Loud Child

Title: The Long Way Home
Author/Artist: loony4lupin and madeyemax
Gift For: annafugazzi
Rating: R
Featured Character or Pairing(s): George, eventual George/Lee
Summary: After losing Fred, George also loses his sense of self and must go on a journey in order to find his way home.
Warnings: Grief, canon death, language, slash, minor sex, and… epicism!
Word Count: 17,359
Disclaimer: They're not ours. Boo.
Author's/Artist's notes: Thanks to annafugazzi for the challenge! We had a lot of fun writing this and we hope you enjoy it! Thanks to star54kar for organizing the fest! And thanks to F, our lovely beta.

Ron,

It's fucking cold in Moscow.

-George


George turned the collar up on his coat and stared out at the street. Everything in Russia seemed like it was made of stone and altogether unpleasant. Which was probably why he was contemplating never leaving the country until everybody he knew before were dead and he was forgotten.

The church bells rang, scattering the birds in the square like school children. They looked like they were hovering in the air above him, like a huge wool blanket with too many holes. But they were climbing, chattering above him, before swooping down and then off together into the distance. The birds moved as a unit, a battalion more potent in body and mind than any individual; one apart from the cluster was helpless, but together they were powerful enough to rule the skies with grace and precision. 

George choked back a sob before he turned down an alley and disappeared into the brittle cold of Moscow's streets. 


George,

I'm on a recon mission for you.
Save me the effort of chasing you, I'm an old man now. 

-Charlie


The pub was dim but bursting with people, the temperature outside was brutal- arctic even. George settled himself into a small booth towards the back, but near enough to the bar for them to notice when his drink was empty. He was a regular. So was the rest of Moscow.

He looked noncommittally at his glass, the vodka was smooth and he wished for whisky. But whisky reminded him too much of a place he didn't want to ever remember, of people he wished would stop appearing in his dreams. George took a drink from his glass. 

He wondered who he would hear screaming in his dreams that night. 

The people in Moscow fell into two categories, friendly and jovial or bitter and cynical. Yet, they all seemed to mingle together in the pub. The cold bringing them together into the dim pub for drink and warmth, George could feel the heat of the crowd but refused to take off his coat. He didn't want to stay too long.

He'd stopped carrying his wand a long time ago. 

Someone replaced his drink and George sank deeper into his booth, wondering how long it would take Charlie to find him. He guessed a good week, he was rather proud of his ability to cover his tracks. Moscow was indeed a far cry from southern England. 

George waited until he finished his sixth drink before he stumbled out of the bar and braved the distance to the place he was staying; just a place to stay until he decided to leave, until he decided to finally just pack it in once and for all. 


Lee,

Know anyone in India? 

-George


George had been on his way to the pub when he turned back the way he came. When he reached the corner, Charlie was standing there, looking up at the building where George had been staying. George turned around, thought about returning later in the evening to get his things before dismissing the idea and walking towards the train station. Maybe the wand he left next to the window would be evidence enough for Charlie.

The train left early, travelling through Kazakhstan and bringing him through a few countries he never knew existed before he lurched into Islamabad, Pakistan. It was dark there too and George slept on a bench in the train station, until someone woke him up. He nodded and rushed off to buy another ticket, he could almost smell India and it smelt nothing like home spun yarn, wild flowers or warm bread. 


George,

The shop is running well, but without any new products it's going to fall quickly. Fred's funeral was three weeks ago. I've started my own radio news show in your flat. 

-Lee


It was raining in Dehli, humid and sticky. George walked around the city, getting lost several times. The streets all looked the same in the rain, crowded at the edges with people trying to stay out of the downpour and the horizon was lined with temples, deep reds and midnight blues. It was a city of temples and tombs. 

There was a small hostel and George stumbled in just before the sun was setting. He was soaked through to the bone, but India smelled like curry and dirt and it warmed his skin. He slipped into filthy sheets that scratched his skin and gave him no comfort pressed against his cheek.

He dreamt of bon fires and drowning. 


Charlie

Stop following me.

-George


The heat was all encompassing. Sweat trickled, made ravines and canyons in his skin as he walked through the streets. No one paid him much attention, although he recognized how he must have looked to the natives; the English boy on a holiday. 

What a terrible holiday. 

George left his shoes at the hotel, the urge to feel the ground beneath his feet outweighing the possibility that they might be gone when he returned; whenever that would be. It felt like the days blended together, the breaking dawn tumbled into the encompassing twilight. It felt endless and so did he. 

