The Chasm

It felt like this: a thousand spells cast across his skin, pulsing with hot magic. It felt like sweat rolling down his spine and wind rushing through his ears, and it felt like his throat open wide. It felt like his heart was everywhere, drumming itself through his bones. It felt scary, out of control; it felt like a freefall with no wand; it felt muddled, like waking up disoriented at four in the afternoon. It didn't feel like his life, contained and locked-away and sterile and safe. It felt big. It felt...

"Fantastic. And mad," he said, slouching back against the chair and letting his hands tumble through Luna's hair, catching the ends between his fingertips and holding them there. He looked up at her, rosy-skinned and damp, seeming to glow with the same throbbing light as he was. She still held him inside of her, holding tighter as he grew softer, not wanting to let him slip away. She didn't speak, just traced a line of sweat from his temple to his cheek and smiled.

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Luna cooked breakfast naked, putting a charm over herself to shield her body from the splattering bacon grease. Percy -- rebuttoned and charmed clean -- sat at the table watching her, his slender hands folded together, listening to her hum. He thought that he perhaps ought to offer his assistance, that it was only polite, but the truth was that he was hopeless in the kitchen and would probably do nothing but get in her way.

When she joined him to eat, still naked, he felt like they should address what had happened between them, but Luna did not seem to have found it at all unusual. She ate, however, through a smile that shone even brighter than usual, and she slopped her tea around as though her hands had become unstable.

It was Percy who finally spoke. "Is that going to happen again?"

"I hope so," she answered, the ends of her hair dragging through a ring of tea on the table. "Both parts."

"Both parts?" Percy asked, confused.

"The laughing part and the sex part," she said. "I like your laugh even better than your smile. It's a rather different kind of stormy, don't you think?"

Percy wrapped his hands around his mug of tea. "I suppose, yes. I'm not entirely sure what that was about. It wasn't even that funny, was it?"

Luna's eyes brightened. "It was the glibbertrots. My house is full of them. I put cinnamon around the doors and windows to invite them in."

"Glibbertrots?"

Luna just nodded knowingly. "I often have laughing fits, even when I'm here alone. That's how I know they're here. They're invisible to the naked eye. I like them. They make things more cheerful, and we all need a bit of cheering, don't you think?"

Percy tilted his head and looked at Luna sideways, as though seeing her from a different angle might help him to understand. Wryly, he said, "George could use some cheering. Why don't you bring some cinnamon to his flat?"

"Oh. No. I'm just bringing you, Weatherby. You're going to work much better."

"Why are you nervous about bringing me back? What am I going to see?"

Luna studied Percy for a moment before answering. "I asked Fred if I should tell you beforehand, and he told me no. And I think he's right. But!" Luna's voice grew grave. "You have to sit through it. It's very, very important. I know I told you I'm not that kind of girl, but I will body-bind you if I have to. I can do it without my wand, you know. Harry taught me."

Percy's mug paused halfway to his mouth. He had no doubt that she could carry out her threat, but what worried him more was why she felt that she might have to. What could be so truly awful in George's mind that he'd have to be bound to watch? He asked Luna.

"It's not awful. I think it's lovely, actually. But you might find it shocking."

Despite the uncomfortable feeling beginning to pool in his belly, Percy found himself feeling more than a little curious. Anxious, as well, but definitely curious. He was almost looking forward to the evening.

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Luna didn't dress.

She brought Percy out into her garden, and he helped her tend to the vast array of plant life she kept there. She puttered around naked, watering and fertilizing and pulling weeds (to which she apologized), and he followed, sweating into his button-down shirt under the bright August sun, again working his muscles in ways they had not worked in a very long time. He didn't ask her why she didn't use magic; he rather liked the ache that grew across his back and shoulders.

She chatted playfully, tucking errant flowers into her hair until it looked like her head needed a weeding, and she even managed to sneak one behind Percy's ear as he bent to pull a dying bud from a petunia. "You look pretty!" she exclaimed, and though Percy wasn't sure that that was precisely what he was aiming for, he thanked her nonetheless.

By one o'clock, Luna had talked him out of his shirt (You're going to ruin it; sweat-stains are very difficult), but he was determined to draw the line at his trousers.

Determined, that is, until Luna snuck up on him from behind and had his zip undone before he could set the watering can down and stop her. Percy found that he didn't mind, really, so much, after she pulled him down into the grass beside her and wriggled into the crook of his arm to stare up at the clouds, and the fact that she was utterly unclothed helped him feel less silly about the fact that he was wearing only his shorts.

