A Certain Chill, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Kitsune Alchemist definitely does not own Harry Potter. If she did, the series would be a lot more screwed up than it already was and it'd be a lot shorter and less entertaining to read... And there'd be Yaoi and twincest...

Warnings: Self-mutilation, attempted-suicide, Yaoi and for that matter, twincest. There will be a lemon in this, and it may or may not be graphic, depending on what I can write with people constantly invading my space.

"Present"

"Flashback"

"Dream"

George had always had mixed feelings about the cold. From the first time he had stepped outside during winter and felt the cold icy blasts of wind, even through his heavy jacket and the scarf that his mother had wrapped around his throat tight enough to choke him, he had hated it with a passion. Whenever he felt winter coming, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and see if it was possible for humans to go into hibernation, but of course, even if they could, he couldn't because he had things to do and classes to attend and pranks to pull. Mostly, he only stayed up for the sake of the pranks.

But he dealt with it and put up with the cold. Why: Because Fred loved it. As his twin had explained to him that first time that George had mentioned his hated of the chilly weather, cold meant snow, and snow meant snowball fights and then getting to go inside and curl up with cocoa in front of a fire. George had ceased to grumble after that, dealing with his hatred of the cold, only because it promised warmth afterward and an excuse to throw things at others.

This cold, however, was worse than any cold that winter could bring and George knew from the moment it flooded through his veins that his first thoughts had been right and that cold deserved to be hated. Hated, and feared. When his parents met him in the Great Hall, with Percy and Ron and without Fred, he couldn't bring himself to remember anything like promises of warmth. He just walked past in silence, falling to his knees at his brother's head. He just gripped at his brother's dirty robes with lethargic fingers, feeling a wave of ice, colder than any winter, rushing through his veins.

He didn't cry. He couldn't cry. He and Fred just didn't do that. When they had been younger, playing with their siblings, George and Fred would scrape their knees more often than any of the others had, their recklessness showing at even that young age. Neither one ever screamed or sobbed like the others. Whoever got hurt would just sit there blinking at raw and bruised flesh until the other twin stumbled over and wrapped his arms around the other, hissing at a pain that might or might not be their own. If it wasn't for the scars and scrapes, nobody would have even been able to tell which twin was truly hurt and which one just said he was.

Even as they grew and pains became different or worse, they had never complained. Whether one of them got bitten by the irritable owls at school or actually hurt them self by blowing up a potion or screwing up a hex or charm, neither one ever shed tears. They might put on a show for the others, but when it really came down to it, they would just hold each other, murmuring reassurances that it didn't hurt or that it was alright and cracking as many jokes about it as they could until neither could remember that their had even been a pain.

"Fred… Fred… Damn it, Fred… You weren't supposed to die. You were supposed to stay with me, you damn idiot," His voice was steady even if his hands weren't. The words came out in a soft chilled voice, and it wavered around monotone. His mother didn't even say a word about his cursing. She just continued to cry, shaking uncontrollably. George fell into silence, just watching his twin's face. He looked up and could have sworn he saw Harry in the doorway, but the dark-haired boy fled before he could even meet his gaze. His family was too exhausted to look where he was looking, and George didn't feel like asking "was that Harry?" when nobody could answer him. Even if he had wanted to, he didn't think he could choke anything else out through the held back tears. He wasn't sure if Fred was dead or he was.

Everything was "back to normal" in a few days. George didn't understand. Everything was getting farther and farther from normal and nobody but him seemed to have noticed the gaping holes that now filled conversations or the fact that one of the hands on the clock of his mother had decided to disappear completely. Nobody but him seemed to notice the sudden unbearable silence. They didn't understand what he was going through.