He brought back a cheap bottle of wine and tried to find the end, his maybe or maybe theirs, in the bottom of the glass. But it did not come when he called it, only sleep and heart wrenching dreams.


George,

I get back from Australia and you've fucking gone? What the hell are you playing at? Where are you? Mum's gone mental and Charlie's off to find you and seriously… this leaving shit is not on.

-Ron


The week dragged on and the hostel asked him to leave because he couldn't control his voice when he was sleeping and the screams were starting to scare the students. It took him only a few hours to find a bar, only a few moments to find an empty stool, and a handful of drinks to find himself a place to stay.

He was tall, with a casual air to him, like there was nothing in the world that could take away his pint and sexy smile. George thought he might have felt that way, one time or another. But the man was nice enough and his sheets smelled like warm pumpkin and he tasted of gin but spoke little, other than to tell him where George was to put his mouth. 

In the morning the man said 'stay as long as you like'. George waited until he heard running water before he slipped out of the sheets and pulled on his clothes, the light chasing him out the door.

He had had enough of India. 


Ron,

Tell Ginny I said hello. 

-George


George slowly began to realise that living without a wand was just dreadful. He didn't have instant light when he required it and, despite his desire to escape all things magical, the truth was he felt naked without a wand. He felt exposed and vulnerable, as if he hadn't felt vulnerable enough already. He hazarded a visit one of Thailand's smaller wizarding communities, found a wandmaker and fled the area immediately after making his purchase.

The streets of Muggle Bangkok were crowded, which would have suited George just fine if he hadn't been an average-sized, pale, ginger-haired man in a sea of smaller, darker people. It seemed almost pointless coming here. If Charlie happened to pinpoint his general location, how hard would it be to spot George? Not very. George donned a Muggle ball cap, kept his head down and moved steadily and maddeningly slowly through the crowd.

He felt out of place, even in dim bars. They were disturbingly clean and orderly. He sat hunched at a corner table by himself, peeling his beer bottle's label away strip by strip and trying not to exist. He watched the bar's patrons from underneath his cap's visor and wondered what he would do if one of them were to approach him, small fantasies to keep his mind off what he was running from. But they were just fantasies, it wasn't as if that was going to happen.

But then it happened.

A group of petite, animated young Asian women lost one of their ranks when she locked eyes with George and broke away from them. He'd only met her eyes for a moment and hadn't even meant to. She puffed her cigarette as her stick-thin legs carried her to him. She wore a silver micro-mini and a turquoise blouse that hung loosely around her skinny frame and hung lazily off one shoulder.

She plunked herself down next to him on the smooth faux-leather bench seat, crossed her legs, put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the table next to George's and promptly began rummaging through her large, red handbag.

"You smoke?" she asked

He eyed her warily. She was hunched over her bag, which almost looked like she might be able to fit inside it, and her stick-straight, shaggy hair was obscuring her face.

"Smart boy," she said, apparently taking his silence for a 'no'. She pulled out a compact mirror, flipped it open and began checking her appearance.

"Look," said George, "I'm not really looking for–"

"–any company, yeah, I know."

George stared at her. She was dabbing at her lips with a fingertip, almost as though she hadn't just sat down next to complete stranger and struck up a conversation. George was tempted to see if she really could fit into that giant handbag of hers.

"It's ironic that when people want to be alone, they come to crowded bars," she said. She put her compact away and kept rummaging in her giant bag.

"Well, this is where the alcohol is, innit?"

"Indeed." This time, she pulled out a rectangular, silver compact and lighter. Inside the compact was not make-up or a mirror, but a neat little row of cigarettes. She selected one, stowed the thin container in her purse, put the cigarette between her lips and proceeded to light it. George stared at her incredulously.

"I'm really quite alright here on my own, thanks," he said.

The woman took the first drag off the cigarette as the flame ignited it. She flipped her lighter shut, put it away, and sat back, tucking her free hand underneath the opposite armpit. She bounced her top leg, expelled a cloud of blue smoke from her mouth and nose and looked over at George as though noticing him for the first time.

"I don't want company," George said bluntly.

"I can sit here if I want," she replied. Her tone was casual and not unkind. He stared at her, and she stared right back, her dark, narrow eyes regarding him with the calm patience of a bored cat.

"Well, then let me put it another way: I know I'm fit, but I'm not interested." 

"Ah." She nodded. "Let me put it another way too then: I can sit here if I want…" she leaned close and whispered, "and it doesn't necessarily mean I want sex." One of her little dark eyes winked at him, and she leaned away again and puffed on her cigarette.