Luna wrapped her dirt-smeared legs around his and pointed out pictures in the sky that Percy had to squint to see, and still sometimes couldn't. She found dragons, and Percy thought of Charlie. She found a goblin wearing a wig, and Percy thought of Bill. She found a huge, fluffy-looking snitch, and Percy thought of Ginny. Luna twined her fingers through his and squeezed every time his mouth grew tight and his heart surged with memory.

"What do you see?" she asked him.

"Clouds," he answered. Luna smiled.

By four o'clock, Luna was sprawled on her back in the grass with one knee slung over Percy's shoulder, and his tongue was following the curves between her legs with a delicate grace that made her curl her toes and grin up at the sun, her eyes shut and her chin tilted in catlike pleasure.

Her taste reminded him of outside things: grass and rain and moss and earth, and he liked the way she arched into him to tell him to go faster, and he liked the way her thighs knocked his glasses askew when her muscles twitched. When he thought she wasn't looking, he opened his eyes to watch the shadows move across her skin, and he couldn't see pictures there, either, just abstraction and paleness and undefined shapes.

He curled his fingers into her and pressed against the only rough spot he could find on her body. Blades of grass came loose under her grip, and he pressed again, and her ankle curved around his shoulders. He pressed a third time, and the grass from her hands was in his hair, and he didn't mind the dirt that mixed into the sweat on his neck, he just kissed her until he felt her come hard and happy around his fingers, then wiped his lips across his arm before letting her pull him up and crush their mouths together.

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"Are you ready?" she asked him after another shower, and dressing, and dinner.

"Yes," Percy answered, though he wasn't sure he was telling the entire truth. The anxiety had returned full-force over his salad, and he had barely been able to finish it. Luna, of course, had noticed, and she'd dropped something into his tea that hadn't worked.

Now, she held out her arm, and she nodded with a rather determined look on her face, and they landed, once again, with a crack! on the roof of 93 Diagon Alley. Apparition hadn't made Percy's stomach churn in a very long time, but this time, it did, and he sank to his knees for a moment to gather himself. Luna carded her fingers through his hair absently as she shuffled through her satchel for the Ogling Ocs.

They settled at the window, and Percy set his eyes on the familiar scene before him: George, alone and half-dressed, all gangly limbs and too-long hair and purple-ringed eyes, seeming to become less and less recognizable every day. It was still hard to see. Harder, maybe, because now Percy felt like there was a pinhole in his chest that was opening itself wider and wider, letting light and sharpness and ache tunnel through.

He let Luna take the glasses and orient herself, and for awhile they sat in silence. Percy tried to imagine what she was seeing. Was it the same thing they had watched together before, or was she sorting through his brother's thoughts like owl post, picking and choosing the ones she thought were important? Just when he thought that he couldn't stand not knowing any longer, Luna leaned over and adjusted a second pair over Percy's glasses and thrust her hand into his.

"Should I body-bind you now," she whispered, "or will you promise to stay put?"

The silver lines swirled hypnotically as they brought George's memories into focus. "I'll stay here," Percy responded, feeling immediately as though that might be a mistake.

Luna squeezed his hand in acknowledgment, and they both turned their attention to the scene before their eyes.

Fred and George are huddled together on the Hogwarts Express. They are the only ones in their cabin, and they both look smaller and more frightened than Percy can ever remember them being. They've got their bags open, and there are books and parchment and quills everywhere. Twin pairs of hands are pawing through the mess; twin mouths chatter in silent excitement. Both sets of ears are flushed pink.

Suddenly, the motion of the train slows down, and Fred and George scramble to cram everything back into their matching bags. The doors to their cabin open, and Percy sees himself -- shorter, skinnier, sour-looking -- come through the door.

Luna giggled. "Oh, Weatherby."

Fred and George haul their belongings off the train, following Percy. His hands gesture back at them, and he looks over his shoulder periodically to make sure they're coming with appropriate haste. Every time he turns his back again, the twins bring their shoulders together, tip their heads down toward one another, smile. George glances around furtively and presses a reassuring kiss to the side of Fred's head when he is sure no one is looking.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the image started to fade. Percy turned to look at Luna, momentarily forgetting the enormous, lopsided glasses that decorated his face. "What was so bad about that?"

"Nothing," she said. "Rather sweet, don't you think? But there's lots more. Look, it's coming back now."

As the scene blinked into focus, Luna leaned over and wrapped both of her hands around Percy's. Beneath her fingers, he could feel his pulse start to race.

It's winter. He can see through the window in the boys' dormitory that there is snow falling, heavy and thick, outside. All of the beds are empty, save for one. Percy realizes, then, that it's Christmas; there is a small stack of presents piled at its foot.