All throughout his life, Fred had been constantly beside him, no matter what. They hardly ever separated if they could help it, and they always rejoined the other as soon as it was possible. Sure, Fred was a brother, and a son, but he was nobody else's twin. He was nobody else's mirror image that had stayed up all night plotting pranks or telling jokes. George took that to heart and dug through spell-books and potion-lists until he found a charm that returned his missing ear. He still couldn't hear out of it, but he was a reflection of his brother again, and that was the point.

George sat listlessly at the kitchen table, staring at the food his mother had made. He ran his fingers through his red hair, not really lamenting the quick fading powers of the spell. It had been black for about two days to mourn his brother and then he had let it return to normal, disgusted at the way it looked. His mother stood at the kitchen sink, talking about something as she washed the dishes. George had tuned her out a few minutes ago. He pushed away the bowl of soup and stood, ignoring the sudden worried glance from Ginny. She spoke and he shook away the mental earplugs, but not in time to catch her sentence. What he did catch was his mothers sudden, exasperated, "Don't leave your food on the table, Fred."

George froze mid-step. His hands found spots on the wooden table and his fingers clenched so tightly that the wood began to splinter under them. He turned towards his mother with fury in his eyes and she looked at him with horror, having apparently realized her mistake. Ginny looked at her brother and started to back out of the kitchen, but the fiery anger in his eyes suddenly went out as if it had been suddenly doused with water. George sank numbly back into his chair, terrifying his mom and sister as he just muttered, "I'm George, mum," and began eating, not tasting the food he put into his mouth.

George buried his face into the pillow and breathed in deeply, trying to gain those last few hints of Fred's scent. Fred had always smelt like vanilla along with the funny little smell of exploding candy from their many experiments. George had never realized exactly how important that smell was to him until he curled up in the blankets of Fred's bed. They were warm and in the back of his mind, he knew it was from the heater, but he shut his mind up, craving to fool himself for just a little bit longer.

"Fred… did we ever get to finish that trick pillow? You know the one I'm talking about: the one that was supposed to turn into water in the middle of the night and soak the person sleeping on it? No, I guess we didn't. I wish we had," He said, answering himself. Maybe nobody could tell their voices apart, but it was impossible to believe his brother was answering when the words came from his own mouth.

"George… you really think that Percy kissed that girl?" Fred mused in the darkness, staring at the canopy of the bed rather than looking at his twin. They had forsaken George's bed at Hogwarts so that they could stay up on Fred's and talk for a little while after lights out. Fred had 'lumos' on, lighting up the thin space behind the curtains that had been drawn tight and placed under a silencing charm that kept anyone else from hearing them.

George scoffed slightly. "No way. No way in hell," he said stubbornly, openly cussing now that they were away from any listening ears. "That girl's in Slytherin. Doubt Percy knew that or he wouldn't have made up the story when Lee saw them in the hallway. Not to say Lee's stupid or anything, he just a bit…" He trailed off slightly, frowning as he looked for a word. After a minute, he shrugged, deciding not to bother with it. "Besides," he added, "Percy's such a prat that we'll probably get our first kiss long before he does."

"Really? What if we don't?" Fred asked, turning to that he was fully facing his brother, eyes glinting in the faint light from the wand. He didn't look like he was joking about the worried tone that lighted behind the words.

"Are you really this worried about it? So what if Percy gets kissed first? He's older than us, so it seems more natural that way anyways," George said, putting only a small bit of thought behind the words. It didn't seem important to him, and he had no idea why Fred was obsessing over this so much. No, obsessing was a bad word. Fred wasn't so much obsessed as he was passionate about it. Well, those meant basically the same thing, but it sounded better than obsessed.

"No it doesn't!" Fred near-shouted and George reached out to clap a hand over his mouth before realizing the curtains wouldn't let any sound out anyways. He dropped back to the mattress and looked as his brother with a frown, silently requesting that he continue. "It doesn't seem more natural that way at all, because he's Percy. He hasn't had a crush on anyone for as long as we've known him, and we…" A pause indicated that Fred was rethinking he word choice and George was pretty glad since he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted Fred deciding that George suddenly had a crush on somebody. "Well, I've had a crush on somebody for a long, long time."

