Hey guys! Thank you so much for the reviews! There will be loads of George and Fred action in this one, so I hope it shall satisfy you!
Please keep the reviews coming. I adore them. And you. Yes, you. Really.
Stalking Malfoy the following day proved to be more uneventful and more difficult than the brilliant Weasley twins had anticipated. Malfoy had begun the day by eating breakfast – nothing unusual there. He had then gone to class, and after that he had spent one hour being cooed by the rat-faced Slytherin witch whom Fred thought was called Parkin-something. Lunch followed, and then another class. Fred and George could hardly stalk Malfoy while in class, as they had to attend their own, but they kept their map with them constantly, always ready to take a quick peek at it to see if the ferret stepped out of line.
But the ferret did not step out of line for the whole day, and as Fred and George stealthily followed him into the dungeons, the only exciting thing they got to see was him aiming a kick at Mrs. Norris before stepping into the Slytherin common room.
"What an utter ponce." George commented as he and Fred were walking through the dark corridors of the dungeon. "Why isn't he doing what he's supposed to?"
"Getting picked off by natural selection?" Fred smirked, and George grinned in reply.
"Don't get me wrong. He's always a bloody git, but why isn't he doing…you know, git-y things?"
"Maybe he really does have nothing to do with Harry after all." Fred rubbed his neck.
"He must have. Our gut feelings are never wrong." George argued.
Fred turned quiet for a while. He actually hadn't thought of Malfoy as the reason behind Harry's strange behavior. But on the other hand, (he recalled with a sudden odd feeling in his stomach) he HAD been completely convinced from the very beginning that Harry was in that room with Malfoy. He hadn't thought much about that stupid presumption, but now that George mentioned it, he must attribute it to having been a gut feeling of his.
George was watching Fred pondering, and as they took a turn to the left, they entered a rather narrow corridor which led to a couple of big storages. No one would usually come down there, except for Filch. It wasn't a very exciting place to be at for most people, but Fred and George had known better than to disregard such an area because of its dull appearance. One year earlier they had thoroughly searched through the whole corridor, including the storages (which the Marauder's map had actually provided the magical passwords to!) and they had actually found a secret room. One could enter it if one tapped the third brick from the floor and followed it up by making a circular pattern with their wand over a nearby painting. The bricks would then appear to melt, and a hole would appear which one could crawl into.
The room had proved invaluable to the twins. From the very day that they discovered it, they decided it'd be the new hideout for their experiments. The twins were known for carrying around illegal magical objects, or keeping them in their bedchamber, so it wasn't unusual for them to be randomly searched by Filch or even a teacher. This room provided the safe-haven that they needed.
Fred watched as George brought out his wand to tap the brick and to open the entrance to the room. They both crawled in, and Fred winced a bit when a drop of melted brick came in contact with the back of his shirt. The entrance swiftly rebuilt itself when they were both safely inside.
The room wasn't large, but they had furnished it practically and quite nicely. A table was in the middle, with two high chairs on each side. It was originally made from brown wood but had acquired big black and rusty stains over it as a result from various experiments. They would've reparo'd it, but the stains from their experiments were of such a different brand that a simple spell wouldn't work on them. Fred and George were very pleased with this fact.
In the corner, there was a couch which George had created by transmuting a couple of books. Fred was still quite impressed. A dusty bed (also the work of George's genius transmuting skills) was placed in the far corner, for all the times when the twins stayed up the whole night experimenting and simply getting too tired to return to their common room.
As George walked over to the rusty table in order to place the map on it, Fred watched him at a distance. They hadn't been to their hideout since…things happened. Fred couldn't help but feel that George had perhaps consciously avoided suggesting for them to head there because of its seclusion. Fred started to feel a bit nauseous by this fact, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a yet greater nausea at his realizing that they now were there, and that George either started trusting Fred not to do anything too bad, or he was relaxed enough to think that Fred simply wouldn't try anything at all.
