A/N: Okay, so here I am, back again for chapter five! I have a feeling that all of you who went, "Geez, she really took it a bit too far when George was screwing that chick" will NOT like this chapter, as I'm going to keep taking this horrible, twisted relationship even closer to the point of no return. 'Cos that's just the kind of fan-hating author that I am. Actually, I love you all, but I keep doing things like this. Why? Is it because I want you to suffer? …Yeah, that's probably it. shrug (You do know I'm kidding, right? …Right?)

Chapter 5: Anesthesia

The silence and emptiness that followed was unbearable for Fred. No longer was there the dependable warmth of his other self. No longer would he feel, late at night, a soft, familiar form crawl under the covers and curl up against his spine, then leave again when the sun arose. He had never known loneliness like this. He had been lonely, yes, but always when it got to be too much, there was George. Not now. Probably never again.

Fred was running on autopilot. He laughed, ate, talked with friends, even. Yet, there was nothing behind these motions of living. No will, no consciousness, drove him. He existed because he loved George. He moved because he hated George. Fred refused to give George the satisfaction of seeing him act hurt. That was just what George wanted, to be able to come and comfort Fred and make everything right again with them. No, no, Fred wouldn't let him. (Part of Fred wondered, later, at what made him think this way, but it was a small one, easily ignored.) So, he moved. But he never played any tricks, and every mealtime found his regular seat empty, the boy himself nowhere to be seen.

Lee, refusing to be caught in the middle of this… whatever it was, simply ignored both of them. Everyone could see that something was wrong, but no one felt it was their place to say anything. The awkward silence perpetuated. Fred drew further into himself. George wrapped himself up in Allison, which caused Fred to stay away from Griffindor Tower for longer and longer intervals.

One day, he never came back at all. Instead, he slept on his tower, all alone and wrapped up in the blanket they had once shared.

-

Fred was in the library, with Hermione nearby. Surrounded by musty tombs of knowledge long-forgotten, Fred sunk into himself. This was a daily ritual, coming here and wallowing in self-pity. Unhealthy, yes, and Fred knew this, but he figured it was not any worse than harboring an un-brotherly love for one's twin.

"That's a good book." The voice that spoke to Fred was unfamiliar. He looked up. So was the face, though he found himself liking this face simply because he had never seen it before. It was a boy, perhaps a year or two older than Fred, wearing Ravenclaw colours. His face was sharp, but beautiful, like a finely-honed razor's edge. Blue eyes underneath thing black brows that arched in such a way to lend the unknown boy an air of amused seductiveness, unbalanced lips fuller below than on top that curled up in the corners, glossy black hair that was carefully tailored for an air of unconcerned messiness, perfectly manicured oval nails; this stranger was everything George was not. Fred found that enticing. Their eyes met for a moment, and in that moment a perfect understanding passed between them. This boy, this utter stranger, wanted Fred. Fred did not want him, but he could, easily. A smile curled both their lips. Fred had been searching for something with which he could hurt George, hurt him so much that it would make George his. He had found it.

"I'm not reading it. Want to go somewhere… else?" The last word hung in the air, a promise of just what they would be doing when they got to that "somewhere else". Stranger smiled at Fred. Fred smiled at Stranger.

"Yours, or mine?" he asked.

"Mine."

-

Fred found that Stranger did not believe in wasting time, which suited Fred just fine. The tower was empty when they arrived, and with no warning Stranger had Fred out of his pants. It took Fred only a little longer to get Stranger out of his. Fred almost laughed aloud when he had—apparently, Fred had much more sex appeal than he had thought. Or maybe sex had more sex appeal than he thought. Obviously Stranger wanted to take charge, and he did, throwing Fred down roughly onto what Fred was fairly certain was George's bed. How perfectly poetic. When Stranger finished what Fred was sure he thought was foreplay, and shoved his way inside, it hurt. It hurt a lot. Stranger's rough thrusts only got deeper, harder, faster. Fred bit his tongue, and the warm taste helped him calm down. Absently, he thought that Stranger's face was really very unattractive when twisted with the effort of screwing Fred. It was amazing, though. Through the pain, he could not think of George. He only felt an empty, blissful numbness.

He came, then left. Later Stranger returned with the clothes he had left on the stairs leading to the dorm. Stranger dressed, and Fred watched. He couldn't get up, so Stranger brought him his boxers and a pair of pants. They were George's. Then Stranger sat down next to Fred. For a long time they were silent. Fred knew what Stranger would say. He also knew that it would take him a long time to say it, so while he waited, he lit a cigarette. He offered one to Stranger, who refused.

"Look, this… I mean, what we did…"

"If you wanna do it again, you know where to find me." Fred interrupted. "I'm not expecting a relationship, just because you propositioned me, I accepted, and we fucked." Stranger looked relieved. That amused and irritated Fred. (George would never wear such an expression.)

"Then, I guess I'll leave."

"I guess you will." Fred didn't watch as Stranger walked out the door. As a result, he didn't see George until he was only ten steps away. He looked scandalized, horrified, to see his brother (or did he see himself?) half-naked, smoking. "…Hello, George."

"Who… Who was that?" What was that strange tone he heard in George's voice? Fred did not know, but it was satisfying.

"I'm not sure. I forgot to ask his name," Fred answered his other self flippantly. George shifted from foot to foot.

"…So, what was he…"

"Fucking me." Fred cut him off, eyes blazing a challenge. Say something, Georgie. Go on. I dare you. George's face was… Fred stared. It was terrifying. Then George's face shut down, closed off. That was the single most frightening thing he had ever seen in his life. Fred could not read his twin, not even a little bit.

"…I see." That was all George said. What else? Don't you want to say anything else? Please, say something else. Fred felt a chill settle over the room.

"…George?"

Instead of responding, he left. Not a sound was made until the door clicked shut. Fred sat straight up, then, and put out his cigarette. That was… not what he had wanted. Suddenly, he was aware of how exposed he was. Gathering blankets around him, Fred knew that all that he had left for himself were bloody sheets and a heart of lead.

"George…"

-

A/N: Oh my freakin' gosh! Fred's a WHORE! That's right! I don't know why. The idea occurred to me one day while walking to school. Actually, a scene occurred to me. I probably won't write it out with the way the story is going, so I'll give you the dialogue. This takes place in the Weasley household, I think.

"Fred…"

"What?"

"Fred, I don't really care about your lovelife, but…"

"But what, George?"

(He's angry now) "BUT, it's summer break!"

"AND?"

"Just… GOD, don't bring them home!"

"Why not? You bring Allison."

"That's different."

"How so!"

"We're ENGAGED, Fred!"

"SO? My boys and your FIANCEE serve the same damned purpose!"

(Silence)

"…They're… beautiful." (this is after a long pause)

"…Thank you."

(What they really mean by this is, "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to" and "I am too".)

Fascinating, eh? My walk to school is long and boring. Anyway, chapter six is really short, because I wanted to get to chapter seven, which as, drum roll please, TWINCESTUAL SEX! Wooooah. RR, and I love you all!