Hey guys! Sorry for the wait! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, even though it may be a bit angsty! Thank you for your reviews, they are truly what keeps me going!

Time seemed to have stopped, and Fred had no idea for exactly how long he had just been sitting there. His thoughts swirled rapidly in his mind, too fast and too uncontrolled for him to be able to grasp them. His body seemed to be at war with him. There was not a single part of him that felt normal. His sweaty hands were shaking, his chest ached with anxiety and wouldn't allow him to take full breaths, his legs were itching, his head exploding, and his stomach... oh god, his stomach. It was as if a pair of hands were clenching his guts, kneading and twisting them like dough.

Flashes from what had happened kept blinding him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to make them go away. Hell, he was certain that of all the things he had ever done in his life, this was the most messed up, the most unbelieveable and the most WRONG. He thought of George's uncertain, confused expression, and how he had tried to fight back against Fred's forcefulness, only to... to... Fred felt his stomach make a violent somersault as he remembered George's hand on his hip. His ears rang with faint memories of his brother's moaning, but he couldn't be certain if George had been protesting of approving. The moment that thought entered Fred's head, he quickly disregarded it, feeling the greatest panic and nausea yet. Of course George hadn't approved; LIKED it. That'd be...

Fred swallowed repeatedly, forcing the content of his stomach to stay there. Good Godric, what was wrong with him? If the opportunity was presented to him, he'd happily admit himself to St. Mungo's.

"Um, Fred...?"

He'd need a good couple of healers to himself, perhaps a whole department. He'd be on the front page of The Daily Prophet when it was discovered that he was suffering from a whole new kind of mental disease, previously unknown to the magical world.

"Fred...?"

He'd spend the rest of his life as a subject to medical research. He'd be stuck in the hospital, with hospital food and other mental patients as his only company. It didn't sound too bad, actually. It would mean that at least he'd be kept away from George. Yes, George would never have to worry about being phyiscally assaulted by his own brother again.

Fred opened his eyes when he heard the sound of something heavy rolling across the floor. Something solid and cold came in contact with his leg. One of the crystal balls. He swallowed audibly and carefully looked up at George, who was still standing by the great cushions, looking anywhere but at Fred.

"We'd better get this finished." George spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "Filch will be collecting us soon. We'd better not test his patience too much tonight, if we want him off our backs for later."

Fred mechanically pulled himself up. His legs felt like jelly, and for a moment his chaotic thoughts were interrupted by him wondering if he would even be able to lift the heavy crystal ball while in such state. He bent down to collect it and surprised himself with his strength. It seemed the adrenaline hadn't left his body yet. He could hear George move, but didn't dare to look his way again.

Fred groaned quietly to himself. He had better put himself together. Even if what had happened was one of the most disastrous things that could happen, he had to simply accept it had. He wished so bad that he could be away from George for a while - a feeling which seldom struck him. But honestly, what do you say after you just snogged the magic out of your own brother? What, by Dumbledore's undergarments, do you DO after you just tried to... to...

Merlin, Fred wasn't sure what he had tried to do. He felt his face flush as he remembered the moment he had stopped. His hand had been on George's belt, in the middle of pulling it off. Oh bloody hell.

Fred turned to place the crystal ball on the desk where it was originally meant to have been placed upon. He couldn't help but glare at it a bit, silently blaming it for what had happened. If that stupid ball hadn't been so heavy, George would have placed it on the desk, and that would have been the end of it. Mumbling, he grabbed a nearby rag and started polishing the crystal ball roughly. If Lee hadn't been so bloody dimwitted and messed up at McGonagall's lesson, they wouldn't even be here. Nothing would have happened.

Fred glanced over his shoulder once and spotted George sitting on a chair. His brother was staring-without-seeing at the crystal ball in his lap while polishing it, his movement slow and distracted. Fred twitched and had to steady his own crystal ball before he knocked it over completely.

An hour passed, and the silence between the two felt so heavy that Fred could have choked on it. He would never have thought he'd be happy to hear Filch's unpleasant, croaking voice call for them.

Fred threw his dirty rug to the side and quickly escaped the room, sprinting down the unsteady stairs and hardly stopping to hear Filch complain about the noise he was making. He had expected to hear George's hurried steps behind him, but he heard only the echo of his own fast-paced stomping. When he stopped at the portrait of the fat lady and daringly glanced over his shoulder, he saw for certain that he was alone. A great dilemma now presented itself to him. Should he go look for George? Hell, if he did, he was sure he'd have no idea what to say. But if he didn't, what would George think? Would he think he didn't care? Would he think Fred selfish? Fred started moving back, but was overwhelmed by nausea at the thought of standing face to face with George so soon again. Feeling like a coward, he sheepishly gave the password to the fat lady, who had been watching him with raised eyebrows, and then entered the common room.

