Я слышу голос, и он говорит мне: «Дойди до Рая!» (c)
Всë обязательно сбудется / Everything will surely come true
Author - Fujin!!
Translation by Alex Klein
Pairing - Fred/George
Genre - romance
Rating - PG-13
Disclaimer - Everything belongs to Rowling
Size - midi
Status - completed
Status of translation - completed
Permission for translation - not obtained
внимание 20 страниц текста -_- Everything will surely come true.
A quick turn of a handle - and the tiny droplets are bouncing off the floor and the tile of the walls. We have only one shower room for all of Gryffindor.
It is too small even for me and you. At least now. Because we've just ran inside, laughing with excitement, dropping the keys on the floor, and closing the door after the second tty, and it immediately became unbearably hot here. There was clearly not enough air, and the little bludgers as the frightened birds were jabbering in the head.
Faster, faster.
"So, who came first?” You are laughing, you want to make a joke, but I am the only one to know how hysterically contracting the cheekbones, how the hands are shaking to the pain just imagining that we can be separate.
That we are one and one.
We dive into the shower and into the chilled water, hysterically laughing from the cold, stretching the spacey smiles. Looking at the thawing our-somebody else's eyes.
We.
And it has nothing to do with our, to each freckle, similarity. And it’s not our awkward relation, an intertwining of lives - from the first day, eyes, and lips. It’s not the clarity of the synchronism in the movements and phrases that we've learned earlier than our brand smile.
It is just that we have one soul for two of us.
It is just that we have two names, again, for two of us. Choose whichever you like, it doesn't change the essence.
I wonder what's your name now? And mine?
Two names for two, let's play - choose one!
And we are standing under the burning cold streams, clinging to each other to the white scratches-stripes. And there is no desire to play anything and parse the names.
It’s enough to just know that you are that one, my little brother. I have two people like you – you and me, and two like me and they’re both mine too.
And the chilling drops are tangling in the hair, flowing down on the protruding shoulder-blades. And burning with the unbearably stuffy heat.
And something pulls to do only one thing - to press against even harder, even harder dig in your protruding shoulder-blades, on which the cold streamlets are flowing down.
To feel with the whole body every – the same – body cell. To intertwine with lips to lips, to feel how our ribs dig into each other, threatening to finally grow together in the chest. Threatening to rip from the inability of that.
And feel only how your heart is beating in my chest.
And I would die of this happiness, but I have two lives.
And the heart is for both of us too. It is beating out there, between the accreted ribs, which are shivering in the febrile touches.
The ice cold vapor is rebounding from the walls as a weightless mist flowing from under the door.
And it seems as there is a bizarre creature with four arms, two pairs of the hungry eyes, one soul, one heart, one spasmodic breath. In fact, it’s a disgusting selfish monster.
We both, I know for sure, care only about how unbearably expanded, strengthened our - no, not the banal desire - our craving. How our breath is scratching the skin, how whimsically twisted the monstrous beast, threatening to devour everything around it. How craving, impossibly to the pain, craving, craving...
Finally to grow together, to dig into you with the whole body, the ribs into the ribs. To hear your heart in my chest.
Or let you in and hear yours in mine. The difference would still not be too noticeable. I know that the exact same aspiration is burning you from the inside with the relentless fire.
And craving, craving, so painfully, twisting inside out craving...
And it mustn't be, little brother, mustn't be.
***
“Listen, I got a cool transgressive artifact. Let's instead of Hogsmeade tomorrow go for a walk in London, eh?”
***
A suppressed giggle as a little sunny bunny flew off the walls. Swept through the abandoned corridors, and as always, quiet in the distance.
As always it happened again.
“Hush, hush ... Somebody will hear”, You bend, double with the laughter leaning toward me. You still smell like our soft flowing down soap and the cold shower. Then you came close and grabbed me so desperately, as if afraid to lose me.
Then your look was exactly the same way as it is now. And as always.
“I am keeping silence. Ok. Get it out faster!”
“Be patient” Clicking the nose.
You are carefully searching through all the pockets, and finally get out a battered pack with a proud gesture. You feel two identical curved smirks. We have something to be proud of – it was not easy to get muggle cigarettes secretly from mother.
“So what?” My eyes are sparkling with excitement probably no less brighter than yours. “Who will be first?”
“Oh, no, little brother Fred”, You carefully took one cigarette and began twirling it in the hands. “Let's first think up how to light it”.
So now I'm Fred and you are George? Again, even now, we are playing, right? Oh, you.
“Stupid question”, I am quickly pulling out the wand - yours, and whispering a short spell. “A girlfriend of our youngest brother knows a lot of useful things”.
A tiny tremulous flame lights up at the end of the cigarette. You move it here-there, gently inhaling the smoke.
You look at me the way, since childhood and so far, that everything inside me compresses from this look.
We are playing.
Why so long?
“What are you waiting for, whoever you are ... Fred?”
“No, I'm George. I think ...” Don't look at me this way. Because I'm starting to jump away from the mirrors.
“The smoke may be noticed.”
“Oh, Merlin! Who are you lying to, little brother? We're always thinking of the same”.
“Give it to me now!”
And I am roughly pulling you to me, clutching your wrist with the wild grip, greedily catching the cigarette. We've come here for this, right? Just for this.
Don't look at me like this, please.
I know that it mustn't be. I know how it is terribly craving, how we want it just for once ... Do not look like this, please. I won't.
And the smoke with the muddy steam is digging into the lungs, filling them. And making the whole world spin around us with a mad dance. Digging in the skin with the deadly nicotine.
And coming from the throat with a hoarse cough.
“How is it?”
“Try yourself...”
And you are looking for a while, as if not believing, on the proffered cigarette. And then with the feeling of a hot avalanche inhaling, clutching it even greedier than I did. I even know why.
Oh, yes. I promised to do not look like that.
***
“Hey, what is this smell coming from you?”
“It’s a secret”
“Wait a minute, it smells familiar...”
“Where did you get it?!”
“What do you mean there is no more?!”
“Oh, ple-e-e-e-e-e-e-ase”
“Three galleons a piece? But it’s a robbery!”
“I'll take two”
***
It started a long time ago. I think this disease had already been consuming us before our father, desperately blushing, handed the first bouquet of the pale violets to our mother.
I know for sure that during all this time our illness as a hot poison, only intensified. Now it twists us from the inside until the night, mangling the lips with the smiles.
I wonder whether our mother remembers that first bouquet?
They say that we are happy and completely without brakes. And in general they are right, who does not know the twins, that joking Weasleys? Who wasn't the part of the eternal jokes, who was not accustomed to the always annoying smirk?
The one which hurts like a knife, cutting in half the lips and lights up the eyes with the cheerful pixies. Of course not, no way that it is a tightly glued mask. We have learned to be amazingly honest, right, little brother?
It is more likely to be a high quality make-up, put over the years, ideally fitting the own skin. And even deeper - to our very heart. We just really like to joke.
It is just that from the childhood, from the very first day when I started to distinguish you from myself our life became hysteria under the high quality make-up.
Because, judge for yourself, it is impossible that a person with a ripped arm, leg, life, would so carelessly laugh all the time.
Judge for yourself – all of Hogwarts is laughing at our antics. At the growing hysteria.