"So, you gonna drop a hint? To me or her, either one. You've got to drop the hint to her definitely, but I'd like to know who it is, and you know that, so…" George trailed off before he said something that would embarrass him before his twin.

Fred tipped his head to the side a grinned. "You want a hint of who it is?" He asked, repeating George's words with his own twist. George nodded cautiously and Fred grinned even more broadly, the light making him look like halfway like a hero with the sun shining on them and half like the villain with the light shining up on their face and accenting the evil laughter. It was hard to figure out which he should trust more to give his brothers mood. "Good. Close your eyes." Oh yeah, George was totally going with the 'evil villain' vibe.

"Why?" He asked, though he obeyed without question. It was common knowledge that if Fred asked George to do something that didn't seem too dangerous to their health, George would do it. He bowed to Fred's whims and practical jokes, putting full trust in the other not to hurt him. Fred never had, and George didn't think he was going to start now. At least, he didn't until he felt something soft and warm touch his lips, pressing so urgently against them that George gasped lightly. Something intruded his mouth and his eyes flew open, though he didn't yank back. All he saw was Fred's eyelids flickering shut no matter how hard the other was trying to keep them open.

Pieces flew together quickly. Fred's face so close meant that what was pressed to his lips couldn't be anything other than the older twin's own lips. George didn't grin, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he moaned softly in the back of his throat. This seemed to be all the encouragement that Fred needed because the thing inside George's mouth (apparently Fred's tongue if George was correct) began to explore openly. George flickered to his senses and jerked back, gasping and panted, and clawing at the blankets as he nearly tipped off the edge of the bed. "Wh-what was that?" he asked breathlessly.

Fred blushed fiercely, looking away from George. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I should have known you didn't want me to- I'm sorry. You can go away if you want, or… I'll leave," he finished, shifting toward the other edge of the bed and reaching for the curtains.

"No!" George cried out, not caring if anyone else heard him or not. He lurched forward and tackled his brother, sending them both sprawling back onto the mattress as George rolled over quickly to prevent them from falling off. The only problem with rolling over was that it put him back underneath Fred, though it was his arms that were holding the other down and in place above him.

"N-no?" Fred echoes the word as a question, nearly cowering under his stare, which was definitely something that George hadn't seen before. However, there was the faintest glisten of hope in the other's eyes, despite the worried eyebrows and the slight frown.

"No, don't leave," George clarified and Fred's eyes lit up fiercely, the eyebrows rising slightly and his frown turning into a hopeful smile. "I didn't mean I wanted you to leave. I just… I meant… I liked it. I did. I just wanted to know how you learned it…" As George said this, he unwrapped his arms from his brother, trying to shift away so that he could bolt if need be. If Fred said that he had been kissing a girl or something, George had a very good chance of hitting him, whether he was his twin or not.

"I found a book in Charlie's room. It was kind of graphic and all, and what kind of surprised me was that it was two guys, but…" He trailed off and shook his head before getting back onto the subject so that he could answer George's question, "Well, I kind of mixed that with instinct and… I think I need practice. That's the first time I've ever done anything like that…"

Any other time, George would be mercilessly teasing Fred about admitting the need to practice his kissing style. Of course, the one time his twin gave him some ammo, he could only think two things. The first was of course, 'I didn't think you needed practice,' which he would never say out loud, and the second was the thing he blurted out. "We could always practice… ya know… together."

Fred didn't give time for George to take that back, even if he wanted to. Instead he leaned down and hissed, "I hoped you would say that," before pressing his lips back to his twin's. When either of them had found time to fall asleep, George would never know, but that was where morning found them: Curled up in Fred's bed, facing each other as the thin bands of sunlight washed through the curtains to spill on matching bodies.