"Why are you here then?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Why are you here?"

George held up his half-empty beer bottle.

"No, I mean why are you here in Bangkok. You're English, right?"

"Yes. I'm just travelling." He looked away and sipped his beer.

"Away from what?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What are you travelling away from?"

He frowned. "You assume I'm trying to get away from something?"

"Yes."

George smiled. "Oh, I know how this story goes: I meet the mysterious stranger in a bar, she acts suitably cryptic enough to peak my interest just before she disappears into the night, I can't get her out of my head and go on an exhaustive quest until I finally find her again, at which point we make mad passionate love and I discover the meaning of my existence. Right?" He glanced at her. "Did I leave anything out?"

"Yes. You left out the part of the story where I don't want to sleep with you and the part where disappearing into the night would mean waiting here for another three hours."

"Well… it was only a first draft."

"So, you're looking for the meaning of your existence, huh?"

"I was joking."

"You wouldn't have said it if you weren't feeling sardonic enough to want it to happen."

George snorted, shook his head and sipped slowly on his beer while he tried to decide if she was annoying enough to give up his cosy corner seat. "You're one of those people who thinks she knows everything, aren't you?"

He saw her grin out of the corner of his eyes. "And you're one of those people who thinks he doesn't need anyone."

George didn't respond. For a moment, it felt as though someone else should be replying to her, or at least beginning a reply, a feeling that was becoming increasingly familiar to him. Silence grew between them and George felt a deep, hot resentment toward the silence, toward his growing inability to carry on a conversation with anyone who wasn't his dead brother or himself. And toward her; his awareness of this inability was only present because she was. George tried to appear interested in the other patrons milling about around them. He sat and stared and wished she'd go away.

"Do you have family?"

And yet, when she spoke, thus ending the silence and his discomfort, he winced with annoyance. "No," he said.

"How many brothers?"

George frowned and glanced at her. "I said I didn't have any."

"And I would like to know what their names are."

"What?" George was about to argue further, but he caught sight of a familiar shape in the crowd just then; a broad-shouldered man with flame-red hair who was shouldering his way through the throng, eyes tirelessly scanning. "Charlie," George whispered.

"Okay, that's one. What about the others?"

George set his bottle down and stood. "We have to go. I mean I have to go. You, you can stay here." He turned sideways to slip through the two small, round tables. "If a big, ginger-haired bloke with my eyes asks any questions, you never saw me, alright, sweets? Cheers." And George was off, surreptitiously glancing behind him as he slipped through the crowd.

He burst out into the late afternoon sun, which was blinding after the dimness of the bar and threatening to make him regret his day-drinking as a headache was blooming at his temples. George shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and walked quickly, but not so quickly that it might appear suspicious. He pulled his cap down as far as it would go and turned the collar of his button-down shirt up in an attempt to hide any hair that might be poking out the back of the cap. He wished he could Disapparate, but he was in Muggle territory, deliberately steering clear of wizarding areas. Hell, he wasn't even sure he still could Disapparate. He began scanning the surroundings for alleyways that might provide privacy.

"Wait a minute! Slow down! That Charlie was one of your brothers, right?"

"You have got to be kidding me," George muttered. He didn't look around to find the source of the voice. He knew who it was. He kept his head down and kept going.

"Why are you running from him?" asked the small Thai woman, falling into step just behind him.

"I really can't have this conversation now. He didn't follow you, did he?"

There was a moment of silence and George guessed that she was looking behind them. "No. Don't see him."

"Good. Thanks for checking for me. Now get lost." At that, George made a sharp left into a long, narrow alleyway between two shops. At the other end was the street on the other side of the buildings. He figured it unlikely that anyone would notice if he stood dead-centre and Disapparated from there. Well, no one except…

"How did he find you here if you didn't want him to know where you were?"

George sighed. He stopped about a third of the way down the alleyway and turned to face the small woman. "Listen love, it's been fun, really, but you and I just aren't gonna work out, know what I mean? No offence, you're a real cute bird, but we just want different things in life; you want to pester me and I want to get the fuck away from you." He shook his head with mock sadness. "Pity. We were great together for a while there." He gave her small shoulder a squeeze and had the unsettling impression that he might crush the delicate bones with his large hand. "So, you just run along now, back to your friends. I'm sure they're wondering where you've got to. Forget me, move on with your life."

