Part 24:

It was half three by the time George's heavy footfalls landed on the stairs leading up to their flat. Fred was in his room, attempting to lure his body to sleep when he heard the front door knock loudly against the wall. Curiosity and annoyance peaking, he moved to the door and stuck his head out.

"Hey! Do you know how late it is? Shut it would you." He said it with a smile, no real edge in his voice. After all, he had come home late and drunk plenty of times. Granted, George was usually right beside him, cheeks flushed from walking. And as he realized this, that in all his years there had never been a night out without his twin, hurt began to bloom in his chest. A dark hurt, one that had been laying roots for the past few days with each act of his brother's indifference.

George turned to look at him, paused halfway in kicking his shoes off in the doorway. They made eye contact and for a moment Fred thought his brother was about to apologize, but instead he grimaced. Leaving the left shoe still half laced and on his foot, George stalked by Fred's doorway, muttering a "fuck you" as he passed. The slam of George's door seem to reverberate through Fred's entire body, an electric shock. Brow furrowed, he went out into the living room, bending to pick up the discarded shoe and scarf. He opened George's door without knocking, and threw the items onto the rug where they bounced noiselessly.

"What gives?" Fred said, not crossing the threshold, and instead looming in the doorway over George who was laying back across the bed, heels of his hands pressed down into his eyes as if he had a headache. Somewhere in his mind he knew now was not the time to pick the fight he had felt brewing for days. It was so late, and tiredness was making his temper short. But the voice urging him to close to the door and go back to bed was not loud enough. So he stayed, staring at George until he answered, and when he didn't, Fred repeated the question. Louder this time.

"What gives? You just disappeared for hours." George rolled forward, so he was sitting. Fred noticed the faint line of a bruise beginning to color his cheekbone. Half the hair on George's head was flattened from where he had laid on the bed and he took a moment to run his fingers through it before finally answering. He wasn't drunk, Fred realized. A little tipsy perhaps, he could smell the sharp sting of whiskey in the air, but George's voice was a little too clear when he eventually answered.

"Sometimes I've just gotta get away from…" George paused for a moment, seeming to consider what exactly he was escaping. Eventually, he gestured towards Fred.

"From me?" This time Fred couldn't control his tone, something halfway between several emotions, the fine line between pain and rage.

"From all your shit." George stood then. "Your lies, or the games, or whatever it is you've been doing for the past week." He clarified once they were eye to eye. Fred saw something in his brother, past the hard exterior of indifference he was attempting to create. There was a darkness, a wound deep and aching that Fred had unknowingly stepped into. This felt different, not the fights that had usually broken out between them. Again the voice told him to wait, to back away and let them both be sober, and awake, and calm. But this time it was pride that won, a righteous indignation that George's reaction was undeserved.

"What lies?"

"Come off it. Can we not play this stupid game for once?" George wasn't quite shouting, but it was close. Fred noticed the way George's shoulders seemed to rise and fall sporadically as if he had to remember to breathe. "You've been lying to everyone. I am your twin, and whatever rubbish you decide to tell mum, or Ron, or whoever...you aren't supposed to tell it to me. That's not how this works." George gave him a shove, nothing hard, but it did knock Fred a few inches into the hall. As he did, George took a deep breath. Fred could see just how hard he was trying to concentrate, trying to shake the what little alcohol induced distraction might be lingering.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hermione!" This George did shout, so loud and garbled as if it got stuck behind his teeth, that it took Fred a moment to decipher what the word that been. But once he did, the bubbling anger receded immediately. A pot taken off the stove, he felt cold suddenly. He had been lying. George, seeming to have just released some sort of flood gate, continued to shout. And as he did he backed away from Fred, as if being close to him was causing physical pain. "Did you really think I would care if you two started shagging or whatever? Hell, I was the one that convinced you that you had feelings for her at all! So why in Merlin's name did you have to lie to me? You've been lying for days and it hurts, it hurts like hell to have look at you and know that you keep picking her over me. I am your brother, your blood."