Was it normal to be this numb all the time? It was insanely hard to be sure. Percy, Ron, Ginny, and the entire rest of his family had come up to Fred and George's room over the last few days, knocking on the door to ask if he was all right. They had unlocked the door with the 'alohamora' charm, but every time, they just found George lying blankly on Fred's bed and staring up at the ceiling. Nobody had anything explode in their face or got drenched for opening the door, and that was definitely a bad sign. They had started taking turns and going up to make sure George hadn't done anything stupid or rash. Of course, nobody would know anyways.

Fred and George were meticulous and made sure to hide any evidence of pranks or whatever else they were doing in their room. Even when people came in at unexpected times of the night or day, they never found anything serious. It was no different this time. Percy was the only one to suspect anything when he found George again on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. It was hard to be sure, but he could have sworn he saw part of the red dyed even darker, stained from fire to crimson. He turned and left unsure, taking care to close the door behind him. George lethargically stood and locked it before laying back down on the bed, too tired to go wash off the blood from the cuts on his arm that were staining his hair and skin alike.

"I'm sleepy. Why can't I just sleep forever?" He wondered aloud, looking back to the thin gashes on his arm and then to where the silver metal lay sparkling innocently as it reflected light and shadows into a gruesome pattern on the ceiling. He had wondered with a morbid curiosity if it really helped. He had read that it did, but what did Granger's stupid muggle books know anyways? It didn't help at all. After all, it was never pretty to dance barefoot on a razorblade.

"Forgive me?"

No, never; George couldn't forgive him for leaving. Yes, of course, always; George couldn't hate him for anything. Finally, "What's to forgive?"

"Love you, Gred…"

"Love you too, Forge."

Gently, lips met in the darkness of dreams, not letting go as his brother took advantage of the lack of air needed in this perfect dream world.

George woke up, shuddering as he huddled underneath his blankets, knowing that he was just imagining the feel of warm lips on his own freezing ones.

"George?" The timid voice was hard to identify, though he knew it to be one of his own family members. Had it really been that long since he heard them? He flipped through voices in his head, trying to piece together and remember before he internally groaned at his own stupidity. Really, there weren't all that many girls in his family and his mother had been dancing around him since that day at the lunch table.

"What, Ginny?" George said, voice much more serious than he had meant for it to be. He tried to smile as she began to open the door, but only managed a broken grimace. She entered and sat on the edge of his bed, not bothering to object as he scooted more towards the opposite edge. Her hand stretched out and touched something on the nightstand, lifting it and then yelping before dropping it to the floor.

"Ouch!" She yelped, her voice lilting in a very Fred-like way that had George instinctively reaching for the hand she was holding before dropping back. Ginny saw none of this, but it was enough that George knew he had done it. He felt disgusted with himself for the amount of desperation in that simple action. That was all it was though: desperation to see his twin again. Nothing more. Was it wrong not to care about the fact that Ginny had hurt herself?

"You okay?" George asked blankly. It was a simple act of duty. Whether she was okay or not didn't really matter to him. He turned away before he could see her nod.

"George… why is that up here?" she questioned, and he knew what she was talking about without asking.

"No reason. Just reminiscing…" He bent and picked up the metal piece from the floor, letting himself still for a second as it bit into his hand and then he frowned, cursed and threw it at the wall. It fell short, dropping to the floor and splattering the wood with bits of crimson.

His palm bled openly and he simply brought it to his mouth and sucked on the cut, drinking in the taste of his own blood. If blood was life, why did he feel dead? He wondered vaguely if Fred's blood tasted just like this before falling back onto the bed, continuing the drink in the taste no matter how badly the copper stung the back of his throat.

"George! Stop it!" He could hear a voice as if through layers of thick cloth, muffled and distorted, but he paid it no mind, even as the sounds changed from speaking to screaming to footsteps to more screaming. He didn't really care. All he could think was that maybe Hermionie's muggle book had been right.

"Georgie? Georgie? Come on… George!"