The hangings are pulled back. Fred and George are together on one mattress, the covers pulled up to just below their bare shoulders. One is nestled behind the other -- Percy can't tell who is who just yet -- whispering something against his twin brother's ear. Beneath the bedclothes, there is movement, slow and halting.

Fred (identifiable, now, as his hand comes out to grip hard at his pillow and Percy sees the scar near his thumb) has his mouth screwed up and set sternly, and George is whispering, whispering, whispering at his freckled ear, nuzzling his nose into Fred's hair, nodding and kissing.

Percy's jaw dropped. Luna's grip grew firmer around his hands, and she was looking at him when he turned to face her and took off the Ogling Ocs.

"I can't... I can't watch this. They're..." He couldn't even finish the sentence. Understanding had dawned on him, and he suddenly felt too warm, and his stomach was doing gymnastics, and his chest felt tight with... revulsion, or horror, or something close to fear. These were his brothers. His little brothers. They were not supposed to be doing this, and he was not supposed to be watching this, and this... this could not be. "There is something wrong with these glasses," he finally spat out.

"No," Luna said quietly. "They're working well. Perfect, even." There was something vaguely sad in her voice.

"No," Percy answered. "Absolutely not. They're malfunctioning. This is... this did not happen."

"It did," Luna answered, holding his hands still tighter. "It did. I saw it. I mean, I saw it before the glasses."

Percy went utterly still. "What do you mean, you saw it before the glasses?"

Luna spoke urgently now. "You have to watch now. I'll tell you what I saw later. But you have to watch now. Look at it with your Ministry eyes," she said suddenly. "Look at it like you're researching. Just look, and don't feel. Like you're reading. Be..." she stalled for a moment before coming out with, "an impartial observer. Like you're taking notes! You're a good note-taker. Quickly. You promised."

Percy swallowed heavily. He had promised. He shut his eyes and steeled himself, trying to pretend that these were not his brothers, not his baby brothers, not Fred and George. He tried to see through his Ministry eyes.

The scene came back into focus. Luna's grip grew tender again, her nails trailing along his skin, offering comfort and peace and gentleness.

The covers are rumpled now, and both twins are kneeling atop them, bare. Fred is on his hands and knees, his forehead pressed into his quaking arm. George is behind him. One of George's hands is rubbing soft circles across Fred's arched-down back. The other is sliding across Fred's bottom, and Percy can tell that George has just withdrawn his fingers. He's murmuring to Fred, and Fred is nodding, and George's hands are all across Fred's body in easy strokes. He looks as though he's checking for pain, checking for pleasure, just looking.

George leans down across Fred's back and wraps his arms around Fred's waist. Fred takes his weight easily. George is whispering again into Fred's ear, his hands moving over Fred's chest, his belly, down to wrap around Fred's cock, which is hard. Fred whispers back, still nodding. As George lifts himself off of Fred's body, he leaves a trail of kisses down his spine.

George kneels behind Fred, and he puts his hands on Fred's hips to guide him down. Fred maneuvers onto George's thighs and settles back, and he leans to meet George's waiting mouth. Their kiss is slow and wet and intimate.

If Percy allowed himself to forget who he was watching, it was easily one of the most beautiful things that he had ever seen. Though there was no sound; though so much time had passed since this happened; though Fred is dead and was not coming back, there was nothing dim or hazy or vacillating about the memory. It was clear. In focus. Painfully colored. The gentleness with which they laid their hands upon each other; the current that flowed between them was practically palpable. They were in love. They were in love, and they were taking care of one another, and it made Percy's heart almost stop.

The kiss goes on forever. They're trying to pull each other's breath away. They're trying to crawl into each other's mouths. They're trying to press their lips to each other's hearts.

When their mouths come apart, George starts whispering again, and Fred nods his head, yes yes yes. George leans in and cups Fred's bottom, lifting him into the air. With one hand, he holds his own cock, wet-looking and shiny and hard, the same length and width and shape as Fred's, and with his other hand, he helps guide Fred's body into place.

Fred is not scared; he's not bracing himself for pain. He trusts George completely and doesn't even turn his head to watch as he sits down slowly, taking George into his body.

George lets Fred decide how far and how much and how fast. He holds Fred's hips, runs his palms down Fred's thighs, whispers, rubs his cheek against Fred's back. George's eyelids flutter with every inch that Fred settles. His lips catch between his teeth. He is still now, his chest rising and falling fast, his muscles tight and jumping under his skin.

Fred's eyes are closed, and he has his mouth set, and his calves are locked around his brother's thighs, his legs spread wide.