She rolled her eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you?" She turned to stand at his side and took hold of his arm, and George noticed she'd discarded her cigarette at some point. "Let's get you out of here."

"Well, that's what I was trying to do, actually."

"Ready?"

"For what?"

His question was answered by the familiar feeling of pressure all around him. This was a feeling he'd grown accustomed to, of course, but not when it took him by surprise. So, rather than appearing at the second location a little upset, as was the norm, he stumbled away from the woman, gasping for air.

He rounded on her, wand trained on her, free hand pressed to his chest as he caught his breath, eyes blazing. "Who are you?" he demanded.

She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head. "Well, I'm a witch, obviously."

"Yeah, obviously! How do you know who I am?"

"I don't." She extended her hand and took a step toward him. George tensed, but didn't back away.

"Don't come any closer," he said firmly, his gaze never wavering. "How do you know who I am?"

She lowered her hand and sighed. She seemed annoyed, rather than frightened, which only made George angrier. "My name is Rutana. Call me Ru. And I have no idea who you are, I–"

"Then why were you asking about my family? – Stay – where – you are!" George bellowed when she took another step toward him.

She stopped, clasped her hands against her shiny skirt and stood there obediently. "For the millionth time," she said calmly, "I don't know who you are. I asked about your family because everybody has a family in some form or another, and you…" She looked him up and down. "Well, you strike me as the 'traditional family' type; mother, father, lots of siblings. The way you spoke to me suggested many brothers." She ended her explanation with a shrug.

He stared at her for a moment in silence, going over her words, deciding whether to believe her or not. His wand was steady as he stood up a bit straighter and he lowered his hand from his chest. He'd caught his breath by now, but his adrenaline kept his breathing quick. "You knew I was a wizard."

"Not at first."

"You didn't know it when you approached me in the bar?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No. You were just some guy trying to be invisible and I needed another cigarette." She grinned. "Besides, you were just begging for company, if you ask me."

He frowned at her levity. "When did you know?"

"When you stood," she said with a sigh, folding her arms over her chest. "Your wand, Dum-Dum. It was sticking out of your back pocket."

George looked down at his wand. He suddenly felt ridiculous standing there with it pointed at this person, who didn't seem to wish him any ill will, and had actually just helped him escape from Charlie. He relaxed and lowered his wand hand, but only slightly.

"I thought my shirt was covering it," he mumbled. "It must've gotten… hitched up while I was sitting."

To his great annoyance, she was smiling again. "Yeah, I would imagine. It's okay, it was only visible for a moment when you got up from your seat. So, what's your name?"

He lowered his wand with some reluctance, but didn't stow it away just yet. "Lee."

She eyed him for a moment, narrowing one eye. "Sure," she said with a nod. "Okay. Lee. Come, let's go."

At that, she turned and headed for a large gate just behind her, and George finally began to notice their surroundings. They were standing in the clearing of a wooded area. The gate was silvery-white and smooth, and all along its edge was a dragon, turquoise and gold, with bright red eyes. Its body was at least as thick as George's torso. Its tail lay curled on the ground on the left side of the gate while its head rested on the ground on the right, and its long, shimmering body lined the entire gate, rising up, curving along the gate's top, and then coming back down. The gate was set into a long, white wall that went on as far as George could see on either side and appeared to be about ten feet high. Above the wall, George could see the tops of palm trees and nothing else.

George decided to follow her. Could she be psychotic and hell-bent on torturing and killing him? Yes, it was possible. But at this point, he doubted it.

Ru retrieved her own wand from inside her giant red purse. George watched her closely as she did this, but she didn't even look over at him, let alone try to curse him. She crouched by the dragon's head, gave it three wand taps, and then stood back.

The dragon came to life with a grunt, its entire body starting to expand and shrink again and again as it seemed to breathe. It blinked its big, red eyes, appearing to bat its long lashes up at them. It raised its head and part of its body, peeling effortlessly from the edge of the gate, while the rest of the body continued to cling, ensuring the dragon didn't fall. The head rose above George and Ru and hovered there, as though waiting for something.

"Just two," said Ru. "One witch, one wizard. Just visiting."

The dragon blinked at them and cocked its head, scrutinising them. It lowered its snout to Ru's body for a moment, but then quickly moved over to George, examining his face.

"What's it doing?" he asked, trying not to move his mouth too much as he spoke.

"Checking you out. Just stay still, it should be done in a minute."

"What's it checking me out for?"

"Just making sure we are who I said we are. And that you have no ill intent, of course."

