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Deepest Secrets	By : gHoStWRiTTeR Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5855 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: You know it. Nothing is mine, just the twisted minds of the characters, it all belongs to her godliness J.K Rollings. Bow down to her!

Warning: Ah..Lovely Slash. m/m. Enjoy!

A Novel Beauty, copyright 2002

The school hummed and danced with a new excitement, risen by a firm gossip that special protection was to be put up around the school because of the resurrection of the satanic Voldemort. Though this news should be considered startling, all the students, save the ones in Slytherin house, were alive with the danger and prospect of a possible attack on the castle. As for the Slytherins, they gleamed with an unspoken pride, not even denying it when they were confronted for it, above all other fifth year students, Draco Malfoy. The rowdy blond standing as tall as he could draw himself up to, his chest out and a smirk playing across his delicate, chiseled, features. He had changed a great deal since the previous year. Fred couldn't place it. Nor could George, when they talked about it. He looked...pained isn't the right word for it. Despite his shinning, Slytherin pride-which made it difficult to keep your eyes off him-it was as if he had a dark secret of his own locked deep inside, one which tormented him, and made his thoughts bleed in the dead of the night. Though these were hardly things for Fred to think about. After all, he was still that slimy git from the previous years. Snotty little rich brat which spoke poorly of their family ("poorly" being the understatement of the year).

As for George's hidden feeling, Fred struggled to sneak it out if him. They would stay up late whispering under the covers of one of their beds, so close Fred could feel George's soft breathing. And they would talk, almost all night, about everything they could, Fred straining to find a hint of what he might not know of his brother. It was fruitless, something Fred could throw his hands up in the air and scream about. He felt like shaking George silly until the word slipped his perfect lips. Then, an, although had different perspectives and opinions of some things, felt earnestly equal to everything Fred felt. Not a suggestion of even the merest feeling for anything they happened to mention late at night in their seventh year's dorm.

But, Fred sighed, it was just as well. George never mentioned anything that even brushed passed the idea of Fred's own secret, which he intended to keep for himself until George dug it out of him. It was just the way he was. He needed to be brought to the brink of exploding anger to open up what was dear to him. But George wasn't that way. //That// was what puzzled Fred. George was trusting and open, and would let any close secret of his slip out without a backwards glance in front of a person he loved and trusted so greatly, like Fred. It just wasn't like him to not confide in him like he was doing.

Fred would feel like kicking himself for not having thought so thoroughly or dug for this secret before. It had been there for years. And if George was anything like Fred was, the thought had been tender and vulnerable when first cut into his mind, but over time he had learned to conceal it and almost forget it entirely, except something kept rousing it to surface. But now the gash of his secret was practically untouchable because of this learned veil of self-protection. It served Fred right for not having noticed or mentioned this significant, concealed feeling before.

It was a few months before Fred started noticing.*
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was the first time Fred had been alone in the Hogwarts' halls since the school-year started. In previous years at Hogwarts, even before Ron came into the school, he would walk the less-used, deserted passageways of the castle in search of solitude and peace-of-mind. He would only walk there when he needed to think something out in earnest or needed to be alone with himself. The school year was proving the opposite of his fears and was moving along swiftly and painlessly. Except for the boring classes, shallow exams, and droning teachers, the year was practically perfect. The weather was perfect and the Griffindor Quidditch team had been practicing tirelessly for the upcoming Quidditch matches. Fred risked a few moments alone to ponder George, or just not think at all.

He was pacing along an extent hall that ran between deserted classrooms and a series of floor-windows facing the grand lake at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the Hogwarts' grounds. The scenery from this height was mesmerizing, the deep, glassy lake shimmering in the rosy colour of the late afternoon, and the dark grey-green boundary of the wood smudged with a rustic, ruby tinge. The lake reminded him so painfully of George, so profound and beautiful, yet so mysterious and hn frn from everyone and everything that it caused an innate, anguished yearning to know it's dark limits, that a soreness burnt in his chest from it. The sky was a milky rose colour hovering above the almost endless wood and reflecting in the unfathomable body of water, which dimpled and swayed only slightly in the warm, spring breeze. Everything was alive with the beating heart of spring and a playful reflection of the whole school's dreamy feeling.