Nothing else exists. Outside, the snow makes a blanket of the earth, every flake different, but indistinguishable to the naked eye. Inside, two bodies have turned into one body, and Fred has taken George all the way in, and they are sitting, locked together, George's hand tight around Fred's cock, not moving, just paused in time.

Percy realized that he had stopped breathing. Luna's hand between his shoulder blades reminded him, and he let out all of his air at once. It quivered and shook, and Luna whispered. "See? You can do it. It's all right. They're beautiful. It's okay to think they're beautiful."

Satisfied that Percy was not going to try to escape, Luna began to tell him how she knew what they were seeing was real.

"When I was a fourth-year, I used to go into the Forbidden Forest a lot. There are all sorts of interesting creatures in there, you know. Hagrid took me in at first, but then I started to go without him. I don't think he knew that.

"But one day, I was walking by myself, and I heard a little rustling noise. I wanted to see what it was. At first, I thought they were unicorns." She paused, her attention momentarily caught up by what she and Percy were watching.

Fred starts to move. George lets him set the pace, and it is slow at first. George whispers and slides his hand gently up and down along Fred's cock in time with Fred's motion. Fred wriggles, his eyebrows knit together, searching for something comfortable and good inside of his body. After awhile, he seems to find it. His mouth drops open in a startled-looking O, and George presses his forehead between Fred's shoulders and kisses him open-mouthed down his back.

Fred speaks, and George doesn't hesitate, just trusts Fred's direction and starts to rock his hips gently. Both of their faces tighten and slacken; both pairs of eyelids blink rapidly; both of their bodies curve and arc into pale, graceful lines. George's hand moves faster, and Fred throws his head back, his shaggy hair dropping back into George's and becoming one fiery curtain.

Their skin shines in the white light of the snowfall, stark against the red of their bed.

Luna continued, coming back to herself. "They were so white, like they are now. White, and their arms and their legs were so long, and I just caught a little flash of it. But I got closer, and I realized who they were. And I realized what they were doing. And I watched.

"It was after this. This was the first time. Can you tell?"

Percy couldn't answer. All of his words were unavailable, stuck somewhere in his chest, held back by the enormous lump in his throat.

George's body suddenly grows tight and stops, then his hips start to jerk, shallow and fast. His mouth opens, and he gives Fred what Percy knows is a warning, and then grabs Fred tightly around the waist. George's face doesn't contort and stretch and skew; instead, it seems to relax, go soft, travel to someplace warm and gorgeous, and Percy can see in Fred's face that he feels George come. Fred's eyes close and go still, and both his mouth and George's open, and Percy can imagine two matching moans escaping into the air.

Percy turned to look at Luna, still dumbstruck and speechless and barely getting enough oxygen. She turned to face him. "It's not over yet," she whispered. "Keep watching."

Her hands, over his, felt warm, but beneath them, Percy felt cold and shaky. His palms were clammy. Without a word, Luna turned them over and began running her fingers across his open hand. Percy turned back to watch.

The process repeated itself. After holding onto one another for awhile with a kind of desperate passion, George eased Fred off of him, and Fred gently stopped George from bringing him to orgasm with his hand.

Instead, he laid George down on the bed and ministered to his body with such tenderness that Percy thought it looked almost like Healing. Fred opened George's body for him slowly, with his mouth and his hands, all the while whispering and licking meandering lines across George's back.

George seemed to take to it more naturally than Fred, grinding against Fred's hand and making noises that Percy couldn't hear and tried hard not to imagine. When Fred finally slid inside, George lay flat on his stomach, legs wide, and wriggled himself to drive Fred deeper. Fred watched with a kind of awe in his face as George worked his knees under himself and pushed back with abandon, and this time, it was all over much more quickly.

Fred collapsed over George, then they both fell onto the bed, wending their arms around one another tightly. Fred whispered something into George's ear, and Percy could've sworn it was Merry Christmas.

The scene faded away.

Percy took off the Ogling Ocs and stared at George through the window. George's expression was unchanged. He was circling one ankle over his knee in a gesture that Percy recognized as George's one subtle, nervous habit. He could almost hear the bones cracking, and it was all the reminder that Percy needed that this was his brother.

Luna moved closer and pulled Percy's body into the soft curve of her side. "They weren't unicorns," she whispered into his ear. "They were boys. But they were their own sort of magical creature. And they saw me watching. They were surprised, and they were awfully upset at first. I thought Hagrid was going to hear. But when they stopped hollering, I told them that they were beautiful, and they laughed. I promised not to tell, even though they didn't ask me to."

Luna stowed the Ogling Ocs back in her satchel.

In the softest of whispers, words found their way out of Percy's chest into the darkness. "We find what we're supposed to find."