"Look, Freddie, I know you have a limited amount of brain cells." George suddenly spoke loudly. "So I'll give you a hand by telling you to get your arse over here."
Fred returned to the present at the speed of light. He quickly walked over to George's side, careful not to touch the other boy's elbow as he leaned over the map on the table. Malfoy was still in his common room.
"So what's the plan?" Fred muttered.
"We keep an eye on Malfoy." George said, and then after a pause added: "And Harry."
"Could be a good idea."
"Could be a brilliant idea."
Fred peered at Harry's little dot on the map. There was nothing odd with Harry being in the Gryffindor quarters in the evening, but what was odd was that he appeared to be pacing back and forth in his bed chambers. George had spotted the weird behavior as well, and they both watched Harry's dot crawling back and forth on the map for a while, before Fred glanced down on it to check on Malfoy.
…Malfoy was also pacing.
"Hey, Georgie!" Fred elbowed his brother and pointed at Malfoy's dot.
"Blimey." George said, his eyes shifting from Harry to Malfoy, from Malfoy to Harry, both dots moving in an almost creepily synchronized way on each side of the map.
"That's totally bonkers." Fred said. "How is that even possible?"
"They're both…restless, or something else?" George frowned, then suddenly let out a mild gasp.
"What?" Fred turned to stare at George.
"Freddie! Harry is being mind-controlled! It has to be the Imperio!"
Fred stared at the map for a while, considering the possibility. He shook his head.
"That's demented. Why would Malfoy make Harry walk safely back and forth in his room? Besides…" Fred frowned in thought. "Didn't Ginny mention that Harry could shake off The Imperius Curse?"
"Oh yeah…" George frowned as well, making their faces identical. They stood in silence for a while. Suddenly, and again in perfect synchronization, Malfoy and Harry's dots stopped pacing on the map. George slopped back on the couch, but Fred stayed at the table. He was watching the map for any possible changes, but it seemed like Malfoy and Harry had both decided to remain still for a while.
"Freddie?" George mumbled, and Fred felt his face go red for no reason at all.
"What?" Fred realized that he was probably being a bit edgy, uncharacteristically so. He honestly wasn't annoyed or anything, he was just on his guard. For that very reason, he kept his back to George, fixing his eyes on the map for dear life.
"You know, you're acting sort of…weird." George cut himself off. Fred was sure he'd never heard his brother sound as uncomfortable as he did now.
"I mean…" George continued after a pause." Is there anything you want to, you know, tell me? Except that you're a raging homosexual, of course. I already figured that one out."
It was evident that George felt the unsuitableness of his joke, considering the situation. It was the same thing over again. They were horrible at serious conversations. Fred honestly didn't understand why George even tried, and he started to feel very annoyed about it. A little voice in his head reminded him that George no doubt was bringing up these taboo subjects in sincere worry and consideration, but the annoyance and panic he felt in dealing with it would overshadow all charity in the world.
Trying to calm his twitching hands by grabbing firmly onto the edge of the desk, Fred replied. "I have bloody nothing to say."
George remained quiet for a good while before he spoke again. "What the bloody hell do you mean you have nothing to say?" Fred noted that George started to sound slightly annoyed himself. Good. In case Fred would lose his temper, he wouldn't have to feel like he was beating on a puppy at least.
"I mean exactly what I said. I have nothing to say." He replied and glared at Neville Longbottom's tiny dot that was heading for the entrance hall.
"That's such utter bollocks, and you know it." George muttered loudly. Fred felt his face go very warm, and the redness of it was no doubt spreading to his ears.
"Butt out, George." He replied, his voice low. Shortly after his comment, he heard the sound of George leaving the couch and coming up behind him.
"And what if I don't bloody want to?" George said just behind Fred, who clenched the desk's edge with all his might. Fred really didn't want to be confronted with this. Not now, not ever. Why wouldn't George just stop asking? Why wouldn't he just stay the hell away?
