Part Five: Congruence

The dim corridor seemed somehow too dismal, and the common room was not nearly private enough. Leaving school grounds was a serious affair, but somehow the situation called for it. Following the passageway to it's furthermost end led to a set of stairs which spiraled ever further into the earth. Fred drew his wand at this point, and uttered a quiet lumos to guide their way forward. George silently maintained contact with his brother for the entirety of the excursion.

A long wooden ladder led them at last into the chilling winter air. They pulled themselves up and out of a cellar door, hidden conspicuously behind Dervish and Banges and secured with an almost suspiciously weak Colloportus charm. They peered carefully around the corner of the alley into the main street. It was night, and the golden glow of the streetlamps caught the flurries of broad snowflakes enchantingly.

"Have you any idea where we're going, Fred?" Asked George, earnestly.

"Oh, I've got to make the plans, have I?" Fred retorted, scanning the walkway for passersby. The easy playful tone of his voice quietly delighted George. He felt as if he'd brushed all the dust off of something precious and forgotten.

"No, I'm perfectly content to stand here and freeze, thank you," he said, smiling.

"And I am likewise an expert in -"

"I've got an idea, actually," said George, suddenly.

"You -"

Fred was not given a chance to continue their banter, as George took him by the hand and led him out into the open. In synchrony, they lifted the hoods of their cloaks and pulled them far over their heads. With further amusement, Fred noted that George did not let go of his hand. The castle loomed in the distance, and the silver reflection of the moon could just be made out on the edge of the Great Lake. As they made their way to the furthest edges of Hogsmeade, Fred caught on.

"Hogsmeade station?"

George turned just enough for Fred to see him wink. Fred remembered for the first time what they had come here for, and the lightheartedness of the gesture made his heart sink.

"Did we...Really need to come all this way?" He asked after a moment.

"You tell me, Freddie," George said, taking the steps up onto the platform. Fred felt something like guilt, and he couldn't parse its origin. George let go of his hand at last, and it immediately felt unbearably cold. He tucked it into his pocket. His brother sat down lightly on one of the benches facing the tracks, and gestured for him to follow. For a moment, Fred didn't. George looked at him expectantly. "Fred?" He prompted softly.

Fred cleared his throat and approached the far side of the bench, leaning against it as if nothing of particular interest were happening. For the first time in a great while, the gesture made George's heart soften with love, rather than tighten with uncertainty. The feeling drew his next words forward.

"I thought you might hate me, you know," he whispered. Fred blinked once, jarred, and looked at his brother as if he'd never met him.

"George," he said, his voice incredibly sober, "I could never hate you."

George contemplated the use of asking his brother if he could, in fact, get sick of him when Fred sat down beside him at last. "I love you Georgie. More than anything," he said. The bare sincerity of his words caught George off guard, and he fell totally silent. For a moment, the two sat that way, looking out at the slowly drifting snow.

Fred drew in an audibly long breath. "So," he said, "You kissed me."

It was so absurd to hear out loud that George snorted, and dipped forward. Fred gave him an unamused look but when George straightened he was wearing a huge grin, and he couldn't maintain it.

"Yeah," said George breathlessly, "I did."

Fred envied the ease with which he said it. He felt something acidic rising in his throat, and tried to fight the feeling.

"Mate," he said, "What if this turns into something?" George replied without hesitating,

"Bloody, hell, Freddie, you don't think it has?"

For the first time, George saw his brother blush. He didn't regret saying it. Still, he was softer with his next words. "I mean, mate," he said, "That it's something whether or not we do anything with it."

These seemed to be the wrong words. Fred grimaced, and something in his posture subtly shifted. George's gut stirred uneasily

"You've thought about this," said Fred, emotionlessly. It wasn't a question. George looked forward, and slowly lowered his head backwards onto the wood of the bench.

"Often," he admitted gently.

When another silence followed, George began to feel a familiar discomfort. He slowly sat up, and kept his gaze facing forward. He tried to gather some words of reassurance, but it occurred to him that he had no idea what Fred wanted to hear. As he was turning to ask, his brother fell softly against his shoulder, his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry, George," he said faintly. "For… I mean. I never even asked what you were feeling. I was a kid and it just felt right and I hated myself for it and -"

"Hated yourself for it?" George interrupted incredulously. Fred pulled himself up to look at his twin full on.

Uncertainly, he said, "Didn't you?"

George considered him for a long time.

"Freddie," he said eventually. "Ask me what I'm feeling." Fred blinked, and looked away as if in shame.

"What are you feeling?" He asked, his voice quiet and genuine. George took his time before answering.

"I'm so bloody relieved, Fred. I've felt so far away from you for so long," he said. " Whatever this is can only get in our way if we put it there, mate." Beside him, Fred's eyes slowly welled up with tears. George faltered. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his brother cry. He draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, softly pressing his cheek against his head. "Fred," he murmured into his brother's hair, "What do you want to do?" An age seemed to pass before Fred answered. Without looking up, his voice wavering, he said,

"I want to kiss you again."

George's heart fluttered. With his other hand, he took Fred's chin and gently turned his face. There was a moment when their eyes met, and for the very first time both of them were wholly aware of what was happening. George leaned forward and Fred shut his eyes. Their lips brushed, just barely, and they felt a mutual shiver of electricity. Then, they drifted into a profoundly warm kiss. Fred made a low, tender sound and George felt just then like he couldn't get close enough to him. Their arms found their way firmly around one another and their legs overlapped just enough to accomodate the motion. The embrace deepened further still when George's hand ran lovingly through his brother's hair and Fred's clutched somewhat desperately at his brother's collar in return. The intensity continued to swell, each gesture growing more and more heated until they parted suddenly, in unison. The pounding of their hearts and the unevenness of their breath was striking in the otherwise perfectly still night. Looking transfixed at one another in a moment of disbelief and doubt, it was George who broke first. He laughed, shakily and freely and buried his face into his brother's chest. Fred's eyelashes fluttered and he smiled uncertainly, continuing to hold his brother tightly. He felt a deep soothing relief at the sound his brother had just made, and sensed somehow that he had been waiting to hear it for a long time. "Mate," he said in barely a whisper, and didn't continue until George looked dazedly up and caught his eye, "Do you want to just see where this goes?"