I Want to Touch You

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I Want to Touch You: Chapter 10

The class applauded but Fred went white. He looked down at the beautiful limp boy on his desk and felt as he did the day he found George cutting in the bathroom.

“George!” He screamed. The students went silent as Fred shook his brother violently. “Asshole! I told you not to die, you fucker! It’s my fault, my fault. I infected you with my fucking seed!” he wailed.

He seemed delirious and oblivious to his surroundings as he jumped onto the table and knelt over his brother, shaking his twin’s shoulders so that George’s head was flung from side to side.

The class backed away. They knew George needed help, but they were afraid of Fred.

“Wingardiam Leviosa!” bellowed a strong voice. Fred went flying through the air backwards and hit a wall. His limp body fell heavily to the floor.

Snape was standing at the door with his wand raised and had obviously issued the spell. He rushed into the room to George, who still lay lifeless on the table. He checked George’s pulse and went white.

Snape carried George out of the classroom and to the infirmary using the same spell he had on Fred. He ran the whole way and barely had breath to say to the nurse, “George…almost…dead…hurry!”

Fred awoke in a swimming pool full of blood. The air blew sharp and quick against his sticky back and his messy two-inch long hair flew wildly about his head. He looked around. The endless grass around the pool swayed haltingly and blackness covered the night sky like a blanket.

Across the wide pool Fred made out a small figure hunched over the side. He swam over slowly and saw that it was a girl of about eight or nine. Her shoulders were shaking and as Fred grew closer he could tell she was crying. Fred touched his fingers to the wet small back.

“Are you lost?” Fred asked.

The girl turned around, wiping her eyes. She was naked and her small, undeveloped breasts were flat against her childish figure. Fred turned his eyes as a rush of blood ripped through his body.

“My mother,” the girl said.

“What happened to your mom?”

The girl looked hesitant. She stepped closer and beckoned him to lean his ear to her mouth. She whispered, “I fucked her.”

She laughed wickedly and bit off a part of Fred’s ear. Fred looked down at her in horror. Her whorish grin was far beyond her years and was frighteningly out of place on the sweet young face, so pure and unscarred.

She pressed her flat tiny body against him and took his large hand forcefully in her tiny one, dragging it to her hairless slit. Fred felt a rush as his fingers slipped between wet flesh. Blood flooded into her opening from the pool and the girl threw her head back, gasping and writhing.

Fred moved down and submerged his head below the surface. He found her with his mouth and drank the blood, licking her cunt with his agile tongue.

He raised his head above the surface. Before him, writhing and bucking at his touch, was a small goat.

Fred ran his fingers down the goat’s belly and found that it had grown a penis. He took it in his hand and felt the goat go stiff and his own body reacted enthusiastically. He took the goat’s dick in his mouth. It grew long, thick and red. Fred swallowed the sticky cum.

He was horny as hell. He felt alive, wild, unrestrained. The blood mixed with semen and cunt in his mouth and he savored the flavors on his tongue.

Fred turned around at a coughing sound. George was standing in the middle of the pool, coughing up blood into the red liquid below him. There were cuts all over his naked body and blood flowed freely from them.

George smiled weakly up at Fred. “I’m bleeding,” he said, like a child making a startling but pleasant discovery. He looked down at his wounds.

Fred tried to walk over to George but the distance between them grew so that he was constantly further and further from his brother, who became smaller in the receding darkness.

Fred wanted to stop the bleeding, stop up the wounds. He knew that if he could just reach his brother everything would be okay. He tried to run through the thick stuff but his feet dragged through it as if through molasses.

“George! George, come here!”

But George stood like an oblivious child. Fred could barely make out his brother’s words.

“Fred,” George said, “This blood, I don’t like it at all. It’s so dirty; look at the way it shines black beneath the sky. Just look, and it’s better that I get rid of it.” George smiled.

Fred felt the level lower so that he stood naked and exposeth tth the blood just around his knees, and then his ankles. His dick lay limp before him. The air fell out around him into the distance and he stood choking on thin wisps. Soon there was nothing with which to fill his lungs.

George knew that he was dying, and he didn’t mind. With the blood went the pain and struggle. With the blood went all the confused emotions. With the blood went Fred.

He knew that Fred was a part of him. They shared the same blood. And Fred’s seed was in him, contaminating him. He needed everything filthy out.

He was drifting away from life and reality when he heard his brother gasping in vain for air. And he remembered his brother’s words: “If you die, I die too.”

George was faint from loss of blood and couldn’t concentrate. He was so close to the end of everything, the end of existence. If he could just ignore that awful gasping…he wished Fred would let go of life and let him be. But his brother’s choking stirred a deeper powerful emotion inside of him.

“Fred!” he screamed, and immediately the distance between them vanished. George fell against his brother, half dead.

Fred cut his wrist against a sharp rock on the bottom of the pool and held it up to his brother, who sucked greedily. When the wounds had healed and the blood was restored to George’s body, George pulled his mouth away, sputtering and crying.

The twins stood alone in the pool, and no one else existed in that world.

Fred awoke surrounded by stark blinding white. His eyes fluttered open and then shut tightly.

“Oh, you’re awake!” came a female voice. Fred Cautiously opened his eyes again to see Madam Pomfry hovering over him. “Drink this.” She shoved a spoonful of some translucent purple liquid into his mouth and he choked on it.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “but I had to give that potion to you right when you woke up to make sure there’s no brain damage.”