Why Ginny is by herself, Percy is by himself, Bill, Charlie, Ron? Even Pigwidgeon is by himself too. And there are two of us with the usual, cut in half smiles. And it is not clear why?
I know it's not your fault, Mom, and there is nothing we should forgive you for but...
What have you done.
Because the hysteria is increasing day after day, and the jokes are getting angrier. And we lose our minds completely from one look at each other.
And we are never apart.
Do you remember how we were going to be settled in the separate rooms? I think it would not help even then.
Charlie used to talk a lot about his dragons. Bill was a role model for all the kids. Ginny - everyone's favorite charm. Percy - a good boy, the pride of the family. Ron always needed the support and got caught up in the troubles.
And we were the twins.
***
“Oh, it's finally summer!”
“But I'll miss the school ...”
“Harry don't forget to write!”
“We'll come pick you up in the end of the summer!”
“I don't think it's a good idea, Ron.”
“Just a perfect one! Bye!”
***
Very close to the Burrow there is an amazing mountain range, ending with a cliff. In the summer we used to often run there, hiding from our constant fuss and secrets. After all, we need to rest sometimes.
It’s an amazing place - we can stand on the edge until the very last sunset strokes, touching each other with our fingertips. Look down.
And the cliff is craving, pulling. Almost like you, twisting in front of the eyes like a fancy spiral. And ridiculously rippling in the eyes. And craving, craving.
It was funny - to stand on the edge and feel two such strong and similar emotions at the same time. And the horror, with a piercing wind, chilled the face. We stood there, and when we looked down and felt how instinctively shrunk the heart it seemed that we were about to figure out how to get rid of the poison eating us, spilled through the veins and echoing in the blood. Starting long ago, even before our birth.
Charlie talked a lot about his dragons. He talked about the amazing sensations he has next to these wild ancient monsters. About the horror and delight when you look at their slanted golden eyes.
The feeling of your own power, absolute power, when you climb on their rough back and fly - off a cliff - down.
All the time we've been looking for a way to get rid of the averting feelings of inadequacy. There - inside.
We have tried so many things.
And we were standing. And looking down at the scurrying twisting spirals. And a piercing wind with horror chilled the face.
And this feeling was so similar to the one that should be. To the impossible dream.
Charlie talked...
A burning cigarette butt is flying down from the cliff in a funny desperate suicide. Why do we need two?
One short step, one sky for two above the heads. One rapidly coming ground and the thin contours of the blades of grass - every stalk. One sweeping up and down the icy wave of terror and delight.
And following the swiftly dying cigarette butt a bizarre creature, a dragon, is flying down, down the cliff. Four-legged, four-armed, wild, ancient.
Little brother, it seems that we've found...
***
“What was it?!” - Molly was screaming, still trembling with the recent fear. – “What was it I am asking you?! What does it mean?!”
“You see, we ...”
“...We were testing one new trick...”
“Levitation candies...”
“...But it seems that we'll need to refine them.”
“Yeah”.
“What?! You could die, do you understand that?!”
“Mom, don't exaggerate.”
“Everything turned out fine.”
“I managed to levitate you in a meter from the ground! And just try to say anything else!”
“But Mom, we ...”
“Just try!! No more inventions!”
“Of course, of course.”
“Don't even try to joke! In your room, quickly!! And just try to come out of there!”
“Yes, we're going; don't be so nervous.”
***
The door slammed above our heads, stunned and blinded with a hard blow. Squeezing the tiny room around us.
It is a pity that my with your heart is desperately shrinking but not from it.
I rushed to the closet, frantically going through things, you fell prone on the bed. A hidden crumpled pack slipped into my hands by itself as wells as a wand with a trembling flame.
A cool breeze crept in through the slightly opened window. I walked away and lit a cigarette, wringing my hands. Then burst out laughing.
You were quietly whimpering on the bed, blubbing.
And I was standing at the window - the breeze was getting under my clothes, the cigarette was burning in my fingers. Standing and laughing.
Frantically, loud, and the makeup as a ridiculous tattoo dug into the heart. As a tattoo-mask-snake.
I have no more strength to listen to the shrill cry, so I close my ears with my hands.
Mother is still yelling downstairs.
At this point it may seem that we are very different, but I only laugh in response to you. Vice versa, it’s the culmination of all similar poison in our veins, but it is a pity that the heart now is breaking, scratching the ribs with its fragments for another reason.
I know to the last little dash why you are crying now, I feel all of you and a sheet under the supple body.
You are howling softly, shuddering, biting the wrists to the blood - for us. Both of us.
And I am laughing, leaning against the door jamb - also for us. Also for both.
I am hurt like you are, you would also like to laugh. However nothing would change if we switch places. Because the pain and laughter, and the breaking heart, and the fragments in the chest for both of us.
Mine with yours usual hysteria.
And something is twisting, forcing to slip down the wall, clinging to its roughness with the crooked fingers, not because of the mother's screams, the punishment and the squeezing tiny room.
And surely not because her spell stopped us in several meters from the ground.
That was not it.
The fall to the culmination increased the burning out ocean inside, to the continuity brought us closer to each other. And it didn't blow up with a denouement.
Charlie lied – it wasn't it.
Not what we'd been looking for. Not what we haven't found.
And the desire, the craving only increased because of that. Mangling the lips with a smile, turning out everything inside, clinging to you with the angry fingers between the ribs.
The craving increased, grew to grotesque. Forcing to want - to the tremor at the knees - to break into with a hot whirlwind, tearing everything inside. To touch the freckles with cold lips. To dig with the claws into the soft supple body, getting stuck in the intestines and blood, to get to the very heart. And finally squeeze it, our, one for two, a plaintively trembling in the clutches.
We have such a soft skin – to bite, leaving the fading marks.
What have you done, mother.
And still it doesn't work out for us to fix it, little brother.
And we will have to live with it. Live.
***
“Ron, good luck to you! Keep an eye on Ginny!”
“And you be aware! If I only I'll find out that you started it again ...”
“Percy, You are such a good boy!”
“So ...”
“Of course, of course.”
***
The new school year met us with the hundreds of students, with endless jokes, flung-open Hogwarts. With the endless news of the reborn of Voldemort.
But in general nothing has changed - all the same jokes, the same antics. Adjusted for years to each word.
Only with the last joke we brought Katie Bell to tears.
She has no idea about our hysteria. About your stupid freckles and blue eyes.
Lee Jordan sticks to us with the affectionate rumors and constantly talks and talks ... We don't give him a chance to get a word in.
He says this year there will be a ball.
“So?” As if by the way with a half-whisper in the ear, in the center of the living room. “Who shall we go with?”
“Let' talk about it later.” Soft, but only our - mine! Smile with the corners of the lips. Not sarcastic - just a little bit. “Don't you see I'm studying astronomy?”
“Oh come on,” To press the nose against the temple, breathing heavily, trying to catch the unruly strands with the lips. Let them look. We are brothers - we are allowed. “Come on, tell me already, who you have an eye on.”
“Well, let it be Alicia,” You stuck your nose again in the textbook. Oh yeah, you also take astronomy exams for both of us. “The discussion is closed.”
“As you say, little brother.” And shouting across the room. “Alicia, will you go with me to the ball?”
A short evaluating glance and a quick nod. Faint smile on your lips. Spacey look from Jordan who sat near by.
