Different

Series: Love: A Chronicle
Title: Different
Author: lingering_nomad
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: R
Word Count: 3 221
Warnings: Twincest, implied homophobia, underage and some angst. Maybe. If you squint.
A/N: This is the follow-up to Change. Next in the series: Consummation, OWLs, Haunted: Ghosts (posted at DW), Morning Musings.


~DIFFERENT~


It was Saturday.

The grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry bled into the dreary sky; the vast expanse of dull yellow lawns and the gunmetal-gray of the half frozen lake providing a foreground to the deceptively sombre edifice of the old castle rising out of the mist. Actual snow had yet to fall, but there was a piercing chill in the air, nipping at the skin even through layers of thick wool and downy fleece.

Those students of appropriate age had fled en masse to the village of Hogsmeade in search of distraction from the foul weather while the younger children contended themselves with whatever amusement could be found inside the ancient walls, well beyond the reach of the cold. Predictably, the grounds were quite deserted – save for a pair of adolescent boys, so close in appearance that a passerby might look twice to ensure they weren’t seeing double...

The pair had come back from the village early with a bag of sweets each and a large supply of Zonko’s tricks in hand, eager to take advantage of the castle’s emptier-than-usual state for scouting out new and creative ways of putting their purchases to use. Brimming with exuberance, George twirled about once before diving head first into a heap of neatly raked autumn leaves, sending foliage scattering in all directions along with his Gryffindor beanie (the crimson of which made for a rather unforgiving contrast against the copper of his hair).

“You’re either brilliant or barmy, you know that?” he informed his twin as he rolled onto his back, laughing breathlessly for no reason other than laughing being fun.

He was of course referring to Fred’s idea of creating a candy that would cause people’s tongues to swell up to roughly the size of a python for as long as the magic lasted. Damien McIntire from Ravenclaw had spent a good portion of Friday’s Charms lesson choking and gagging on his own tongue before Flitwick finally managed to diffuse the engorgement-charm-gone-awry and the idea of creating a candy with similar effects had popped into Fred’s head not thirty minutes earlier in Honeydukes as they’d browsed through the shelves.

“Why would anyone eat a tongue-swelling sweet?” George had questioned, amusedly bemused. “Why not?” had been Fred’s casual reply. He’d thought it was dead funny and that was justification enough in his mind. His brother had simply smiled and shaken his head at him, not really taking him seriously until he’d reiterated the concept just now, insisting that it be jotted down in the top secret log they’d started to keep track of all their business ideas, from possible products to catchy slogans for marketing.

The notion of owning their own joke shop had come to them at the end of their second year, courtesy of Lee Jordan after they’d successfully rigged a Dr. Filibuster’s Rapid-fire Roman Candle to spell out “Ttfn-F&G” as it went off in the Gryffindor common room while everyone was getting ready to go home for the summer (earning them the first detention of their third year before they’d even fully concluded their second). “I’d better stay friends with you,” Lee had laughed, “Merlin knows, if you lads put half as much effort into your jobs one day as you do these pranks of yours, you’ll be running the Ministry before the decade’s up.”

Watching the treatment their father endured year in and year out at the Ministry of Magic, all for the sake of a salary that barely kept his family fed and clothed, had left them less than enthused at the prospect of following in his footsteps. Lee’s words however, had set the wheels turning in their heads and seeing Zonko’s rake in the cash with nothing more exciting than dungbombs and trick Snap decks had left them quite convinced that they could do better – if they could scrounge up the funds necessary to get their plans off the ground that is.

Thinking of how much money it would take to afford their own premises and stock it full of merchandise was a little scary to say the least, but the sooner they had something on paper, the sooner they could start putting their theories into practise. Sort the fanciful from the workable. Maybe get a few prototypes into circulation, testing people’s responses, making it real. They needed every unique idea they could come up with and despite the seeming scepticism of George’s words, he was staring up at Fred with admiration bright in his eyes; his smile wide and toothy between cheeks, pink from the cold.

Flashing a lopsided grin of his own, Fred dropped down beside his brother, heels tucked under his bottom as he looked down at George with thoughtful eyes, trick sweets and money troubles ebbing from his mind. They hadn’t had any proper time to themselves since school had started. What with the rumours of some student-killing monster on the loose, the resultant increase in teachers patrolling the corridors after curfew was proving a challenge for even their formidable anarchistic talents.

But there certainly wasn’t anyone around now...

Fred’s reply to George’s comment was to lean over and press a kiss to the plump, petal-pink mouth, barely accessible under the folds upon folds of crimson scarf around his twin’s neck. After a moment, George arched up a little, returning the kiss, his lips pouty and pliant as they moved against Fred’s. They carried on like that for a moment and then Fred pulled back. “Open your mouth a bit,” he instructed, not waiting to see if George complied before leaning in again.

“Freddie...” George hedged into Fred’s mouth as he touched down, receiving a frustrated groan in response. Fred looked up quickly, turning his head from side to side in a token survey of the grounds before leaning back over George. “We’re the only ones here you muppet, now open your mouth.”