George frowned as the dragon sniffed around his neck. "What if I do?"

"Do what?"

"Have ill intent?"

She looked over at him. "Well, you don't, do you?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it."

"It didn't spend much time on you, can't help but notice." The dragon was now going lower, nudging George's wand hand.

"I've been here too many times. It knows me."

"How convenient."

Finally, the dragon seemed satisfied and raised its head again. It closed its eyes and lowered itself into a deep, gracious bow. George glanced at Ru as she bowed as well, and he received a smack in the arm when he didn't. He followed suit and bowed to the dragon, who raised up again and twisted its gold-and-turquoise neck until the head faced the gate, which, George suddenly realised, was perfectly solid; it had no split down the middle where its two halves would normally meet when closed.

"Step back," she instructed, taking his arm again and pulling him back a few feet. George watched the dragon open its mouth, watched its chest expand as it took a deep breath, and flinched when an enormous fireball erupted from its throat. The flames were icy grayish-white, and though George and Ru were standing relatively close, George could feel no heat. The dragon blasted the gate for a good five seconds, completely obscuring it with its flames, and when the flames finally died away, the gate was gone.

The dragon, its purpose served, turned its head to face them again, gave them another little bow, and then lowered its head back to the ground. It closed its eyes and became still as a statue.

"I guess knocking would've been too pedestrian," George muttered.

"Come," said Ru. She released his arm and headed on through the archway into what George could now see was a beautiful garden with a fountain at its centre and a building at the far end that was mostly obscured by palms and other trees. He followed her, looking down at the dragon warily. He stopped just at the dragon's head, reached out and ran a finger down its body. It was solid, probably made of stone and painted the shimmering turquoise and gold colours. It didn't move at all as he touched it. It wasn't alive. As he continued on into the garden, George noted that the dragon's head was now in a slightly different position than it had been when they'd first approached.

The garden seemed to stretch on, on either side, for quite a distance. Either that, or the trees were so dense, they completely obscured where the garden ended. There were lots of tall palms and other trees George didn't recognise, many with beautiful little flowers blooming on them in shades of orange, red and pink, and stone benches lined the circular clearing, a few feet from where the denser part of the garden began. The fountain in the centre of everything had a golden statue in it of a man sitting cross-legged and wearing some kind of headdress. Jets of water were sprouting up along the edge of the round pool, arching up and landing about halfway in from the pool's edge.

George followed his guide along a narrow, cobblestone pathway that led from the gate and had many paths branching out from it. One led straight ahead to the fountain. Two offshoots led around the fountain, on either side, merged again at the opposite end and leading to the building up ahead. Other paths branched off and disappeared into the garden. Ru was heading for the building, which came into view even more as they approached. It was silvery-white, turquoise and gold, just like the gate. George's eyes went up as they finally got close enough to see through the palms up to the top of the building. It looked to be about seven storeys high, quite wide and had many pointy little turrets surrounding the main roof, with dragons, smaller than the dragon guard at the gate, winding around each of them. Along the front on the lower level was the main roof's overhang, which was held up by several white pillars. The front of the building was lined with windows, all too dark to see into, with a set of cherry-red double door in the middle. Sitting before each window was a gold statue, like the one in the fountain, only smaller. Each statue sat on its own rectangular stone block, which lifted each statue's eyelevel above George's head.

George guessed this was some kind of temple. He followed Ru up to one of the small golden statues, and when he was close enough he could see that each stone block had a small, rectangular, golden plate affixed to its front, just below where the statues sat. Each appeared to have something written on it, but the words were written in Thai language.

"You won't need that, by the way," she said.

"What?" George looked down and realised she must be referring to his wand. Deciding she was probably right, he shoved it back into his back pocket. "So, why are we here, um… Rutana, was it?"

"Just Ru." She sighed and cocked her head as she appeared to study the statue they were standing before. "And… I'm not sure."

George looked at her.

"I've taken you to a temple in the Su-Dtaa village." She looked at him. "It's a wizarding community."

George's eyebrows went up. "Are you joking? This is exactly where I didn't want to go."

"He won't find you here." She looked back down at the little golden plate. "Why would he think to look at a temple?"

George supposed she was right. He also turned back to the statue. "So, who's this, then?"

"Buddha."

"You religious?"

"No. But my family is."

He pointed at the plate. "What do the words say?"

"This," Ru said with a sigh, "is a memorial to my sister, Ratana. She died three years ago."

George's brow furrowed and he felt an empty, sick-feeling hole open up in his stomach. 