He is a fool, how can she distinguish us, when even we are not able to do so?
Funny, he doesn't understand, really doesn't understand how it is possible to ask somewhere a brother's girl. How can she be shared with anyone? Share for two the secret meetings, the tiny cafes in Hogsmeade, the timid first kisses in the shower rooms.
We share it all life.
And even more - every memory, every glance, breath, thoughts, heart ... each other to the very last freckle.
And again it is craving, craving...
So, we were not able to get rid of this feeling of something turning inside out. Of this eternal break - in centimeters from heroin. Did not help - even for a second - the rapidly coming ground, and sweeping from head to foot close death.
But we must come up with something, right, little brother? We're the famous inventors.
All that night you were shaking, in quiet hysteria, crying from a nightmare. I know this dream, I see it disgustingly clear even now – a silly childish fear. A hand from under the bed. It pounces, making its way to the very throat, grabs with its crooked fingers. And you're trying to tear it off with yours, driving a knife into it to the blood.
And it is choking, choking. Because it, unlike you, doesn't feel pain. Because it does not have a single one for two lost heart but only five gnarled fingers.
So we cannot do anything to it.
***
“The match with Slytherin is soon!”
“Do not spare ourselves.”
“Train for twenty-five hours a day, sleep in the remaining time!”
“In general, Wood is as always...”
“Hey, what did you say about Wood?”
“And actually he is so cute...”
“Only fixed on Quidditch”
“Talks!!”
***
The cold wind hit my face as a reminder of the failed attempt. Two teams circled the field, almost getting stuck in the roaring tribunes.
The game began. Who you will be today - choose!
The quaffles above the head, the scurrying players, a tiny snitch – sometimes here and then somewhere in the distance – even this doesn't even able to oppose anything to the craving.
The heavy bits in the hands.
And the maelstrom of events, teams, life-game. We are balancing well on the brooms, I saw it with your jerking flight, sharp movements, piercing gray eyes. Overcast.
And I instinctively repeat your stroke, nearly knocking Wood. He dodges at the last moment, cursing loudly, saying that this is not the time for our silly jokes.
He is not right, there is always time for it.
As for your-our cloudy eyes, and jerking movements.
***
After the game we were the last to storm into the locker room, being hysterical of impatience. As soon as the last player left under the accompaniment of our jokes, the light bulbs on the ceiling exploded with nervous blinks.
It seems that we have won.
And again we clung to each other – to the white stripes on the skin, piling with the hot hands under the wet - from fatigue and traction- shirts. Trembling with a desire to dig into, to feel your blood in my veins, to twist the ribs in the chest. To run the fingers straight inside, breaking the pale skin, touching the slippery entrails, to the very heart.
To our with you soul.
And the heavy irregular breathing is scratching the throat. And the craving as an evil monster is breaking inside with the impossibility of unity. And how disgusting and unnatural this feeling is, which cannot be handled and cannot be forgotten. And ...
“What are you doing?”
The last quick bite and we turn around, together, simultaneously. Oh yeah, I forgot - Wood would probably want to tell you a "reprimand" for the fact that you nearly knocked him with a careless movement - with a repetition of mine. And here he came, looking, funnily opened his mouth in surprise.
Even wondering what he had thought.
Wood had been cursing for a long time with feeling, stepping back the short steps from the wild, ancient.
You are laughing, little brother, buried in my shoulder with an acquiescent hysteria. Loudly laughing with a slightly offbeat insane laughter. So then today I will be the one to sob.
“Damn you, freaking perverts! This is a changing room for Quidditch!!” Nothing could get Wood as this word. “Go to another place to sleep with each other! Quick!”
You doubled over with the laughter, ringing in my ear, digging into the brain with the red-hot tongs.
What is he talking about? Did he think that we ... and the surprise gives a way to understanding. And hope.
Not listening to anything else, you grab my arm and drag behind you, almost running. And the wild desperate hope is beating at the edge.
It would never come to our mind without help.
You think this is it?
You think it will help?!
***
“These psychos could come up with anything”.
“No, seriously, normal people do not behave this way”.
“Is it true that ...”
“What?”
“No.”
***
A dusty storeroom meets us with the nervous swarming and the sharp and quick exhalations. Merlin, the decision was so close, just on the surface, and all this time we were fighting the wings of the cage, and could not find.
Faster, faster.
The craving is burning out, forcing to cuddle up even more, to catch with the lips the kisses-bites, overflowing with nicotine in your veins. But still something is unbearable burning in the chest, forcing to untangle the unruly clothes, trying to save – unsuccessfully.
And your hands are sliding over the body, getting between the buttons, shirts, exploding near the edge with a piercing cry.
And with your gray eyes.
Little brother, it seems that we've found...
“And why are you still not in the bedrooms?”
“The call to sleep was a couple of hours ago!”
“We are leaving, no problems.”
“You'll get a few. Quickly, go to the director!”
“Yes, but what ...”
“To wander through the corridors at night is a dangerous thing.”
***
We reached the bedroom keeping silence, being afraid to even touch each other. It was similar - almost indistinguishably – to what it should be. To overflowing sense of unity.
And at the same time quite different.
And our lips, our jerking motions - this is not the same as a heart in the chest, between the ribs - one for two.
And I know that tonight burrowing the nose in the pillow, and biting the wrists to the blood, I am to howl. Because the traction only grew, filling our entire being to the brims, flowing out with a boiling liquid.
And you are to laugh hysterically.
We brought to an inability and strengthened to the utmost the traction there, in the small dusty storeroom. Filled ourselves with a feeling-expectation of a miracle, which will happen at last and will stop turning us out at nights.
And the craving, laughing under our make-up, hasn't exploded with a long-awaited release.
I am even afraid to imagine how tonight everything inside me will be ripping, trying to tear the thin skin, to leak out with a bloody liquid manure, to grab with a lonely hand. To merge with you, pointlessly bumping into the closed hollow bones.
We are drawn to each other, even our fingerprints are the same. And it is a simple physiology.
Mother, what have you done to us.
I was howling quietly that night. And you were laughing, swallowing mine-yours tears.
The Wood's advice didn't help.
That was not it.
And we will have to live with it. Live.
***
“Hi, guys, here's my modest housing”.
“The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix will be located here?”
“Funny...”
“So look for the comfortable rooms for you - we are here for a long time.”
“By the way, it’s a nice quiet place.”
“I just think that soon it will get so crowded that we can forget about the silence.”
“Oh! Here's Harry.”
“By the way, how was your summer?”
***
Harry Potter, who is a friend of Ron, who is a son of our mother and our father, the boy who lived, this summer was twitching from every sound. Like others he was filling a house at number twelve. All time wanted to join some Order.
We also might have wanted to – as a continuation of our hysterical-life-game.
It was not hard to make the packed house laugh, bringing mother to scream. It was not hard to play in the fun, in the inventors with their ambitions, getting tangled in our hands.
To envy to the evil clenched fist, to another son of our mother and our father. Because he wasn't turning inside out with a bloody vomiting manure in a locked room, under the pretext of work. Because he doesn't have to put on the enthusiasm with the glasses on his eyes and think at nights of the themes for breakfast.
Because he was able to do what he wanted - to get rid of our hysteria.
To leave.
We are not able to do it so far, the traction twists and nails to the ground, to the fading from the time parquet.