“Brain damage?” asked Fred warily.

“Yes, Snape threw you pretty hard against the wall. We had to take all the necessary precautions.”

Fred’s memory came flooding back to him. “George!” he shouted and bolted up in bed, only to feel his body scream in revolt. He gasped at the pain and Madam Pomfry pushed him firmly back on the bed.

“George is being kept somewhere else in the castle. You can’t see him. He’s in…critical condition.”

Fred’s eyes went wide. “Will he die?”

Madam Pomfry hesitated. “I don’t know, Fred,” she responded sadly.

Just then Professor McGonnegal burst through the doors. “I ran as fast as I could! Just a minute ago he woke up!”

“Oh, thank God!” exclaimed Madam Pomfry.

“Dumbledore is still taking care of everything, so there’s no reason for you to come.”

The nurse frowned. “He should have medical attention.”

Professor McGonnegal shrugged and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Fred’s head hurt. What the hell was going on?

In a dark room on the third story of the castle Dumbledore stood over George, who was wide-awake now.

“How do you feel?” asked Dumbledore.

“Like I’ve been running for miles. Exhausted,” George replied.

Dumbledore nodded and gestured to the boy’s body. “Do you know how these got there?”

George looked down to see cuts littering his bare stomach and arms and jumped up in bed as if to rid himself of them. “But – but it was just a dream!” he cried weakly.

Dumbledore furrowed his brow concernedly. “What was just a dream?”

George hesitated. That dream – should he tell? But then there was the incest, the pedophilia, the bestiality, the blood. Horribly exposed…no fucking way.

Dumbledore stepped closer in response to George’s silence. “Tell me about your dream, George,” he urged gently.

If anybody knew he would be sent to a mental institution. No matter how strange the wizarding world was, George knew his twisted mind was not in the same category as sibisibility cloaks.

But Dumbledore stepped closer and his kind eyes mesmerized Fred. “Tell me about your dream, George, and everything will be okay.”

“Blood,” George said without thinking, “was all around.”

Dumbledore didn’t blink; he just kept his steady gaze on George, seeming to suck the answer out to him.

“Fred, he was…”

Dumbledore waited.

“Fucking.”

“What was he fucking, George?”

The word sounded clean on Dumbledore’s tongue. George was encouraged.

“Things,” he said, “he shouldn’t have been fucking.”

A light shifted over Dumbledore’s eyes and George grew nervous once again. What had he just divulged? He fidgeted with his sheet.

Dumbledore lifted his chin gently and reestablished eye-contact. “Go on,” he commanded softly.

George looked steadily at Dumbledore. “I watched. It made me horny, Professor. I wanted his mouth on me, too. And I was scared, but then I realized the blood in which I was standing was my own, and all the dirty things I felt were washing out. I was so happy. And he was leaving with it.”

Again a light flickered over Dumbledore’s eyes and George’s single-minded confession faltered. “It was only a dream,” he pleaded, “Please…”

Dumbledore tried to lock eyes again with George but the boy was panicking now. He grew hysterical. “Why don’t you answer me? Tell me you know, Professor, tell me you know that it’s only a silly dream!”

Dumbledore sat calmly looking on, indifferent to George’s shouts. “How did you get the cuts, George?”

“What?”

“How do you get the cuts on your body? Why did you start coughing up blood?”

George went quiet and still. “I don’t know,” he said in a soft and wondering voice.

Dumbledore leaned in. “George, Snape found you on the desk half-dead.”

“He – he did?” asked George warily.

“Yes. And you’ve been fighting with Fred lately, am I right?”

George looked horrified. “How did you know?”

“The other students have noticed, George.”

How much did the school know? Could they guess – could Dumbledore guess…

“Snape found Fred over you, shaking you violently and screaming like a madman,” Dumbledore whispered softly.

George looked up with wide horrified eyes. What did he know? What was he insinuating? Did everyone know they had fucked?

Dumbledore continued, “The other students were afraid of Fred, George. They were afraid he would kill you.”

“What?” George shook his head in disbelief. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“George, Fred may be controlling you through your mind. That’s where the strange dream may have come from.”

George’s mouth was open but he couldn’t speak. Was it possible that Dumbledore misunderstood so horribly?

Dumbledore reached out his bony hand and touched a deep scar below George’s bellybutton between light tufts of red hair. George felt a chill run through his body from being touched at the sensitive place. “Your brother may have given you these scars,” whispered Dumbledore.

“No!” screamed George, “He wouldn’t hurt me! You’ve got it so wrong!”

“He’s never hurt you, George?”

George faltered. How much did Dumbledore know? Why didn’t he just come out and say what he knew so that George wouldn’t have to guess?

“N-no.”

“George, I’m going to give you a potion that will help you discover the memories and thoughts you bury inside. Then you’ll know how you got the scars. Until then I can’t accuse Fred of anything.”

George nodded his head dumbly.

Dumbledore brought a purple liquid up to George’s raw lips. George swallowed and choked because his throat and mouth were sore.

“This will take a while to take effect,” Dumbledore explained, “anywhere from a few days to several months. Lay down, you need your rest.” Dumbledore pushed George gently down on the bed and left the room, and George fell into a dreamless, painless, emotionless sleep.