"Gah… what?" His voice was raspy and it burned against the back of his throat as he sat up, tipsy and sick, feeling almost drunk as he tried to stay upright without support from his entire body. He rocked a bit in place and then found a center of balance and curled his arms around his folded legs, feeling a bit silly as he pieced himself into the fetal position.

"That was really stupid, George. If you're going to die, do it in a cool way. Suicide is just anticlimactic on so many levels…" That was Fred's voice. He knew it. Fred, oh God, his Fred was here. George looked around wildly and saw nothing. Only succeeding in making his head spin, he stopped looking, a quiet whimper lilting from his raw throat as Fred continued to speak. "I mean, what are you, a vampire? Really, you were drinking your own blood. Even a vampire drinks other peoples…"

"Fred, I-" he choked on his words, holding his legs closer to himself and shaking as the darkness that surrounded him invaded his mind and lungs. "I wanted… I just…"

"Shh… its okay now. I'm here," Fred's voice whispered again and then lips descended form the darkness, placing feathered kisses on his lips and cheeks and down to his neck and sucking against his throat, the hint of possible vampirism turning into a small joke. Fred bit gently and George moaned a bit, unable to hold it back. He could feel those burning lips across his icy skin and welcomed their warmth. Fred chuckled and pulled back from George's now bruised neck. "Georgie, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Fred. Anything you want," George hissed, panting slightly, though he had done nothing. Fred's phantom arms tangled around him and he groaned as he sank into the perpetual warmth that emanated from his brother, even now. He shuddered lightly as Fred kissed the back of his neck.

"Sleep now, George. I'll give you good dreams. Then, when you wake up, I need you to forget about me, okay?"

"No!" Georges voice was a near shriek in the echoing emptiness. He swiveled to look at his brother and met those gentle eyes that pressured him lightly to do as his brother said. "No, Fred. I won't. I won't forget," he whimpered nuzzling against his brother and finding himself curling onto his brother's lap in a fluid motion, no longer shivering but shaking his head. "I can't, Fred. I can't forget you, or there's nothing left."

"George, forget me, or there'll be nothing for you, and you won't be able to move on, and neither will I."

"Good, I want to stay here with you. Can't we do that?"

"No, Georgie, no. We can't. Forget about me, and when you die, I'll come back for you then and then I promise we'll stay together forever."

"Promise?" George asked childishly, and Fred nodded and kissed him on his forehead. "Alright, Fred. I'll do it, but-" he faltered a bit and took strength from his brothers palms which had somehow slipped their way about his waist to push against the bottom of his shirt.

"I'm not a ghost, George. I'm not hanging around forever. So, this is it, okay? This is tonight, and in a while, you'll wake up, and this'll all just be a memory of a dream. For tonight though, it's as real as it's ever going to be."

Fred's mouth on his was poison, burning his own, but he pressed into it anyways, greedy for the taste of Fred's lips. There were hands, insistent on removing his shirt, but George was to busy letting those heated lips and warm tongue devour his own as he had many times before.

Fred growled something against his lips, and he recognized "off" just a split-second too late, half a moment after Fred had given up and getting it over George's head and simply yanked hard, ripping the shirt cleanly down the middle with both hands. George slid his arms out of the cloth and let it lay on the ground below him, still trying to get the taste imprinted onto his lips.

Fred moved away and George whined in the back of his throat, not wanting those sinful lips to abandon his own. He heard the slide of cloth, watching as his brother tugged his own shirt away from his body, leaving them both in only pants. Then Fred had removed those as well, leaving boxers as his only cover.

Fred's hands were brushing over him in an instant, over his sides and chest, tracing his collarbone, running over his abdomen with light whispers of touches. George knew that his own hands were just like this and that he had to have touched these same places before, dressing or undressing or bathing, but his own hands definitely didn't feel like an incarnation of pure heat, didn't bring along the same chill in his flesh the moment they were gone. His own hands certainly had never made him arc up off the ground with a frantic moan, his back arching until it was painful but still trying to press farther into those teasing fingers.