Ru shrugged. "Supposedly, she's in a better place." She looked up at him. "Wanna sit?"

George looked up into the statue's face, into its golden eyes. The eyes were blank, devoid of pupils or irises; just plain, solid, shimmering gold. Empty. "Yeah," he finally said, and he turned to walk away. Ru followed him.

"You're thinking things," she said as she walked behind him.

George didn't say anything. He glanced back at the line of identical statues. They sat staring off at nothing with their blank, blind eyes. Some would say they looked peaceful, George thought. They looked dead to George. He avoided looking at the larger Buddha in the fountain as he sat down on one of the small, stone benches. Ru perched beside him. He could feel her eyes on him.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye. "You needed to get away. This was the first place I thought of."

"This was the first place you thought of?"

"Well… yeah."

"If you'd worked out that I'm a wizard, and that I was running away from another wizard, why would you take me to a wizarding village? This is exactly the kind of place I was trying to avoid." Though he suspected she was right; the last place Charlie would look was a Buddhist temple. He sighed. "How did she die?"

"Cancer," Ru said casually. "Sometimes, the odds are just against you, you know?"

George stared off at the tiny, brightly coloured blooms fluttering in the breeze on the trees. "Yeah."

"So, why are you running from your brother?"

"Because he wants to take me home."

"What's at home?"

George was quiet as he considered his answer. How much did he want to tell her? "Reminders," he finally said. He offered her nothing else, and she, thankfully, decided not to inquire further. "Thanks, by the way. For bringing me here. Or at least away from where we were."

"No problem."

He glanced at her. "So, was she older or younger than you?"

"Ratana? She was my twin, but she was older by fifteen minutes."

At that, George looked away and bit his lip. He soon felt her dark eyes on him again.

"Who did you lose?" she asked quietly.

He only shook his head, biting his lip harder to keep the tears at bay. They were unexpected tears, strong and wrenching but he would not cry, certainly not in front of a stranger. He wondered if he'd feel less strongly about that if she was someone he knew. He doubted it. She eventually looked away from him, across the garden. He heard her exhale.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't. Just… don't."

After a long, quiet moment, she said, "I didn't know, you know. I didn't bring you here on purpose."

"Fine."

"Do you believe me?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Doesn't matter."

"Where are you staying while you're here?"

"Hadn't worked that out yet."

"Well, you're welcome to stay with me. I'm sure my roommate won't mind."

He smiled for the first time since they'd entered the garden and he looked at her. "How do you know I'm not going to murder you in the night?"

She smiled back. "You? You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Know that for sure, do you?"

"I'm pretty good at reading people."

"Apparently." George glanced over at the line of Buddhas again. He shuddered and quickly looked away. "So, how come you didn't just take me home with you in the first place?"

"Wasn't sure about you yet."

"Hmph. I'm starting to think that dragon out there has something to do with you suddenly trusting me enough to take me home to meet the missus."

She laughed. "You assume my roommate's a girl."

George grinned. "Right. Sorry. I forgot you modern women like to mix it up."

She clapped him on the back rather harder than he would've expected someone her size could. "Come on. Let's go." She stood, turned to face him and bent her arm as though waiting for him to take it.

With a heavy sigh, he stood but did not take her arm yet. "You know, I was trying to avoid human contact."

"Then you probably should've gone looking for it."

He frowned as he took her arm. "What?"

"Nothing drives things away faster than wanting them. Right?"

And with a loud crack, they vanished.


George,

Come home, will you? You're being a selfish arse, you know that, right? Didn't you know what you just disappearing at a time like this would do to everyone? And why wouldn't you want to be with your family now, anyway?

You miss me at least, don't you?

-Ginny


George stood before his bedroom mirror, fixing his hair. It's growing out nicely, he thought as he tucked it behind his ears and… His ears…

His ears?

He frowned at his reflection, but his reflection had other ideas. It smiled instead; a wicked, cocky grin, one eyebrow arched.

"Fr… Fred?" he whispered.

His reflection rolled its eyes. "Why does everyone keep looking at me like I've died or something?"

The image faded and George was back on the sofa, tossing and turning and suddenly remembering that Rutana's sofa was too bloody small, and her roommate's computer started making that awful whirring noise again. He would have turned it off if a) he knew it would be okay to do so and b) he knew how. He wasn't even sure what the thing was for, let alone how to shut it up.