"I'm serious, George, don't push it." Fred raised his voice, feeling the usual panic announcing its presence.
"Push it, how? Good Godric, Fred, I just want to know what the hell is up! Why won't you just tell me?"
"What do you THINK is up, George?! Haven't I…-" Fred cut himself off, then shakily continued: "Isn't it bloody obvious?!"
"No, no it isn't! You've just… done and said really… uh." George trailed off. "…Really, well… demented things. You haven't actually told me why."
"Butt OUT, George. It's none of your business!" Fred groaned. His insides were going mental, and he felt as if he was going to throw up at any given moment.
"Sod off, I'm not letting it go this time, so just bloody tell me." George snarled. Fred felt very awkward, and very bad. He and George didn't usually fight. If they did, it was never for any serious reasons. But while he was feeling like someone just shoved four fingers into his throat and tickled his gag-reflexes, and while he was feeling bad for getting into a fight with George, his anger was still the most prominent emotion he felt. His whole body was shaking and urging to just throw everything in the room to hell.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, trailing up to his shoulder. He froze, and his breathing was abruptly cut off.
"George…" He warned. "I swear…"
"You swear what?" It was the challenging tone in George's voice that had Fred spin around and grab his twin's arms, hard. George let out a surprised yelp, his eyes wide as he stared at Fred's enraged expression.
"You're pushing it." Fred snarled. It didn't take long for George to turn his surprised expression back into a confident, almost challenging one. He glared daggers at Fred while raising his eyebrows.
"What are you going to do?" He taunted, and Fred felt his vision blur for a split second. He spun George around and violently pressed him onto his stomach on the table. George struggled at first, clearly panicked, but Fred held him in place, the adrenaline pounding in his ears. He moved one hand from George's elbow onto his neck, taking a rock solid grip while muttering into his ear.
"This. And don't think that I fucking wouldn't…" Fred cut himself off. He was so angry he felt capable of doing nearly anything. George was so close, it was impossible for him not to pay attention to that fact. His body reacted accordingly, reminding him of the bane of his life, and it pissed him off beyond what could be measured.
George, whose eyes had never been so wide, and who had probably never hyperventilated so much in his life, let out a half-frustrated, half-frightened groan.
"What the FUCK, Fred? Do fucking what?! Let me go!"
"I warned you not to bloody TEST me, George. Why do you have to be so god darn pushy?!" Fred snarled. His blood was boiling, pounding loudly in his ears. Why did George have to push the issue so much? Why would he take such a stupid risk as to piss Fred off, when he knew of his recent aggression issues?
"You…" George's voice suddenly turned meek, full of disbelief. "…You wouldn't."
Wouldn't? Wouldn't what? Fred stared down at George, and realized just exactly how dominant his position was. His stomach made a powerful somersault when George's words suddenly made sense to him. George thought he'd…use him, or something? The moment the thought entered Fred's head, he once more felt the weird sensation of being overwhelmed by several emotions and urges at once. There is just no way he'd hurt George, that'd be messed up. It'd be messed up in all ways. He felt sick when realizing that he'd probably put them in this position because of a subconscious want to… do something with it. Now when he was actually standing there; panting, insane eyes, red hair unruly and heart pounding like a bulldozer, holding down an identical bloke who only differed from him by the look in his eyes; he realized just how out of his mind he must be. George was no doubt frightened, yet he seemed to have frozen, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. He turned his head slightly, as much as he could, to glance over his shoulder at Fred, the look in his eyes matching his earlier tone of voice; full of disbelief. No, it was evident that George didn't expect Fred to actually harm him. That fact made Fred feel slightly less like a slimy monster. What was also evident, however, was that George was in shock. He probably never thought Fred would use such means to intimidate him, and all he seemed to be trying to figure out now was whether he was right in supposing that Fred actually was threatening to sexually harm him, or if there was some other reason behind their chosen position.