He wasn't quite sure when his own jeans had disappeared from his body, nor where the boxers that had been beneath them had gone, but then his brother was touching him elsewhere, those burning fingers a tight tunnel around his manhood and George was nearly screaming in pleasure, bucking desperately into the warm touch as Fred chuckled above him.

"Calm down, Georgie," Fred said coolly, lowering his lips onto George's for half a moment, the hand gripping him beginning a slow journey along the shaft, making George moan desperately into his twin's mouth. Fred's lips traced a trail along his jaw to his ear, nibbling softly on the flesh of his good ear and making him shudder as Fred ghosted air along with the whispered words, "I love you, Georgie," across it.

George tried to respond, but the hand that was touching him in places that nobody but himself had ever touched, and the lips which removed themselves from his ear only to begin nipping at the flesh of his neck were far to distracting and the only response was a jumbled groan of pleasure and the whine of Fred's name.

The hand on him stopped moving and then was gone and George gave a protesting hiss at the loss and the sudden rush of coolness, but then Fred's skin slid over his own intoxicatingly, moving Fred's body down further on his own until the older twin was kneeling on either side of his knees. Heat was surrounding him suddenly and the sound that he had made earlier was nothing compared to the scream of pleasure that he let out as the unbearable heat that was engulfing his member. He tried once more to buck, but Fred's hands were holding him down with an unyielding strength that George hadn't known the other possessed. He could vaguely recognize himself panting out Fred's names, the lack of air separating it into two separate syllables.

Fred hummed something as if trying to respond to George's name around the hardness in his mouth and the vibrations made George wail once more, violently torn between agony and pleasure, because he was so hard that it hurt, and Fred's mouth, his tongue and lips and teeth, were doing very little to relieve the pleasure. Finally, with a harsh shout, George felt the fire in his stomach overwhelm him, his vision swimming black and then white before finally returning to normal as his body regained feeling.

He immediately tensed as he realized that there was an intrusion into a very privet place on his body. Wriggling slightly in discomfort, he felt the intrusion press further in and grimaced in discomfort. Angling his head to look, he almost moaned and felt himself harden rapidly at seeing Fred with two fingers buried knuckle-deep within his body. "Georgie," Fred's soft voice broke the spell and he groaned loudly, still squirming in discomfort though the sight was intoxicating. "Relax."

George obeyed as best he could and felt the discomfort lessen slightly. Fred's fingers twisted within him and he bit his lip as Fred's fingers brushed something that made the discomfort completely worth it. He pressed against the fingers, trying to get that feeling once more and Fred obliged and pressed hard against the spot and the pain dissolved instantly, tearing another hoarse yell from his raw throat, the unintelligible sound swallowed by his brother's throat as Fred kissed him fiercely, lips insistent and tongue invading his mouth to tangle with his own desperately.

When Fred finally pulled way, it was to settle his lips once more beside George's ear and murmur, "This may hurt pretty bad. Stay relaxed and it'll all be all right. I promise."

Fred's body slid over his once more, but George could barely appreciate the feeling as the fingers left and he barely had a second to protest the loss before something bigger and harder was pressing into him. His insides burned like fire, stretching insanely and he heard his own breath hitch painfully, and he forgot to stop breathing for a moment. The muscles in his fingers seized, gripping hard onto Fred's shoulders, but he attempted to stay relaxed as he could.

It seemed like forever until the pain subsided, his fingers loosening gradually on his brother's shoulders, leaving red marks on the smooth skin that they had gripped. Finally, he nodded and Fred moved away and the pain flared up dismally, a sharp stinging sensation that returned to a dull throbbing as Fred pushed back in quicker than before, lips closing on George's neck to suck on the skin there as his lower body pulled his away again.