The school year was a few months away from ending, and it had gone by so fast that Fred barely had time to savor the taste of the joyful year. Voldemort never showed so much of a foot any where, and all news about him died out quickly. This only added to the ever lasting conveying sigh which the whole of the school shared, even the Slytherins, oddly enough. Though the loss of his great hero did little to lighten the look of utter sorrow in Malfoy's eyes.

He felt as if Malfoy were alone in the expanse of the school, and Fred was the only person there who was observant enough to notice this slight, yet unmistakable, change in the silver boy. Perhaps he didn't want anyone to notice, or maybe even he wanted desperately for someone to dig it out of him, like Fred wanted George to do with him, and was too terrified of the rejection from his cohorts, so used to his menacing disregard and nonchalance, if he were to tell them of his weakness. But this was all speculation and most likely all in Fred's imagination, besides the fact that it was none of his god damned business to be meddling-or even wishing to meddle-in the personal life of an almost total stranger.

That's what Draco was. A stranger. As was his own brother to him. He could barely recognize George's sweet nature because of his own interference with his twin's perfect reputation.

Tears welled in his eyes as he closed them from the sunset, the image of his brother rising to his eyes under their lids. He couldn't bare not knowing what was so dear and close the bosom of his perfect, little, delicate, love. He couldn't stand the fact that his brother couldn't trust him. Someone so open as George not able to confide in him.

He braced himself on the window-frame as he felt a warm, salty tear rush down his pallid cheek. Another came streaming after it down the opposite cheek. Two more tears rolled down his pain-contorted face, illuminated with the cherry light on the horizon. He was crying because of his own stupidity. He was crying because he was frustrated, and lonely, and wanted to be held as close to his brother as his brother held his secret. He wanted him to confide in him. He wanted..

His thoughts were broken by the sudden presence of another person nearby, eyes on the back of his neck. He didn't care who it was, he just wanted to be alone, apart from the fact that he hated to be seen crying, even by George.

"I want to be alone," he announced softly and timidly, not wanting his voice to crack in mid-sentence because of his shameful tears, which, in his mind, didn't even have a good reason for falling.

The person didn't move.

Fred slowly turned his head and even more lengthily opened his eyes, even though he was looking down the hallway now, and the figure was standing directly behind him, he couldn't see him. He knew now his tear stained face was visible in the warm light, and the expression on pain was still clear on his features. He prayed it wasn't anyone he knew standing there, he didn't want to have to do any explaining. Not now. Not today, when he was in so much turmoil. The figure still didn't stir, now that he had a tiny glimpse of black robes in the corner of his eye.

He turned around fully, his back to the window, to face whoever stood watching him. The boy there stood slumped against the wall opposite him with his hands behind his back, Slytherin emblem on his chest glistening silver and green in the welcoming light. His eyes were now closed gently against his flawless marble cheeks, usually pouting lips closed neatly and delicately in no apparent intention, and silver-blond tresses glinting beautifully in the early evening glow. Standing there he was the serene image of a ceramic statue representing a sleeping child, yet not quite life- like enough to be one. He was so utterly still, and far too young for his age.

Fred feared to move, incase he woke the gently poised boy, but he stood fighting an inclination to go towards the young-man and embrace him, hold him dearly, as if he were his own brother, telling him he loved him and the secret didn't matter as long as he still loved him and trusted him. But this other beautiful being was not George, no matter the resemblance and tranquil, unruffled, nature. Though Fred didn't mind giving in momentarily to a warm, accepting feeling of this new cool beauty.

He quickly became aware that this was an alien object in his plasma of being and feeling, something odd and inexperienced. This struck him full- blown when the seemingly carved eyelids fluttered open to reveal icy eyes, with that pain still etched in them, first looking down emotionlessly at the stone floor, then directly into Fred's own. Their eyes were interlocked and felt almost painful to look away. There was comfort and understanding in those clear, glassy, planes, the secret ache only a mirror image of Fred's own.