Fred carefully loosened his grip on George's neck. He felt shocked by his own actions, and now he didn't know what to say or do. George didn't move, but stayed in the same position and simply stared back into Fred's eyes. It was frustrating for Fred. He wished George would just shove him off completely and move away. For some reason, he couldn't find the strength to move away himself.
A minute went by in complete silence before George slowly rose and carefully spun around to face Fred, who didn't move much except to give George the space to actually turn. Fred had dropped both his hands to his sides and he couldn't remember when he had done so. In fact, it seemed like he couldn't remember anything at all, barely even his own name. George was in front of him, ridiculously close; so close their fringes touched. Fred would've normally had a loud, internal dialogue where he'd ask himself over and over again why George wasn't moving away, but it seemed like his brain had finally shut down. He started to feel horribly tired, as if he'd spent a lifetime in physical labour. He supposed that the brain could only handle so much. He was so sick of it all. Sick and tired. He couldn't find the will to run away, to act indifferent or to even speak. He didn't care if George could read all the messed up thoughts and feelings in his mind. He really didn't care anymore. Not right now.
George was staring into Fred's eyes, his own narrowed – the telltale sign that he was really trying to understand what Fred was feeling and thinking about. No doubt, he'd figured out that Fred was horribly tired and that he had shut down emotionally. Fred didn't know if he could tell anything else. Honestly, what can you tell from such a blank face?
Suddenly, it was as if the atmosphere in the whole room shifted. It changed so abruptly that Fred felt a shiver down his spine. He couldn't tell at first what had happened, but then he realized it had been George's eyes doing. George was staring at him, intently. His ice blue eyes were so intense, and so close, that Fred could tell every detail of his irises. George was closer than before. Fred numbly noted this, and he felt his knees starting to shake.
"Fred… That time. In Trelawney's classroom." George spoke carefully and uncomfortably.
Fred twitched and struggled to keep his emotions down, locked behind the shield his head had produced to save him from going insane. He didn't reply, and George paused for a long moment before speaking again.
"I honestly don't know what the hell that was about. I don't…" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know why that happened or how. It's just impossible. I haven't…been able to process it, at all."
So George had reacted the same way as Fred, then. What had happened during their last detention had been so sick, so surreal, so utterly impossible, that neither of them could grasp it. It had been shut into the depths of both minds, and hadn't it been for Fred's stupid and uncontrollable sick urges, they might have actually forgotten it in time, the same way one forgets a trauma which is too much for a human brain to handle. But no, Fred kept landing them in this place, dragging them both back to face what can't and should never be faced. He'd continuously proven that he couldn't let it go, and now George was forced to take the matter into his own hands and do the only sane yet painfully awkward thing: Confront Fred about it.
Fred only fleetingly felt a mild sense of panic before it was stilled and his mind once again turned blank. He needed to keep himself indifferent, he needed to remain in control, he couldn't allow any feelings to escape him. He tried to focus on reading George's emotions and thus stay away from lingering on his own. It struck him that George seemed very embarrassed, and bordering on devastated. He also saw that George's hands were twitching and that his brother didn't seem to know what to do with them. First they were on his pockets, then in his pockets, then on his collar, then by his sides, and then on his neck. He seemed increasingly distressed, and Fred felt a sudden feeling of mild alarm. It was like his instincts were warning him that something was about to happen; that the situation was taking a turn for the worse. He barely had time to linger on this thought before George grabbed Fred's shoulders and pulled him against him, their foreheads touching.
"I…" George breathed, his eyes wide. "Tell me what the fuck is happening, Freddie."
Fred only realized he wasn't breathing when his head started swimming and he was seeing black spots. He blinked several times and forced himself to focus. He became vaguely aware that he had raised his hands to lean with them against the desk's edge behind George.
"I don't fucking know." Fred groaned, and his voice sounded alien to him. It was shaking, it was hopeless, and it was defeated.
"What the bloody hell happened back then?" George insisted, although it sounded like he was dying to just run away.