"Oh." The word slipped out a quiet whisper. This reaction, the total acceptance seemed to take George aback. Fred slumped back so he against the far wall. "Well listen, it's not –"

"I know what it's like. I'm not an idiot." George had stopped shouting and sat down hard on the bed again. "Just get out of here. I can't do this right now." Instead of relenting, of returning to his room to let George sleep off a bit of the anger that was still rolling off him in billows, Fred moved so he was in the room. "I said, leave!" George said, not making eye contact. "I don't want to listen to you give a bunch of excuses for a bunch of lies there was no reason for you to tell." Fred sat down on the bed, up by the pillows so he wasn't quite within punching distance in case George got any ideas.

There was silence for a minute, maybe two, and George's eyes pressed closed as if he was trying to make his brother disappear. Eventually, Fred let out a shaking breath and turned to face him.

"I lied." He waited, one breath, two, four, hoping George would open his eyes but he didn't, so Fred continued. "I lied, and it had nothing to do with you. I lied because I was afraid, I still am afraid." George opened his mouth but Fred cut him off, "Not because I thought you would disapprove or some shit, I could date Moaning Myrtle and you wouldn't care, I know that. I am afraid because I think it will all disappear, like a bursting bubble." He made a pop sound. "I didn't have some long planned scheme to win her over, it wasn't something I hid from you. It sort of just happened, she kissed me." He had to pause here as the thought of Hermione's lips against his made warmth radiate throughout his entire being. "But when it did I felt something change, something shift inside of me. This thing I had wanted for so long was now sitting in my hand, it was so fragile and so close. I haven't even talked to her since then, and I am terrified that when I do she will say it's all a joke. So when you asked me what happened, I couldn't tell you. Because if I said it out loud and then it all came to nothing, it would be so much worse. When I think about that–about her deciding she doesn't want me and me having to come back here to this flat, hat in hand and tell you, it feels like I can't breathe." He stopped then, the word "breathe" reminding him to suck in a lungful of air. His mouth felt dry, and he couldn't swallow a lump forming in his throat. There was more silence now, different silence. It seemed to burn the air, leaving Fred's skin tingling as he waited for George's response. Eventually the left eye opened, followed by the right, and George stared at a spot just to the side of Fred's face.

"So, uh," He said, his voice distant at first and then coming into focus like a picture, "you kissed her did you?" And the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Fred felt the weight beginning to lift. He was, at least partially, forgiven with his long and emotional confession.

"I really am sorry." Fred pushed on, not wanting to let this end with a joke and have no true forgiveness granted. "You know that you are important, more important than even myself. And that's why it was so hard to tell you. I didn't do it to hurt you or keep you out of the loop." He tried to say it definitely, but the slightest hint of an uptone at the end made it sound almost like a question. Had he meant to hurt his brother? He admitted deep inside that perhaps there was a small part that enjoyed knowing there were things about him George didn't know, but he hadn't really wanted those secret things to hurt him. Right?

"Alright." George said, looking him in the face. "Enough. I just wish you would've told me but that's over and done, and you can't stuff an egg back up a chicken's ass. So let's just drop it and you get out of my room before you get all weepy on me. I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that." And Fred, smile unrelenting, did as he was told. And he couldn't help but pause outside the door, listening to the deep sigh George let out. Turning off the hall light as he ducked back into his room. For the moment, all was well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter obviously...

Author's Note: A million and a half apologies for how long you've waited for this next sub par chapter. I could give you a handful of excuses if that would help. I am inspired by you all every day and I am so thankful that you put up with long wait times and bad grammar. I am hoping to get back on a regular writing schedule and keep this bad boy moving. I am also planning on getting better at responding to reviews, so feel free to leave them. It was a year ago yesterday that I posted the first chapter of this story, and I am astounded by the support I have gotten. You all keep me writing and keep me sane. Thank you more than words can say.

Emma.