He opened his eyes, sat up and glared at the screen sitting atop the desk in the corner of the small, cluttered living room and he immediately began imagining his father's look of child-like wonder as he sat at the desk and began pushing buttons. His glare melted away into smile, small but still there.

The one thing George could be thankful for (besides a warm, relatively comfortable place to sleep) was the fact that Ru's flat was not located in Bangkok's wizarding community.

He reached up and touched the side of his head. Yup. Still missing an ear. He sighed and flopped back down on the too-small sofa.


Ginny,

Why must you only speak in questions?

Yes, I miss you, pipsqueak.

-George


Ru's roommate, Mai, was indeed female, around Ru's age and mostly just scowled at George in between having quick, quiet conversations with Ru in Thai. George couldn't help but notice that all their conversations sounded very much like arguments and that these arguments were punctuated by Mai's disgruntled-looking sideways glances at him.

"I'm gonna head out, I think," George said when Ru arrived home from work. "Get out of your hair. I need to keep moving."

"Oh, yeah?" She pushed her boots off and went into the kitchen, where she dropped her purse on the small, aluminium table and then went and opened the fridge. "You only just got here yesterday."

"That's long enough. I don't think your roommate likes me."

"Mai?" She shut the fridge and came into the living room carrying two of some kind of long, thin, individually wrapped snack food. She tossed one at him, which landed in his lap, and then dropped herself into a moth-eaten armchair across from him. She hooked a denim-clad leg over one of the armrests and tore the snack's wrapper open with her teeth. 

"She's always like that."

"What, grumbly and sullen?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my being here can't be helping matters." George frowned down at his snack. "What the hell is this?"

"Don't have them in the UK?"

"I don't think so."

"It's good. It's a chocolate-covered biscuit. Eat it."

George smiled at the order and tore open the wrapping. "Yes, ma'am."

"You turned my picture over."

"Hm?" George looked up and followed her eyes to the shelf in the corner across the dim, lamp-lit room where a small, framed photograph was lying face-down. He looked back down, bit into the chocolate-covered biscuit stick and shrugged. "Maybe. I hadn't noticed. Maybe Mai knocked it over. How was work?"

"Work was work."

George took note of her outfit, which consisted of tight jeans and another loose-fitting blouse, this one black, with cut-outs that allowed her small shoulders to poke out. She wore large, silver hoop earrings and dark, smoky eye makeup. "What do you do exactly?"

"Bartend," she said as she chewed.

"So, that's why you're sauntering in here at three a.m."

"Yeah. Why are you still awake?"

"Couldn't sleep." George pushed his covers away and stood, stretched and wandered over to the desk with the computer on it. He glared down at it. "How do you turn this thing off?"

"Oh, you just… You don't know what that is, do you?"

He looked over at her. "Yes, the clueless wizard boy has no idea how to work a computer, ha-ha."

"Hey, relax. I didn't know how to use one until two years ago." She stood and approached, nudged him out of the way and bent over the desk. She cupped her hand over something small and round with two buttons on the top and that appeared to be attached to part of the computer by a cord. As she moved it, the swirling colours of what she'd called a "screen saver" stopped, disappeared, and another screen appeared, one with little pictures all down the left-hand side. And in the centre of the screen was a picture of her and another girl who looked just like her. George looked away.

"So, her name was Ratana?" he said conversationally. "If you don't mind talking about her."

"Not at all. Yeah, that was her name." She kept pressing one of the buttons on the round thing she was rolling on the desk and it made a clicking noise each time she did. A tiny arrow moved around on the screen.

"Your names were only one letter apart."

"Yep."

"That your parents' idea of some kind of cruel joke?"

"Definitely."

George smiled at that. He jumped a little when the computer played a little jingle a little too loudly, and shortly thereafter, the screen changed and then went black. The whirring noise stopped.

"There," she said, going back to her seat. "Mai will just have to deal with booting up when she wakes up. She hates it when I shut it off, but it wastes energy, just leaving it running all night."

He didn't say anything. He'd barely heard her. He was staring at the computer's keyboard. The letters "F" and "G" were sitting right next to each other, staring up at him. "F" and "G", right next to each other in the alphabet, on this Muggle keyboard thing…

"Parents are funny," he said quietly, continuing to stare down at the letters.

"What?"

"The way they name their kids."

"Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I guess they are."


George,

I've taken over the accounts for the shop. I would appreciate it if you could come home, I don't understand half of what these reports say. 

Where are you?