But we are already preparing and we will have a home. There will be us. There will be a tiny, like the drops of tile walls, shop on the edge of Hogsmeade.
And the makeup will be much more expensive and better quality.
I forgot something, what's your name today, little brother? And mine?
It is said that very soon the Dark Lord will be able to knock on this very door. They say that everyone can be suspected to be an Eater. These rumors squeeze the throat with a sick spasm-laugh.
***
“Listen, guys, we need to ...”
“Don’t take offense, but ...”
“We recently thought that the Death Eaters are unlikely to remember your involvement in the Order.”
“And hardly take you seriously”.
“In short, we need ...”
“One.”
***
I cannot imagine how they got that crazy idea in their heads. Entrust the secret to one of us. It seems they have even found some logical reasons for it and have been explaining them to us for hours.
But is it still funny - logical reasons to divide us with the hundreds of miles. Force to do not see each other may be for years.
To hide some unnecessary stupid secret. To win just a few more hours in some unclear war.
And the hundreds of thousands of reasons were volleying, nailing to the ground. Shouting that the war affects everyone. Screaming just because. Because this way is asking, almost begging our mother.
And we cannot even really remember what that secret is, why it is so important. We only know that one of us will have to be hidden for the sake of it so good that neither Lord nor Dumbledore, nor me could find it. We know that such a secret wished to entrust to Black Harry's parents, who is a friend of Ron, who is the son of our mother and our father, the boy who lived.
And the craving twists in half with a four-handed monster.
And we can't not agree even because maybe suddenly this is what is needed to get rid of the tearing poison in our veins. All of a sudden - it? Just may be it is needed to get apart, even though we ourselves would never have come to this in our head?
And we agreed. You and me. I just do not remember how we called the person to whom you have entrusted this most notorious secret.
We only know that it is very important - an ace up in the sleeve, devastating counter-weapon.
You have been taken away almost under escort: one-eyed crazy old man, tired father, the awkward witch and the man with wolf's eyes. I did not fly – I was afraid to do not return.
Maybe we will meet again - looking at the disappearing column of brooms in the constellations. And everything is twisting inside, ripping the soft tissue, mutating - there, following you, winding the gut-husk at the bars of the disappearing broom. Throwing up straight on the neat front lawn.
I will be hurt without you, little brother, but I agree to outlive this.
To get rid of the traction I am ready to sell our only soul.
***
“It's only for a couple of months.”
“Yes, I've already realized.”
“We will get rest from your turmoil, right?”
“Happy for you.”
“Come on, he is there better now than all of us together.”
“I've heard it.”
“Listen, Fred ...”
“I'm George.”
“Hey! Yesterday you were Fred!”
“Yeah. Yesterday I was Fred and today George. Something does not suit you?”
***
It did not help. The opposite.
It was like breaking up, wrinkling the skin and bones - without you. I thought it was necessary to outlive, but with every day, with every second, the craving only intensified.
And Lee Jordan, as a fool, came every day, came and crackled in the ears. He thought to help, and it is the only thing that was ridiculous about him.
It did not help, and people, wizards, the werewolf with sad eyes avoided our room.
I burst into hysteria every morning, pounced with evil - hurting the eyes - jokes. I screamed for two. I threw up on a neat lawn. Inside out. I was waiting that my-our heart would jump from the throat and run after you, leaving a slimy trail of blood.
After that I did not cry and laugh at night.
It was a little more painful than usual.
That was not it. But also close...
***
“Let's go dinner, there are mountains of pies.”
“Let's.”
“Hey, why are you so mirthless, George?”
“I'm Fred.”
“Do you want to play Quidditch?”
“I want to.”
“And let's go upstairs, I caught a pixie – it’s so cool!
“Let's”
“Listen, I need something ...”
“No problem.”
***
Window with the cutting fragments exploded in my head. Darted in the face with the wind-happiness.
You.
Flew, breaking thin glass, landed in the middle of the room. Your gray eyes are shining more cloudily than usual.
And I'm sitting on the bed and don't even want to run up, hug, throw myself on your neck - it's all the useless husk. I was just nailed to the blanket with the happiness as good as with traction.
You.
And Jordan is sitting in an armchair and can't understand what you're doing here. Because you are the keeper of that secret and hidden unfindingly far.
And I know even before you roll the sleeve of a wet shirt.
And the excused are not needed, no explanations.
Just a ridiculous tattoo at last got visible through the make-up. Burned as a stamp to the heart.
A tattoo-mask-snake.
***
“Merlin, what happened here?!”
Broken window, wet from rain the carpet, as a dead body on the floor. Shouts of the residents of the house at number twelve.
“How could this happen?”
“We need immediately look for another headquarters for the Order, it’s not safe here anymore.”
“How can you think about it!! Where is my child?!”
“I don't understand anything...”
***
It also wasn't it. This was also similar.
At least we finally managed to get away - almost the same path as another son of our mother and our father, to whom some contemptuously spit after.
You laugh again, little brother?
And I suddenly realize that this is also the culmination. That a tiny smoke-filled room in a cheap Muggle hotel inebriates no less than a throw off a cliff, quick kisses in the dark, marks on the arms. It's just our craving grew to grotesque.
If only Malfoy could see us now, he would have struggled in hysterics.
A bitter cigarette – as sometime unbearably long ago – burns the fingers. The dark heavy curtains hung at the windows, forcing their dust to clog the lungs with the cigarette smoke.
Grotesque, catharsis, culmination. And the craving with a dark mark is ripping everything inside.
You are asleep, stretched out on the crumpled sheets, breathing hard, and the dark bruises also are showing under the eyes now. Pretending to be fatigued.
To run away and hide here from the Lord was not easy, but we had no choice - he did not help us either to overcome our craving, nor succumb to it.
Except that we could not make up the Mark with the usual cutting smile.
You wonder how is our mother there, the Order, Lord? I don't.
The cigarette is burning my fingers and the smoke with the dust is clogging the nostrils.
I am throwing a cigarette butt on the floor and going up to the bed, to you, swaying, managing to fall a few times for a couple of meters.
I think I figured it out, little brother.
And a black muggle weapon by itself is sliding into the palm. And I sat there, even more rumpling the sheets.
Mudding.
A strange, sick combination: red hair and pale to the transparency skin. As a ready bloody wound, and under it a stood out net of veins.
And the black gunpoint is sliding over the hair, dividing it into strands, hiding on the temple.
Somewhere on the floor is burning down the cigarette.
I've been sitting like this for very long, until you wake up and look directly at me with shining cloudy eyes. Until you smile understandingly.
It seems that we've found...
But I just cannot even imagine what would happen if again it is not it. If the craving, which cannot be overcome, which is not succumbed, will grow even stronger. If stronger is impossible.
It seems that we have found - in a completely unnatural black gunpoint on your-our temple.
Remember my eyes and I'll take yours, picking them out with unruly fingers. Weaving at last the ribs with ribs, listening to our heart in the chest, flowing out with a bloody mess.
It seems ...
A thin click of the trigger.
Release.
Author - Fujin!!
Translation by Alex Klein
Pairing - Fred/George
Genre - romance
Rating - PG-13
Disclaimer - Everything belongs to Rowling
Size - midi
Status - completed
Status of translation - completed
Permission for translation - not obtained
внимание 20 страниц текста -_- Everything will surely come true.