George raised his brows at him and Fred felt his stomach drop at the expression. He knew that look. He was in for a sermon now. “We came back early, Fred. There’s no telling who might’ve had the same idea,” George said seriously, meeting Fred’s eyes with a sagacity that looked odd on his freckled, fourteen-year-old features. “Someone – anyone – could wander by at any moment and if they see and tell on us...”

Fred sat up and looked off to the side, glowering at nothing in particular as a hot, jagged sensation began to churn in his stomach.

Beside him, George pushed himself up on his elbows. “You know what they’ll call it,” he went on and Fred released an angry breath through his nose. “They’ll look at us like we’re diseased or something and it’ll kill Mum and D—”

“So you want to stop, then?!” Fred found himself snarling, glaring at his twin even though he knew the answer to his own question. Even though he knew that George was right.

George shouldn’t be right!

Not about this!

This didn’t hurt anyone. It didn’t even affect anyone for Merlin’s sake! Yet the world would condemn them to the depths of Hades – maybe even Azkaban – for the secret they shared in the shadows; in the stillness and the darkness when no one was around to see. They would pour shame on it, like salt on a wound and watch it writhe, curling in on itself, because somehow that was supposed to be better than just leaving them be.

And for the life of him, Fred couldn’t understand why.

Dad had given them “The Talk,” rather belatedly, the previous summer. About the birds and the bees and the circle of life. He’d talked about girls and love and getting married. He talked about settling down and having babies, but he didn’t say one word about boys and certainly nothing about touching his identical twin brother. Not a word about watching caramel-coloured eyes become dark like syrup or watching that plush mouth fall open as pink spots bloomed on cheeks dusted with freckles.

Not even a warning about how contemptible such things were supposed to be.

Most people, apparently, didn’t need such warnings.

Most people, apparently, never felt the burning compulsion to reach between their brother’s legs and feel his hardness grow in their hands as they mapped the contours of his mouth with their tongues.

He and Georgie... weren’t “most people.”

Merlin knew, it had seemed like the most obvious, instinctive thing in the world, touching George; being touched in return. They’d kept it to themselves initially – and thank God for that – not because they’d thought it was something they needed to hide, but because it was theirs. Like conversing in made up words that they alone understood or sneaking out on summer nights to catch fireflies on the edge of the woods and staying up just to watch the sun rise.

They’d been two months into their first year when they learned that there were names for the things they did. None of which good...

~*~

Halloween was ‘round the corner, the decorations already in place. The first snow of the season had blanketed the world in what would turn into a week of many “firsts.”

The first Quidditch match of the term was two days away – Gryffindor versus Slytherin – and anticipation was thick in the air. He and George had stayed out late to watch Charlie practise and missed dinner as a result. Back in their dormitory, the only provisions they managed to scrape together were a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, nicked off Lee, and a packet of dried dates, left over from a care package from Bill.

It was long passed curfew by the time the rumbling in their bellies became too much to bear and George, sensible as ever, suggested that they sneak out and find the kitchens.

After all, how hard could it be?

The Fat Lady scolded them on the way out and George did some quick appeasing after Fred stuck his tongue out at her, worried that she might not let them back in. That however, swiftly became the least of their worries as they found themselves lost in the gloomy castle for the first time ever, still hungry, but now with the added burden of having to evade both Flich and Peeves up and down the draughty corridors.

Fred would never admit it, but he was near tears with relief when hours later, George finally managed to convince one of the portraits, a matronly witch with a baby on her lap, to take pity on them and direct them back to the Gryffindor portrait hole.

It seemed like an indecently short amount of time later that they found themselves lined up for first period Transfiguration, standing out in the hallway with the rest of the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaw first years. George was next to him as he always was, but they were pressed closer than usual – even for them – fused at the hips and upper arms as they used their tired bodies to prop each other up. George’s shoulder seemed awfully comfortable right then and Fred leaned over with a weary sigh, planting his head on the knobbly pillow.

Georgie finished a yawn and graced him with a wan little smile. His hand came up, intent on petting Fred’s cheek in empathy, when a group of older Slytherins came ambling by.

Marcus Flint, who was walking in front, came to an abrupt stop about a yard from the pair. His beady eyes swept over them like a grimy brush and then his ogreish teeth made an appearance as his lips curled into a vicious sneer. He snarled something at them then, a word they’d never heard before, but they didn’t have to know what it meant to know they were being insulted.

George’s hand halted mid-motion and Fred felt the twitch of his brother’s shoulder as he stiffened at the unexpected belligerence; the skin of George’s neck heating as a flush stole over his face.

Fred got angry of course.

He straightened at once and snapped something nasty involving Mountain Trolls and Flint’s mother – just as McGonagall called the class in. They earned their first detention then and there. Just because she couldn’t tell them apart and Georgie refused to claim innocence at Fred’s expense.

On the bright side, as his pragmatic twin pointed out, at least Fred’s face had been spared an introduction to the Slytherin’s fists. He still didn’t think it was fair though, and later that evening, back in their dormitory (after having made sure to stuff themselves properly at dinner) he turned to Lee for some well deserved commiseration.