Across from him, there in the darkening hallway, was another person who knew what it was like to be alone and in pain. Someone who could //understand// him.

"What are you-" But the words died on his lips as he spoke them. Something in the smaller boy's eyes told him wordlessly that he ought not ruin this moment. A moment they had both strived for.

Fred found himself instead brushing away his tears and walking to the tormented boy in front of him, the pale eyes watching him emotionlessly all the way. He stood almost instantly towering directly over the younger, beautiful boy, who turned ever so slightly, sensually, to lean in front of him. There was a mixture of strained, silent words passing between them, of understanding and fear, insecurity, and pain so unimaginable that Fred couldn't bare thinking of it. Too much was said already.

He whisked Draco in his arms, where he seemed to yield willingly to the taller red-haired boy, and Fred had his lips upon his. A sigh of relief was breathed from the platinum youth, while they shared their mouths for each others tongue. The kiss was mild, yet so incredibly satisfying, as if they had both been waiting years for this exact moment, that exact second of pleasure where their chests heaved together and Draco delicately ran his hands along his back, Fred's own entangled in silver locks. Something was right, there in that space of sensuality. The kiss endured and their hearts only increased in speed against each other. There was no reality there, no matter how long the kiss continued. It was all a pleasant, milky, dream, something that would end soon and serve as a day-dream for a whole weak. Yet, it persisted, and the hands about his waist were as real as his George was, and their movements were even more real and pleasurable than the first time he had made love.

A liquid hand slid from his waist and ran down to his hips, than it squeezed between the two boys and pressed against a place ever so personal to him. Fred moaned into Draco's mouth, his heart pounding in his ear. The hand started moving fluidly up and down against his growing erection. bro broke the kiss to bury his face in the sweet smelling blonde tresses, and wrap his arms around the small shoulders, drawing the boy closer. Draco instinctively buried his face in Fred's neck and kissed tenderly. The harsh motion against his hard-on was so erotic, pleasant, painful, and the knowledge that such a striking thing was causing it. He gasped and moaned silently with its rapidly increasing motion. He could feel the blonde smile into his neck.

Draco stopped suddenly and Fred caught his breath, a tight cluster in his chest and his stomach a knot with his erection, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Draco lifted himself from his place in Fred's neck. Fred moaned softly for him to continue, but Draco lifted a long white finger to his lips to signal his silence, while he looked off into the vast passageway. Fred noticed how his eyes had been momentarily devoid of pain, the likes of which they were now regaining.

Draco detached himself entirely from Fred, whom he left sweating and panting in the his place, as he blew him a kiss and fled down the corridor, swiftly turning a corner and out of sight.

"Draco..." Fred whispered to himself, almost pleading, wishing that he were to return, to finish what he had started.

Footsteps could be heard faintly hurrying along a nearby passageway somewhere behind him, and he turned to receive their owner. George was panting, clutching a stitch in his side and bracing himself on the same window-sill where Fred had stood in tears, his emotion now entirely flipped around.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" George gasped, trying to catch his breath desperately.

Fred looked at him as blankly as he could, hoping his fiery twin wouldn't notice how distraught he looked.

George's desperate, innocent face turned worried and racked with concern. "Are you quite well?"

Fred nodded as convincingly as he could. Though not quite assuring him, George continued rapidly. "That little red-head snot we call our brother just set off //all// our dung-bombs and blamed us for it when Filtch came round. Come!"

He suddenly grasped for Fred and soon had him running along behind him towards the Griffindor common room at full speed. Fred smiled to himself. Maybe it wasn't too late to forget everything he had been speculating in his mind, and things could go back to normal with George. They could lay next to each other in perfect harmony and love as they had on the train. Maybe.

But that Malfoy was another story.

~*~*~*~*~*~

sorry, but * is not going to appear until the next chapter. I know! I brought your hopes up. I'm evil :-P

gHoSt WRiTTeR (aka Tom)
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Deepest Secrets