He moved in a way that George had never quite seen, shifting to pull George's legs up to rest on his shoulders and George felt the dull throb become close to nothing as the position shifted slightly. When Fred thrust back in once more, the same spot that Fred had found with his fingers was touched softly and George let out a desperate sound.

He felt the lips on his neck curve into a smirk and Fred withdrew and slammed in roughly, burying himself fully into the spot that he had rediscovered. George let out a desperate scream in the form of his brother's name and Fred responded with a repeat of the motion, drawing the same scream over and over, a helpless mantra of the word, over and over, George almost sobbing it. "Fred, Fred, Fred, Fred!"

All sense was lost but for the rhythm between the two bodies, seemingly perfect, a mirror image that was perfectly in synch with each other. George writhed against his brother and Fred twisted, grinding further and further into his twin's body. George's screams were less sensible, not even calling a name any more, but instead letting out little screams, frantic and raucous, the back of his throat burning for some reason that he just couldn't remember.

Fred's fingers were on him once more and he arched in a way that made his back feel like it was breaking, screaming Fred's name once, louder than any of the other times. Fred cried out brokenly against George's neck, the sound of his twin's name muffled by flesh, the noise ragged.

Both collapsed as one, the fire in George's stomach gone and replaced by an inferno of warm liquid that his brother had released inside of him. Gasping desperately, George clung to Fred's neck, arms twining around the shoulders. "Fred."

"Was it good?" Fred asked, fingers running through George's hair absently. George made a confused sound and Fred elaborated, "I promised you good dreams didn't I? I held up my part of the deal. Now it's time for you to hold up yours. Wake up and forget about me."

"Fred, no," George tried to protest, but his brain was already feeling like somebody had stuffed it with one of the sweaters that his mother had knit for him. He tried his hardest not to blink, knowing that something bad would happen if he did. Slowly, the watering of his eyes did him in and he blinked fiercely, the moisture falling down across his face as a tear.

"George? Oh, George, You're awake!" There were arms around his neck, more than one set, he realized absently, and he looked up to find Ginny at his side, squeezing desperately, his mother's arm making up the other set of limbs currently attempting at forcing the air from his lungs.

"Mom, Ginny, get off. You're hurting me," George protested absently, trying to remember why he felt like there were fingers teasing through his hair. His brain didn't feel cloudy, it felt empty, like he was forgetting something, but couldn't remember what.

Once both females had backed off, he saw Percy scowling at him in concern, eyes worried, the lines in his forehead prominent as the expression on his lips failed to smooth. George's voice was teasing as it burst from his lips of it's own accord. "What, no hug, Perc?"

Percy stepped forward and moved as if to hug him, but finally just clapped his absently on the shoulder. George pursed his lips and nodded sullenly, accepting of his brother's distance. It was only fair payback, really. After a moment, when neither of them said anything, his mother began to blubber worriedly near his ear, and George was glad that it was the one that didn't work.

Somewhere in the middle of her rant, George found the strength to speak over her, asking, "Hey, Percy? Is it cold in here to you?"

"No, why?" his brother immediately responded with the truth, eyes leaving the glass of the window that they stared out of.

"I thought I was getting sick or something. I haven't felt this warm in weeks…"

Gah, you wouldn't beleive how long it took me to write this. Let's jsut say it can be counted in weeks, not days.

I kind of ran into a problem on the way, though. I've done lemons with two of my friends, both times on RPs. So, tecnically speaking, this is the first lemon I've ever done all by myself. I would greatly appreciate some input over whether or not it sucks. Actually, whether or not this entire story sucks... Yeah, that'd be nice.

If you do tell me it sucks, please give me some constructive criticism. The simple "Haha, you suck!" reveiw will be laughed at. As will any reviews concerning the pairing. there's a warnign at the top after all.

Also, I didn't have time to have anyone beta-read this, so if anyone catches any mistakes, would you be nice enough to tell me so I can fix them?

Please and thank you!