Or so he thought.

Far from being outraged on his friends’ behalf, Lee simply shrugged. “Well, it is a bit weird, you know,” was his disconcertingly earnest reply.

Taken aback, Fred promptly informed their friend that no they did not know and demanded he explain what he was on about.

Which Lee did, revealing a great deal more than Fred could ever have anticipated.

It was one of those Earth-tilting moments wherein they realised that what was normal for them didn’t fit into other people’s definition of the word. It wasn’t that being “a bit weird” was new to them. Even in their own family the term “black sheep” was already becoming a common reference to them when the grownups thought they weren’t being overheard, but there were other words in Lee’s account that were a hell of lot worse than “weird.”

“Don’t get me wrong, lads. Really. I know you two aren’t like that,” Lee assured upon seeing the darkening of Fred’s expression and the rising consternation in George’s.

“Like what, exactly?” Fred growled, making their friend fidget nervously.

“Well, you know like... like poncy or whatever. I mean, you guys are... more... cuddly... than most lads...” Lee trailed off for a beat, but carried on quickly when George grimaced and a muscle started jumping in Fred’s temple as he gritted his teeth, “But... um... that’s...uh... understandable I s’pose. ‘Cause of you being twins and all and... and I mean, it’s not like you’re snogging or anything...”

Lee kept nattering on about pervert Slytherins with dirty minds and his absolute faith in his friends’ moral fibre, but Fred ceased paying attention as the words turned into a garbled droning in his ears; the blood in his veins into ice. It wasn’t that the idea of them doing something shocking was shocking in itself. Merlin knew, their views of “right” and “wrong” had always been a mite different from everyone else’s.

But this...

This was a different kind of “different.” Not sugar-in-the-salt-shakers or dungbombs-pitched-into-the-girls’-loo kind of “different,” but the kind that would see their best friend turn away from them in disgust.

With a dull prickly ache steadily expanding from the middle of his body, Fred glanced over to George who was sitting beside him on his four-poster.

His twin was hunched over, trying his damndest to hide his eyes behind his bowl-cut and plucking at the bedcovers like he did whenever Mum was telling them off and professed her disappointment in them. The familiar urge to reach out and wrap a comforting arm around his brother shot like an arrow through Fred’s chest.

And for the first time in his life, he ignored it.

~*~

Fred remembered when they kissed, not for the first time, but for the first time after learning just how taboo a thing it was for them to do.

They’d been hiding in one of the wandering broom cupboards, eating some Honeydukes they’d nicked off Percy after he’d come back from Hogsmeade and refused to share. George had been laughing at one of his own jokes – so much like today – chocolate on his lips and Fred couldn’t resist having a taste. He’d kissed his brother then, tasting him, drinking him down and George had sighed through his nose and slumped against him. When Fred came up for air, George had looked at him shyly with a little bit guilt, the loss of innocence plain in his eyes as he leaned in for a taste of his own.

What they shared... It wasn’t something the world would let them keep if given half a chance to take it away.

And it was hardly George’s fault.

It just seemed so terribly unfair right then and the world was so big and it was just easier to direct his anger at his brother. Or so he thought for about a second. Before looking down into those solemn eyes, mirrors of his own, reflecting so much of what he felt right back at him.

“Freddie...” George implored. “You know I don’t. It’s because I don’t that I want to be careful. C’mon mate, don’t be upset.”

Fred swallowed thickly and looked away, heaving a sigh.

“I’m not upset with you,” he admitted at length, picking up a handful of leaves and crushing them in his wool-clad fingers.

George gathered his things and sat up too, pulling his beanie back on before throwing an arm around Fred’s neck and drawing him close. Those candyfloss lips of his, warm and a little chapped from the cold, brushed against Fred’s cheek and Fred couldn’t help but smile. His twin’s sweets and Zonko’s bag found their way onto his lap along with his own and then George’s hands were cupped ‘round Fred’s ear – like they’d used to do when they were little and whispered nonsense to each other just to drive Mum ‘round the bend.

Fred’s smile widened to a grin even as he rolled his eyes, leaning in close to hear whatever secret his brother wished to impart.

“Last one to the castle’s a Slytherin.”

In the next instant George had leapt to his feet, quick as a flash, and taken off at a dead sprint toward the Hogwarts entrance gate, grit and dead grass spattering in his wake as he crowed with gleeful laughter.

“Oi!” Fred cried in surprise, nearly forgetting to grab their purchases as he scrambled up as well, slowing him down by just that extra second.

George could be such a bloody sneak sometimes!

“Manky git,” he growled under his breath, outrage belied by the broad grin on his face as he dashed off after his twin.

~FIN~

End A/N: More of a long drabble than an actual fic, I know, but I so do love little snapshots into their lives – how they see the world, what shaped their personalities etc – so yeah, if I didn’t write it, this is totally something I’d read XD If you liked it, please take a sec and let me know. Feedback is what plot bunnies feed on.