A quick turn of a handle - and the tiny droplets are bouncing off the floor and the tile of the walls. We have only one shower room for all of Gryffindor.
It is too small even for me and you. At least now. Because we've just ran inside, laughing with excitement, dropping the keys on the floor, and closing the door after the second tty, and it immediately became unbearably hot here. There was clearly not enough air, and the little bludgers as the frightened birds were jabbering in the head.
Faster, faster.
"So, who came first?” You are laughing, you want to make a joke, but I am the only one to know how hysterically contracting the cheekbones, how the hands are shaking to the pain just imagining that we can be separate.
That we are one and one.
We dive into the shower and into the chilled water, hysterically laughing from the cold, stretching the spacey smiles. Looking at the thawing our-somebody else's eyes.
We.
And it has nothing to do with our, to each freckle, similarity. And it’s not our awkward relation, an intertwining of lives - from the first day, eyes, and lips. It’s not the clarity of the synchronism in the movements and phrases that we've learned earlier than our brand smile.
It is just that we have one soul for two of us.
It is just that we have two names, again, for two of us. Choose whichever you like, it doesn't change the essence.
I wonder what's your name now? And mine?
Two names for two, let's play - choose one!
And we are standing under the burning cold streams, clinging to each other to the white scratches-stripes. And there is no desire to play anything and parse the names.
It’s enough to just know that you are that one, my little brother. I have two people like you – you and me, and two like me and they’re both mine too.
And the chilling drops are tangling in the hair, flowing down on the protruding shoulder-blades. And burning with the unbearably stuffy heat.
And something pulls to do only one thing - to press against even harder, even harder dig in your protruding shoulder-blades, on which the cold streamlets are flowing down.
To feel with the whole body every – the same – body cell. To intertwine with lips to lips, to feel how our ribs dig into each other, threatening to finally grow together in the chest. Threatening to rip from the inability of that.
And feel only how your heart is beating in my chest.
And I would die of this happiness, but I have two lives.
And the heart is for both of us too. It is beating out there, between the accreted ribs, which are shivering in the febrile touches.
The ice cold vapor is rebounding from the walls as a weightless mist flowing from under the door.
And it seems as there is a bizarre creature with four arms, two pairs of the hungry eyes, one soul, one heart, one spasmodic breath. In fact, it’s a disgusting selfish monster.
We both, I know for sure, care only about how unbearably expanded, strengthened our - no, not the banal desire - our craving. How our breath is scratching the skin, how whimsically twisted the monstrous beast, threatening to devour everything around it. How craving, impossibly to the pain, craving, craving...
Finally to grow together, to dig into you with the whole body, the ribs into the ribs. To hear your heart in my chest.
Or let you in and hear yours in mine. The difference would still not be too noticeable. I know that the exact same aspiration is burning you from the inside with the relentless fire.
And craving, craving, so painfully, twisting inside out craving...
And it mustn't be, little brother, mustn't be.
***
“Listen, I got a cool transgressive artifact. Let's instead of Hogsmeade tomorrow go for a walk in London, eh?”
***
A suppressed giggle as a little sunny bunny flew off the walls. Swept through the abandoned corridors, and as always, quiet in the distance.
As always it happened again.
“Hush, hush ... Somebody will hear”, You bend, double with the laughter leaning toward me. You still smell like our soft flowing down soap and the cold shower. Then you came close and grabbed me so desperately, as if afraid to lose me.
Then your look was exactly the same way as it is now. And as always.
“I am keeping silence. Ok. Get it out faster!”
“Be patient” Clicking the nose.
You are carefully searching through all the pockets, and finally get out a battered pack with a proud gesture. You feel two identical curved smirks. We have something to be proud of – it was not easy to get muggle cigarettes secretly from mother.
“So what?” My eyes are sparkling with excitement probably no less brighter than yours. “Who will be first?”
“Oh, no, little brother Fred”, You carefully took one cigarette and began twirling it in the hands. “Let's first think up how to light it”.
So now I'm Fred and you are George? Again, even now, we are playing, right? Oh, you.
“Stupid question”, I am quickly pulling out the wand - yours, and whispering a short spell. “A girlfriend of our youngest brother knows a lot of useful things”.
A tiny tremulous flame lights up at the end of the cigarette. You move it here-there, gently inhaling the smoke.
You look at me the way, since childhood and so far, that everything inside me compresses from this look.
We are playing.
Why so long?
“What are you waiting for, whoever you are ... Fred?”
“No, I'm George. I think ...” Don't look at me this way. Because I'm starting to jump away from the mirrors.
“The smoke may be noticed.”
“Oh, Merlin! Who are you lying to, little brother? We're always thinking of the same”.
“Give it to me now!”
And I am roughly pulling you to me, clutching your wrist with the wild grip, greedily catching the cigarette. We've come here for this, right? Just for this.
Don't look at me like this, please.
I know that it mustn't be. I know how it is terribly craving, how we want it just for once ... Do not look like this, please. I won't.
And the smoke with the muddy steam is digging into the lungs, filling them. And making the whole world spin around us with a mad dance. Digging in the skin with the deadly nicotine.
And coming from the throat with a hoarse cough.
“How is it?”
“Try yourself...”
And you are looking for a while, as if not believing, on the proffered cigarette. And then with the feeling of a hot avalanche inhaling, clutching it even greedier than I did. I even know why.
Oh, yes. I promised to do not look like that.
***
“Hey, what is this smell coming from you?”
“It’s a secret”
“Wait a minute, it smells familiar...”
“Where did you get it?!”
“What do you mean there is no more?!”
“Oh, ple-e-e-e-e-e-e-ase”
“Three galleons a piece? But it’s a robbery!”
“I'll take two”
***
It started a long time ago. I think this disease had already been consuming us before our father, desperately blushing, handed the first bouquet of the pale violets to our mother.
I know for sure that during all this time our illness as a hot poison, only intensified. Now it twists us from the inside until the night, mangling the lips with the smiles.
I wonder whether our mother remembers that first bouquet?
They say that we are happy and completely without brakes. And in general they are right, who does not know the twins, that joking Weasleys? Who wasn't the part of the eternal jokes, who was not accustomed to the always annoying smirk?
The one which hurts like a knife, cutting in half the lips and lights up the eyes with the cheerful pixies. Of course not, no way that it is a tightly glued mask. We have learned to be amazingly honest, right, little brother?
It is more likely to be a high quality make-up, put over the years, ideally fitting the own skin. And even deeper - to our very heart. We just really like to joke.
It is just that from the childhood, from the very first day when I started to distinguish you from myself our life became hysteria under the high quality make-up.
Because, judge for yourself, it is impossible that a person with a ripped arm, leg, life, would so carelessly laugh all the time.
Judge for yourself – all of Hogwarts is laughing at our antics. At the growing hysteria.
Why Ginny is by herself, Percy is by himself, Bill, Charlie, Ron? Even Pigwidgeon is by himself too. And there are two of us with the usual, cut in half smiles. And it is not clear why?
I know it's not your fault, Mom, and there is nothing we should forgive you for but...
What have you done.
Because the hysteria is increasing day after day, and the jokes are getting angrier. And we lose our minds completely from one look at each other.
And we are never apart.
Do you remember how we were going to be settled in the separate rooms? I think it would not help even then.
