retorted. "Where down the hall?"

"Round the corner and down another hall." George gesture again. "There was another hall before that one."

"And another before that?"

"May have been," he agreed with a nod.

"Who'd you snog?" Fred demanded, the grin back on his face.

"No one," he protested, forcing a sheepish smile.

"Not that Hermione?" Fred scolded, putting his hands on his hips and leaning forward like their mum. "You'll break our little Ronald's heart."

"Our love is a forbidden one," George declared, raising one arm. A group of second years strolled by and giggled at them.

"Well it can't be helped when you make as fine a pair as you two." Fred nodded solemnly.

"She is a vision, our Hermione," George agreed. "Like a ferret with a perm."

Fred snorted with laughter so hard that he choked, and he doubled over laughing and coughing. His brother patted him on the back.

"I know. It chokes me up to think about her as well."

"You're a sodding prick," Fred gasped, face red as he laughed. "Good god. She is as well, isn't she?"

The hall was empty. George took a step away and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered, and flicked his wrist at the suit of armor. It lifted, and from where Fred was bent over, he could not see it move over him.

"I'm really, really sorry," George said. Fred looked up at him, confused. "I owe you one, okay? I swear I'll make it up to you."

"What're you on about?" Fred asked, coughing and straightening up.

The suit of armor crashed down on him. Fred fell underneath it, and his coughing stopped. George yelped and dashed forward. There was blood on the floor. He lifted the helmet of the suit and threw it to one side.

The coughing resumed, and Fred lay on the floor, blood pooling under his head, eyes blinking woozily. They shut and he coughed again.

George leaned forward and hoped his father would never find out about this particular misuse of magic. Spotting a first year down the hallway, he hollered, "Get some help!"

Then he looked back down at Fred and Obliviated the last hour from his mind.