Stay – A Fred and George story.

We both knew it was wrong, at least we had the decency to sigh sadly every once in a while. Nonetheless, I loved him. How could I not love him? We had been made for each other; I pitied all the others who would never feel a passion as strong as ours. His hands fit mine perfectly, being slightly larger, his lips moulded themselves to mine and we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. But every day it got harder to be together; the voice in my head got louder and louder with each tick of the clock. Why couldn't I tell the world I was in love with my brother – my twin brother?

It started innocently enough, chaste family kisses on the lips- then no one saw nothing wrong, it was just like we kissed Mum and Dad- but we wouldn't let go of the other, either holding hands or walking shoulder against shoulder. Sometimes when we were sitting alone, heads close together, someone would look at us and I'd catch a glimpse, in their eyes, of something I wasn't supposed to see. Slowly, I realised that we weren't supposed to be doing some things –those things being small actions and reactions that revealed our slightly incestuous behaviour, even at age six - so we settled with gestures of comradeship, and with that came the pranks.

Back then, mornings were the hardest part of our days, even at our young age we slept together, afraid that the other would go away, although knowing he wouldn't. We would pretend that one of us had had a bad dream, but after a month or so, Mum wouldn't believe anymore. We began waking up an hour earlier than anyone else, so that each of us was on his own bed when she came to check on us. We didn't sleep during that hour, though, but we wouldn't discuss it, not even with each other.

Then breakfast, sitting across each other was painful, not touching and knowing we couldn't hold hands over the table; we knew we couldn't, we just didn't understand why, it seemed quite innocent. After weeks of incessant whining, we were allowed to sit together –yet another obstacle we'd managed to surpass.

And we had the days to ourselves, what with Dad being at work, Mum taking care of the house every waking hour, Bill, Charlie and Percy considering themselves "grown-ups" and Ron and Ginny being just babies. We'd spend our afternoons playing pranks on each element of the family, after weeks of intense planning, revelling on the fact that Percy was particularly irritable.

We had two excuses for the pranks, and that was what kept us from feeling remorse: one, it was better to disappoint Mum that way, acting as rebels; two, it let us being alone and close together. The first was a sort of reaction to the first.

So, from then on, our family would translate our moments alone as prank planning. And we did it, half of the time. The other half we'd spend it quietly, just the two of us, pressing our backs together and drown in separate thoughts, about the same problem. That was the time of the day when we'd sigh. Why did he have to be my brother?

We were caught in a compromising position just once, when we were eight years old, thankfully by bill, who calmly said that it was wrong to kiss brothers on the lips, that only married people could do that, of course we threw him off, saying he'd snogged that girl on the broom closet and they weren't married, but we didn't repeat our feat until late at night, in our room, where our little crime would be indulged, hidden from unwelcome eyes.

"Freddie? Freddie. Fred!" George had called from his bed, hesitantly; it was the night after being caught. His voice sounded strangled, breathless.

"Are you alright?" I'd asked all but drowning in concern, I hated it when his voice turned tragic like that, like someone had died. I heard a grunt of assentment coming from closer to me, the edge of his bed, perhaps. He hesitated.

"Can I sleep with you?" he'd said, I could almost hear the blush forming on his face and neck. I nearly laughed, that was what all the awkwardness was about?! He'd sleep in my bed every other night, I couldn't understand how tonight would be different.

"Of course you can, silly!" I had answered, finding his tiny hand in the darkness and pulling him to lie next to me.

"Freddie?" he asked again, the same forlorn tone on his voice. He threw one arm around me in a strong grip.

"Georgie," I was beginning to get annoyed, I really was sleepy, it took all my might not to tell him to shut the hell up.

"Did you hear what Bill said today?" he whispered, I said yes. "If it's wrong to kiss you, then why don't I feel bad?" his voice cracked. He knew it was wrong, he saw it in the way people glanced sideways at us, Bill's warning had only made him feel more aware of the fact, but he was feeling bad about not caring enough, even in his childish naivety.

"Bill's an arse. He doesn't know anything at all, does he? Sleep now, Georgie. I love you, that's all that matters," I squeezed his hand, but I, too, felt bad. I empathised, I knew exactly what he was feeling and I also knew that certain things were going to change as we grew older.

As I predicted, we both developed a conscience, abruptly removing the remains of our thinning innocence. During the summer before we went to Hogwarts the nights we spent in the other's bed became more and more sparse until they were no more. The feeling, though, remained. We didn't talk about it anymore, another of the conscience's side-effects. It all resumed, by the end of summer vacation, we were probably just weeks away from Hogwarts.

We were flying, throwing apples at each other, like they were Bludgers. One hit me harder and I fell off the broom, a little under ten feet. He got off his broom, shouting apologies. I stood up and rubbed my head, laughing, he laughed too, and stretched his arm to put his hand over mine. I froze, for a minute, knowing the affection I was feeling then, and the desperate want to kill him weren't brotherly at all- it didn't stop me, however. I leaned over and felt a mind-blowing wholeness. It was the day of our first real kiss.

"What are you thinking about?" George asked, looking up from a Potions essay he was supposed to have finished two weeks earlier.

"That time I fell off the broom, this summer," I answered, stretching my arms. We were halfway through the first term and we'd once again, stopped all our incestuous behaviour –well, almost all- which was making us act extremely awkward around each other.

"Which one? You're not that graceful that you've fallen just once, mate, sorry to break it to you," he smirked, hesitating between putting down the sheet of parchment or keep writing. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Witty, I'm hurt. I'm going to bed, you coming?"

"'Guess so, Snape won't read this, either way," he shrugged his shoulders and threw the piece of parchment aside. "You didn't answer my question, what were you thinking?" George insisted as we began climbing the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"I told you already, geez, you're worse than Mum," I whispered. "D'you reckon they're asleep already?" I asked, eyeing each of our dorm-mates.

"You didn't specify, though, and I'm not a bloody mind-reader, I'm letting the second one pass and yes, I reckon they are," he took my hand and ducked his head slightly, looking at me through his eyelashes. "Please tell me what you're thinking, before I flutter my eyelids, then you'll have no chance," I smiled at him.

"That time you hit me with an apple and…" I blushed, I was meant to stop at apple. He smirked at me, pressing closer to my side.

"And…?"

"And we sort of… kissed," I sighed; I knew if we kept on with this talk I wouldn't be able to restrain myself from kissing him. He laughed quietly and pulled us to my bed, closing the curtains. Maybe just this once, I thought.

The one time turned to three, the three to four and suddenly it was a routine; we'd wait for everyone to go to sleep and we'd lie together until dawn, when he'd go to his bed before someone woke up. Again, I suspected that people at Hogwarts suspected we had something more than fraternal friendship and a weird twin liaison, but they preferred to close their eyes and mind their own business.

And so, our First Year wasn't the quiet, shy innocence that all of the other kids seemed to have; we were loud, troublesome and smart, although we didn't study all that much; we didn't have the time. Mum was so glad when we told her about Lee Jordan, she was getting worried that we would never make any friends, thankfully that appeased her and we could spend even more time together. The less people suspected of our affair, the more flamboyant we could be about it. And nothing could ever compare to the feeling of George's lips on mine.