Charlie used to talk a lot about his dragons. Bill was a role model for all the kids. Ginny - everyone's favorite charm. Percy - a good boy, the pride of the family. Ron always needed the support and got caught up in the troubles.
And we were the twins.
***
“Oh, it's finally summer!”
“But I'll miss the school ...”
“Harry don't forget to write!”
“We'll come pick you up in the end of the summer!”
“I don't think it's a good idea, Ron.”
“Just a perfect one! Bye!”
***
Very close to the Burrow there is an amazing mountain range, ending with a cliff. In the summer we used to often run there, hiding from our constant fuss and secrets. After all, we need to rest sometimes.
It’s an amazing place - we can stand on the edge until the very last sunset strokes, touching each other with our fingertips. Look down.
And the cliff is craving, pulling. Almost like you, twisting in front of the eyes like a fancy spiral. And ridiculously rippling in the eyes. And craving, craving.
It was funny - to stand on the edge and feel two such strong and similar emotions at the same time. And the horror, with a piercing wind, chilled the face. We stood there, and when we looked down and felt how instinctively shrunk the heart it seemed that we were about to figure out how to get rid of the poison eating us, spilled through the veins and echoing in the blood. Starting long ago, even before our birth.
Charlie talked a lot about his dragons. He talked about the amazing sensations he has next to these wild ancient monsters. About the horror and delight when you look at their slanted golden eyes.
The feeling of your own power, absolute power, when you climb on their rough back and fly - off a cliff - down.
All the time we've been looking for a way to get rid of the averting feelings of inadequacy. There - inside.
We have tried so many things.
And we were standing. And looking down at the scurrying twisting spirals. And a piercing wind with horror chilled the face.
And this feeling was so similar to the one that should be. To the impossible dream.
Charlie talked...
A burning cigarette butt is flying down from the cliff in a funny desperate suicide. Why do we need two?
One short step, one sky for two above the heads. One rapidly coming ground and the thin contours of the blades of grass - every stalk. One sweeping up and down the icy wave of terror and delight.
And following the swiftly dying cigarette butt a bizarre creature, a dragon, is flying down, down the cliff. Four-legged, four-armed, wild, ancient.
Little brother, it seems that we've found...
***
“What was it?!” - Molly was screaming, still trembling with the recent fear. – “What was it I am asking you?! What does it mean?!”
“You see, we ...”
“...We were testing one new trick...”
“Levitation candies...”
“...But it seems that we'll need to refine them.”
“Yeah”.
“What?! You could die, do you understand that?!”
“Mom, don't exaggerate.”
“Everything turned out fine.”
“I managed to levitate you in a meter from the ground! And just try to say anything else!”
“But Mom, we ...”
“Just try!! No more inventions!”
“Of course, of course.”
“Don't even try to joke! In your room, quickly!! And just try to come out of there!”
“Yes, we're going; don't be so nervous.”
***
The door slammed above our heads, stunned and blinded with a hard blow. Squeezing the tiny room around us.
It is a pity that my with your heart is desperately shrinking but not from it.
I rushed to the closet, frantically going through things, you fell prone on the bed. A hidden crumpled pack slipped into my hands by itself as wells as a wand with a trembling flame.
A cool breeze crept in through the slightly opened window. I walked away and lit a cigarette, wringing my hands. Then burst out laughing.
You were quietly whimpering on the bed, blubbing.
And I was standing at the window - the breeze was getting under my clothes, the cigarette was burning in my fingers. Standing and laughing.
Frantically, loud, and the makeup as a ridiculous tattoo dug into the heart. As a tattoo-mask-snake.
I have no more strength to listen to the shrill cry, so I close my ears with my hands.
Mother is still yelling downstairs.
At this point it may seem that we are very different, but I only laugh in response to you. Vice versa, it’s the culmination of all similar poison in our veins, but it is a pity that the heart now is breaking, scratching the ribs with its fragments for another reason.
I know to the last little dash why you are crying now, I feel all of you and a sheet under the supple body.
You are howling softly, shuddering, biting the wrists to the blood - for us. Both of us.
And I am laughing, leaning against the door jamb - also for us. Also for both.
I am hurt like you are, you would also like to laugh. However nothing would change if we switch places. Because the pain and laughter, and the breaking heart, and the fragments in the chest for both of us.
Mine with yours usual hysteria.
And something is twisting, forcing to slip down the wall, clinging to its roughness with the crooked fingers, not because of the mother's screams, the punishment and the squeezing tiny room.
And surely not because her spell stopped us in several meters from the ground.
That was not it.
The fall to the culmination increased the burning out ocean inside, to the continuity brought us closer to each other. And it didn't blow up with a denouement.
Charlie lied – it wasn't it.
Not what we'd been looking for. Not what we haven't found.
And the desire, the craving only increased because of that. Mangling the lips with a smile, turning out everything inside, clinging to you with the angry fingers between the ribs.
The craving increased, grew to grotesque. Forcing to want - to the tremor at the knees - to break into with a hot whirlwind, tearing everything inside. To touch the freckles with cold lips. To dig with the claws into the soft supple body, getting stuck in the intestines and blood, to get to the very heart. And finally squeeze it, our, one for two, a plaintively trembling in the clutches.
We have such a soft skin – to bite, leaving the fading marks.
What have you done, mother.
And still it doesn't work out for us to fix it, little brother.
And we will have to live with it. Live.
***
“Ron, good luck to you! Keep an eye on Ginny!”
“And you be aware! If I only I'll find out that you started it again ...”
“Percy, You are such a good boy!”
“So ...”
“Of course, of course.”
***
The new school year met us with the hundreds of students, with endless jokes, flung-open Hogwarts. With the endless news of the reborn of Voldemort.
But in general nothing has changed - all the same jokes, the same antics. Adjusted for years to each word.
Only with the last joke we brought Katie Bell to tears.
She has no idea about our hysteria. About your stupid freckles and blue eyes.
Lee Jordan sticks to us with the affectionate rumors and constantly talks and talks ... We don't give him a chance to get a word in.
He says this year there will be a ball.
“So?” As if by the way with a half-whisper in the ear, in the center of the living room. “Who shall we go with?”
“Let' talk about it later.” Soft, but only our - mine! Smile with the corners of the lips. Not sarcastic - just a little bit. “Don't you see I'm studying astronomy?”
“Oh come on,” To press the nose against the temple, breathing heavily, trying to catch the unruly strands with the lips. Let them look. We are brothers - we are allowed. “Come on, tell me already, who you have an eye on.”
“Well, let it be Alicia,” You stuck your nose again in the textbook. Oh yeah, you also take astronomy exams for both of us. “The discussion is closed.”
“As you say, little brother.” And shouting across the room. “Alicia, will you go with me to the ball?”
A short evaluating glance and a quick nod. Faint smile on your lips. Spacey look from Jordan who sat near by.
He is a fool, how can she distinguish us, when even we are not able to do so?
Funny, he doesn't understand, really doesn't understand how it is possible to ask somewhere a brother's girl. How can she be shared with anyone? Share for two the secret meetings, the tiny cafes in Hogsmeade, the timid first kisses in the shower rooms.
We share it all life.
And even more - every memory, every glance, breath, thoughts, heart ... each other to the very last freckle.
And again it is craving, craving...