"I don't know-I…"
"Liar." George muttered shakily. "It's driving me insane, Fred. Really, I can't…I don't fucking get anything!"
"I'm sorry, okay?" Fred raised his voice slightly, and they both fell into a deep silence in which only their shaky breaths could be heard.
"I just…can't we just be like before?" George quietly groaned after a while. "This is so messed up, I don't even… know… I… can't we just go back to bloody normal? We almost did, sometimes, these past days."
"I know, I want to as well, Merlin knows I do." Fred sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the last piece of energy draining from him at a rapid pace.
"This is utter bollocks, Fred. I don't know what…- Maybe if we…-"
"I was never prepared for this."
"You shouldn't be. It's bloody disgusting." George muttered shakily. Fred winced a bit at the expression, but couldn't do anything else but agree. Yes, it was bloody disgusting. He was disgusting. They were both disgusting. Why were they here, and even more so, why were they still so close? His trademark anger was now punching at the shield in his mind, trying to break it and get through. But Fred wouldn't let it. He'd be damned if he let it.
"Fred…" George spoke lowly, and something in Fred kneaded his intestines. Fuck, he was losing it. He really didn't know how he was losing it, but he knew he was in some way. Before he could try to collect himself once more, he felt George taking a firmer grip on his shoulders. Why would he do that? He fleetingly wondered if George had spotted how very unstable Fred's knees were at this point, and that he felt like steadying him, when he suddenly felt a hot breath against his lips. It erased all his thoughts at the speed of light, sweet nothingness took over, and he swiftly opened his eyes to stare into George's, the same shape and colour. The very same.
Fred let out a low groan before closing the distance between them. Or George did. He wasn't sure who leaned in first. All he knew was that he was kissing George, and that he was doing it fiercely. He pressed himself against his identical twin, the only person in the world who looked just like him, and who thought just like him, and who knew him just like he was. George moaned quietly into Fred's mouth, and he felt a sudden adrenaline rush exploding in his veins, empowering his weakened body. He moved one hand from the edge of the rusty table and grabbed George's hip, pressing them as closely to one another as was possible. The friction was deadly to Fred. The animal in him growled in satisfaction as he occupied both his hands with feeling George's body. His sides, his hips, his back, his neck, his hair, everything, he needed to feel everything. He didn't care anymore. Damn everything else.
George's hands had long left Fred's shoulders and were now placed in his brother's flaming hair, passionately running his fingers through it and occasionally pulling at it in mild frustration. The heat between them only increased when George pulled back to resume kissing and biting down Fred's neck. Fred tilted his head back and stared into the ceiling without seeing it, his mouth slightly open and his heavy breathing irregular. A part of his mind was trying to gain his attention, but quite in vain. The only thought that managed to reach his head was the fact that George was kissing him. The fact that he wasn't the only one pushing it this time. He didn't know how to feel about it. His stomach reminded him of what a disgusting crime he was committing, but his shield still allowed him not to care. He moved his hands to George's shirt and tore at the buttons, successfully tearing it open and revealing fair skin. Fred ran his fingers down George's now naked chest, his hand stopping at the hem of his brother's pants. He carefully grabbed George's belt, feeling the cold metal against his burning hand. Man, he was so warm. He'd never been so warm in his life. He wanted to remove every piece of clothing that was left between the two of them. He didn't care. He really didn't anymore.
Fred took a deep breath, and then something in him snapped. He'd been unguarded, he'd been uncareful. All emotions came at him at once, overwhelming him with why's and what-the-fuck's, tearing him down with guilt and disgust. What the actual fuck was he doing? What the fuck was George doing? What the hell were they doing? Who started it? Hell, it didn't matter who started it! They had to stop. Stop, stop, stop.
It was almost as if George could hear Fred's internal dialogue, or he might have experienced the same thing at the exact same time. He froze in his movement, his eyes widened, and he let out something of a shocked yelp.
Their eyes met, and the world stood still.