Yet another dilemma. Should he slump into one of the chairs by the fire and just stare at it until George returned, or should he go straight to bed? The latter would no doubt be the best way to avoid conversation, but he had never been so awake in his entire life. He couldn't possibly sleep. Not now.

He sighed to himself and ran his fingers through his messy, flaming hair before making his way over to the couch closest to the fire. He threw himself over on it and shielded his eyes with his arm. He tried desperately to silence his thoughts by focusing on other matters, such as trying to remember what the Quidditch-magazine had said about the newest broom, how much it had costed, and how many of his own broom equaled to that amount. He stayed like this for a very long time, how long he did not know. His mind was just busy calculating how many hours his father would have to work to be able to afford two of those super-brooms when he could hear the sound of someone stepping through the portrait. His breathing stopped for a moment before he reminded himself that he needed to act as normal as possible. Suddenly, it was as if the solution to everything was very clear to him. Act like nothing happened, at all. George would let it go if Fred let it go, and then they could proceed as normal without ever speaking of it again. In time, it'd be forgotten, perhaps not even remembered. Yes, this was the only way.

"Fred?" George spoke uncertainly from behind the couch. Fred removed his arm from his eyes and shuffled to a sitting position before turning his head to look his brother in the eyes. His courage nearly failed him at the look on George's face. His brother was blushing, quite heavily too, and his gaze was occasionally shifting from Fred to his feet. His hands were fumbling with the pockets of his pants, nervously and awkwardly. Fred felt his voice getting stuck in his throat for a moment before he quickly spoke with a hoarse voice.

"George. What's up?" He realized how retarded this must sound in view of the situation and George responded with a confused expression.

"Uh, nothing much. I just went to the kitchen to have a sandwich." He raised one hand to rub his neck. "Was hungry." He then added sheepishly.

"Oh, cool. Brought one for me too?" Fred tried to smirk, but felt it must appear more like a grimace.

"Sorry, thought you'd gone to bed." George replied slowly. He then narrowed his eyes and peered at Fred, as if catching on what he was doing. "Besides… I don't think you need any late-night snacks. You're…fat enough already." He finished with very little edge to his joke. It was enough encouragement for Fred, who let out a forced laugh before standing up.

"Maybe you should consider that advice yourself. Don't complain to me when the girls start mistaking you for the giant squid. I'm not gonna save you when they try to chase you back to the black lake." Fred's voice was becoming more and more steady, and he rejoiced in it. Yes, this is the best way to go. Definitely the best way to go.

"They'd still be chasing me, not you." George replied with a small smirk, but his eyes remained narrowed and a bit distant.

"Guys how did it go? What'd he make you do?" They suddenly heard a tired voice from the staircase and they both looked up to see Lee hovering there.

"Just polishing some stupid crystals at Trelawney's office." Fred replied quickly. "How did it go for you? Managed to steal anything interesting?"

"It was a nightmare." Lee groaned and tipped his head back against the wall. "That bloody cat kept nosing around, wouldn't leave me alone for a second, and Filch had left me a weird muggle-sort of device to clean with, which felt really funny to the touch. Anyhow, it kept getting dirty, so I had to go rinse it every five minutes. A nightmare!"

"Blimey, sounds like Filch was nicer on us than you. I always wondered who he hated the most." George said thoughtfully. "Seems he detests you just a tiny bit more passionately than us, Lee."

"Can't have that, can we, Georgie?" Fred said with an air of his usual good humour.

"Certainly cannot, Freddie." George replied in equal good theatrics.

"Just come upstairs already. It's bloody cold down here. I didn't know a magical fire's effectiveness could decrease."

Fred and George made their way up to the bed chambers in silence while Lee rattled on about his detention. Fred was very thankful for Lee this very moment. All he needed to do was to stick in a joke here and there to keep the conversation running. Lee seemed oblivious to the slightly tense atmosphere between the two brothers, and Fred vowed that tomorrow it'd be gone, and that tonight would be forgotten. They crawled into bed and Lee's mumbling turned into snoring. Fred and George would usually whisper to each other before falling asleep, but not tonight. Fred parted his curtain slightly to peer at George's bed. His curtains were obscuring him completely, and judging by his breathing, he appeared to lie with his back towards Fred. Silently sighing, Fred let his curtain fall back in place and then turned to lie on his back, facing the ceiling.

Tomorrow everything would be normal. It must be.