So, we were not able to get rid of this feeling of something turning inside out. Of this eternal break - in centimeters from heroin. Did not help - even for a second - the rapidly coming ground, and sweeping from head to foot close death.
But we must come up with something, right, little brother? We're the famous inventors.
All that night you were shaking, in quiet hysteria, crying from a nightmare. I know this dream, I see it disgustingly clear even now – a silly childish fear. A hand from under the bed. It pounces, making its way to the very throat, grabs with its crooked fingers. And you're trying to tear it off with yours, driving a knife into it to the blood.
And it is choking, choking. Because it, unlike you, doesn't feel pain. Because it does not have a single one for two lost heart but only five gnarled fingers.
So we cannot do anything to it.
***
“The match with Slytherin is soon!”
“Do not spare ourselves.”
“Train for twenty-five hours a day, sleep in the remaining time!”
“In general, Wood is as always...”
“Hey, what did you say about Wood?”
“And actually he is so cute...”
“Only fixed on Quidditch”
“Talks!!”
***
The cold wind hit my face as a reminder of the failed attempt. Two teams circled the field, almost getting stuck in the roaring tribunes.
The game began. Who you will be today - choose!
The quaffles above the head, the scurrying players, a tiny snitch – sometimes here and then somewhere in the distance – even this doesn't even able to oppose anything to the craving.
The heavy bits in the hands.
And the maelstrom of events, teams, life-game. We are balancing well on the brooms, I saw it with your jerking flight, sharp movements, piercing gray eyes. Overcast.
And I instinctively repeat your stroke, nearly knocking Wood. He dodges at the last moment, cursing loudly, saying that this is not the time for our silly jokes.
He is not right, there is always time for it.
As for your-our cloudy eyes, and jerking movements.
***
After the game we were the last to storm into the locker room, being hysterical of impatience. As soon as the last player left under the accompaniment of our jokes, the light bulbs on the ceiling exploded with nervous blinks.
It seems that we have won.
And again we clung to each other – to the white stripes on the skin, piling with the hot hands under the wet - from fatigue and traction- shirts. Trembling with a desire to dig into, to feel your blood in my veins, to twist the ribs in the chest. To run the fingers straight inside, breaking the pale skin, touching the slippery entrails, to the very heart.
To our with you soul.
And the heavy irregular breathing is scratching the throat. And the craving as an evil monster is breaking inside with the impossibility of unity. And how disgusting and unnatural this feeling is, which cannot be handled and cannot be forgotten. And ...
“What are you doing?”
The last quick bite and we turn around, together, simultaneously. Oh yeah, I forgot - Wood would probably want to tell you a "reprimand" for the fact that you nearly knocked him with a careless movement - with a repetition of mine. And here he came, looking, funnily opened his mouth in surprise.
Even wondering what he had thought.
Wood had been cursing for a long time with feeling, stepping back the short steps from the wild, ancient.
You are laughing, little brother, buried in my shoulder with an acquiescent hysteria. Loudly laughing with a slightly offbeat insane laughter. So then today I will be the one to sob.
“Damn you, freaking perverts! This is a changing room for Quidditch!!” Nothing could get Wood as this word. “Go to another place to sleep with each other! Quick!”
You doubled over with the laughter, ringing in my ear, digging into the brain with the red-hot tongs.
What is he talking about? Did he think that we ... and the surprise gives a way to understanding. And hope.
Not listening to anything else, you grab my arm and drag behind you, almost running. And the wild desperate hope is beating at the edge.
It would never come to our mind without help.
You think this is it?
You think it will help?!
***
“These psychos could come up with anything”.
“No, seriously, normal people do not behave this way”.
“Is it true that ...”
“What?”
“No.”
***
A dusty storeroom meets us with the nervous swarming and the sharp and quick exhalations. Merlin, the decision was so close, just on the surface, and all this time we were fighting the wings of the cage, and could not find.
Faster, faster.
The craving is burning out, forcing to cuddle up even more, to catch with the lips the kisses-bites, overflowing with nicotine in your veins. But still something is unbearable burning in the chest, forcing to untangle the unruly clothes, trying to save – unsuccessfully.
And your hands are sliding over the body, getting between the buttons, shirts, exploding near the edge with a piercing cry.
And with your gray eyes.
Little brother, it seems that we've found...
“And why are you still not in the bedrooms?”
“The call to sleep was a couple of hours ago!”
“We are leaving, no problems.”
“You'll get a few. Quickly, go to the director!”
“Yes, but what ...”
“To wander through the corridors at night is a dangerous thing.”
***
We reached the bedroom keeping silence, being afraid to even touch each other. It was similar - almost indistinguishably – to what it should be. To overflowing sense of unity.
And at the same time quite different.
And our lips, our jerking motions - this is not the same as a heart in the chest, between the ribs - one for two.
And I know that tonight burrowing the nose in the pillow, and biting the wrists to the blood, I am to howl. Because the traction only grew, filling our entire being to the brims, flowing out with a boiling liquid.
And you are to laugh hysterically.
We brought to an inability and strengthened to the utmost the traction there, in the small dusty storeroom. Filled ourselves with a feeling-expectation of a miracle, which will happen at last and will stop turning us out at nights.
And the craving, laughing under our make-up, hasn't exploded with a long-awaited release.
I am even afraid to imagine how tonight everything inside me will be ripping, trying to tear the thin skin, to leak out with a bloody liquid manure, to grab with a lonely hand. To merge with you, pointlessly bumping into the closed hollow bones.
We are drawn to each other, even our fingerprints are the same. And it is a simple physiology.
Mother, what have you done to us.
I was howling quietly that night. And you were laughing, swallowing mine-yours tears.
The Wood's advice didn't help.
That was not it.
And we will have to live with it. Live.
***
“Hi, guys, here's my modest housing”.
“The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix will be located here?”
“Funny...”
“So look for the comfortable rooms for you - we are here for a long time.”
“By the way, it’s a nice quiet place.”
“I just think that soon it will get so crowded that we can forget about the silence.”
“Oh! Here's Harry.”
“By the way, how was your summer?”
***
Harry Potter, who is a friend of Ron, who is a son of our mother and our father, the boy who lived, this summer was twitching from every sound. Like others he was filling a house at number twelve. All time wanted to join some Order.
We also might have wanted to – as a continuation of our hysterical-life-game.
It was not hard to make the packed house laugh, bringing mother to scream. It was not hard to play in the fun, in the inventors with their ambitions, getting tangled in our hands.
To envy to the evil clenched fist, to another son of our mother and our father. Because he wasn't turning inside out with a bloody vomiting manure in a locked room, under the pretext of work. Because he doesn't have to put on the enthusiasm with the glasses on his eyes and think at nights of the themes for breakfast.
Because he was able to do what he wanted - to get rid of our hysteria.
To leave.
We are not able to do it so far, the traction twists and nails to the ground, to the fading from the time parquet.
But we are already preparing and we will have a home. There will be us. There will be a tiny, like the drops of tile walls, shop on the edge of Hogsmeade.
And the makeup will be much more expensive and better quality.
I forgot something, what's your name today, little brother? And mine?
It is said that very soon the Dark Lord will be able to knock on this very door. They say that everyone can be suspected to be an Eater. These rumors squeeze the throat with a sick spasm-laugh.
***
“Listen, guys, we need to ...”
“Don’t take offense, but ...”
“We recently thought that the Death Eaters are unlikely to remember your involvement in the Order.”
“And hardly take you seriously”.
“In short, we need ...”
“One.”
***
I cannot imagine how they got that crazy idea in their heads. Entrust the secret to one of us. It seems they have even found some logical reasons for it and have been explaining them to us for hours.
But is it still funny - logical reasons to divide us with the hundreds of miles. Force to do not see each other may be for years.
To hide some unnecessary stupid secret. To win just a few more hours in some unclear war.
And the hundreds of thousands of reasons were volleying, nailing to the ground. Shouting that the war affects everyone. Screaming just because. Because this way is asking, almost begging our mother.
And we cannot even really remember what that secret is, why it is so important. We only know that one of us will have to be hidden for the sake of it so good that neither Lord nor Dumbledore, nor me could find it. We know that such a secret wished to entrust to Black Harry's parents, who is a friend of Ron, who is the son of our mother and our father, the boy who lived.
And the craving twists in half with a four-handed monster.
And we can't not agree even because maybe suddenly this is what is needed to get rid of the tearing poison in our veins. All of a sudden - it? Just may be it is needed to get apart, even though we ourselves would never have come to this in our head?
And we agreed. You and me. I just do not remember how we called the person to whom you have entrusted this most notorious secret.
We only know that it is very important - an ace up in the sleeve, devastating counter-weapon.
You have been taken away almost under escort: one-eyed crazy old man, tired father, the awkward witch and the man with wolf's eyes. I did not fly – I was afraid to do not return.
Maybe we will meet again - looking at the disappearing column of brooms in the constellations. And everything is twisting inside, ripping the soft tissue, mutating - there, following you, winding the gut-husk at the bars of the disappearing broom. Throwing up straight on the neat front lawn.
I will be hurt without you, little brother, but I agree to outlive this.
To get rid of the traction I am ready to sell our only soul.
***
“It's only for a couple of months.”
“Yes, I've already realized.”
“We will get rest from your turmoil, right?”
“Happy for you.”
“Come on, he is there better now than all of us together.”
“I've heard it.”
“Listen, Fred ...”
“I'm George.”
“Hey! Yesterday you were Fred!”
“Yeah. Yesterday I was Fred and today George. Something does not suit you?”
***
It did not help. The opposite.
It was like breaking up, wrinkling the skin and bones - without you. I thought it was necessary to outlive, but with every day, with every second, the craving only intensified.
And Lee Jordan, as a fool, came every day, came and crackled in the ears. He thought to help, and it is the only thing that was ridiculous about him.
It did not help, and people, wizards, the werewolf with sad eyes avoided our room.
I burst into hysteria every morning, pounced with evil - hurting the eyes - jokes. I screamed for two. I threw up on a neat lawn. Inside out. I was waiting that my-our heart would jump from the throat and run after you, leaving a slimy trail of blood.
After that I did not cry and laugh at night.
It was a little more painful than usual.
That was not it. But also close...
***
“Let's go dinner, there are mountains of pies.”
“Let's.”
“Hey, why are you so mirthless, George?”
“I'm Fred.”
“Do you want to play Quidditch?”
“I want to.”
“And let's go upstairs, I caught a pixie – it’s so cool!
“Let's”
“Listen, I need something ...”
“No problem.”
***
Window with the cutting fragments exploded in my head. Darted in the face with the wind-happiness.
You.
Flew, breaking thin glass, landed in the middle of the room. Your gray eyes are shining more cloudily than usual.
And I'm sitting on the bed and don't even want to run up, hug, throw myself on your neck - it's all the useless husk. I was just nailed to the blanket with the happiness as good as with traction.
You.
And Jordan is sitting in an armchair and can't understand what you're doing here. Because you are the keeper of that secret and hidden unfindingly far.
And I know even before you roll the sleeve of a wet shirt.
And the excused are not needed, no explanations.
Just a ridiculous tattoo at last got visible through the make-up. Burned as a stamp to the heart.
A tattoo-mask-snake.
***
“Merlin, what happened here?!”
Broken window, wet from rain the carpet, as a dead body on the floor. Shouts of the residents of the house at number twelve.
“How could this happen?”
“We need immediately look for another headquarters for the Order, it’s not safe here anymore.”
“How can you think about it!! Where is my child?!”
“I don't understand anything...”
***
It also wasn't it. This was also similar.
At least we finally managed to get away - almost the same path as another son of our mother and our father, to whom some contemptuously spit after.
You laugh again, little brother?
And I suddenly realize that this is also the culmination. That a tiny smoke-filled room in a cheap Muggle hotel inebriates no less than a throw off a cliff, quick kisses in the dark, marks on the arms. It's just our craving grew to grotesque.
If only Malfoy could see us now, he would have struggled in hysterics.
A bitter cigarette – as sometime unbearably long ago – burns the fingers. The dark heavy curtains hung at the windows, forcing their dust to clog the lungs with the cigarette smoke.
Grotesque, catharsis, culmination. And the craving with a dark mark is ripping everything inside.
You are asleep, stretched out on the crumpled sheets, breathing hard, and the dark bruises also are showing under the eyes now. Pretending to be fatigued.
To run away and hide here from the Lord was not easy, but we had no choice - he did not help us either to overcome our craving, nor succumb to it.
Except that we could not make up the Mark with the usual cutting smile.
You wonder how is our mother there, the Order, Lord? I don't.
The cigarette is burning my fingers and the smoke with the dust is clogging the nostrils.
I am throwing a cigarette butt on the floor and going up to the bed, to you, swaying, managing to fall a few times for a couple of meters.
I think I figured it out, little brother.
And a black muggle weapon by itself is sliding into the palm. And I sat there, even more rumpling the sheets.
Mudding.
A strange, sick combination: red hair and pale to the transparency skin. As a ready bloody wound, and under it a stood out net of veins.
And the black gunpoint is sliding over the hair, dividing it into strands, hiding on the temple.
Somewhere on the floor is burning down the cigarette.
I've been sitting like this for very long, until you wake up and look directly at me with shining cloudy eyes. Until you smile understandingly.
It seems that we've found...
But I just cannot even imagine what would happen if again it is not it. If the craving, which cannot be overcome, which is not succumbed, will grow even stronger. If stronger is impossible.
It seems that we have found - in a completely unnatural black gunpoint on your-our temple.
Remember my eyes and I'll take yours, picking them out with unruly fingers. Weaving at last the ribs with ribs, listening to our heart in the chest, flowing out with a bloody mess.
It seems ...
A thin click of the trigger.
Release.
@темы: ГП, творчество, English; Translations
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21.05.2012 в 19:47о, это прекрасный автор!
а вообще, ты молодчина. вышло здорово.
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21.05.2012 в 20:36А вообще, здравствуйте. Раньше вас тут не видел. На "ты"-"вы"? Какими судьбами?
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21.05.2012 в 20:39-
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21.05.2012 в 20:56да там всех много и все какие-то чужие, ну их нафиг .__.
мне стремно было уже разводить там ПЬЮР ЭМОУШН, а тут прямо все такое, мур-мур-мур~
автор еще по саус парку пишет.)
он отвечает только знакомым, как я понял. потому что я тоже пытался достучаться, и тоже тщетно.