-Percy


Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against a firm, warm body. He looked down; the arms were chocolate-brown. He felt lips on the back of his neck and the slightly scratchy sweep of course hair across his shoulder. George arched his back to push his bottom snugly into the warm crotch behind him. Full lips brush his ear and then there was a whisper: "Look at us. You know you want to."

George turned his face and looked into the full-length mirror sitting a few feet from the bed. Ribbons of chocolate swirling around vanilla, flowing into it, ebbing and rocking like hot milk being stirred in a pot. George leered at his reflection, at their reflection, and pushed back even more as chocolate flowed deeper into hot cream.

His reflection gave him a cocky smile and winked at him.

He woke up to the whirring and cold, blue light from the computer.


Lee,

Remember that mole on your hip that I swore had changed colour just the slightest bit? Is it still dark brown?

Just wondering.

-George


George did not leave the flat. He thought he ought to get going, but somehow he'd fallen into the strange rhythm of Ru's and Mai's lives. Ru went to work mid-evening. At some point after she left, George would try to sleep and he'd mostly fail. She'd arrive home and find him wide awake and they'd talk and snack. Then she'd go to bed and a few hours later, Mai would wake and get ready for work and then leave. George was sometimes able to sleep through the morning, but mostly he would fiddle with the computer or venture outside to wander the neighbourhood. But he was very tired.

"What happened to your ear?" asked Mai one evening over dinner.

George looked up from his dinner to fix Mai with a cold, blank stare. She gave him a look much like the bored look Ru had given him when they'd first met. But unlike the jaded worldliness in Ru's eyes, Mai simply looked… well, bored and possibly annoyed.

"Nearly a week of living together and the first thing you ask me is where's my ear gone?"

Mai's face was narrower than Ru's. Her hair was about the same length, stopping just below her chin, but less wild, each hair hanging obediently in a perfect, straight line around her face.

Mai raised an eyebrow. "Did I strike a nerve?"

"Yeah. Matter of fact, you did."

"You're pretty ungrateful for a man who just had dinner made for him."

George sighed. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you for this. You didn't have to."

"I know," she replied flatly, and she looked down and continued eating. They ate for several minutes in silence. George fidgeted, once again stumped for conversation. Not that he particularly wanted to speak to Mai, but the silence was more uncomfortable than her questions.

The kitchen chairs were too small. In fact, everything about the flat was too small, and George was accustomed to living in fairly small spaces with much more than two people. The lights in each room were too dim and the walls had a certain dinginess to them, and both of these things only helped make the spaces feel that much tighter. On top of that, a fly had gotten in and kept pestering him and he couldn't help but notice the persistent lack of beer. In the background, Mai's computer whirred in tune with the fly's buzzing. Mai kept blowing air out through her nose rather loudly, as though annoyed with her chicken and noodles. And George fidgeted.

The wall clock ticked too loudly. George began to count the seconds between Mai's annoyed little puffs of air.

Ten seconds… Fifteen seconds… Eight seconds… Ooh, twenty-two seconds, I think that's a record…

"So, what do you do for living?" she finally asked, though she didn't really sound like the answer interested her.

"I run a joke shop."

"A joke shop."

"Yes. You know. Novelties. Pranks of varying destructiveness. That sort of thing."

Silence again, and George began counting: Seventeen seconds… twenty-five seconds… Ooh, twenty-nine seconds, ladies and gents, she's going for the gold!

"Do you sell things that aren't juvenile?" she asked.

"Er… well, we have these throw pillows, actually. Goose Pillows."

Mai arched an eyebrow at him. "Goose-Down Pillows, you mean."

"No, I mean Goose Pillows. See, they look normal, but they tickle you when you lean back on them. And, better yet, they grab your arse when you sit on them. Hence the name, you see." George grinned. Mai did not.

"Why would I want that?"

"Well, you probably wouldn't, but someone with a sense of humour might."

She stared at him and chewed. George was strongly reminded of a grazing cow. A very bored grazing cow.

"Someone might want to use them to surprise their unsuspecting friends," he explained further. She blinked at him. "Never mind. Yes, they are technically pranks, but the charm can be disabled so you can use them as normal throw pillows, so yes, we do sell things that aren't, as you so lovingly put it, juvenile."

"What did you say your name was again?" she asked. He wondered if she'd been listening to him at all.

"Glad to see I've made such a huge impression on you."

Mai only stared at him. If crickets had begun chirping from somewhere in the flat, George wouldn't have been surprised.

"My name's Lee."

"Hmph." And Mai went back to eating quietly. George frowned at her.

"What?"

"Well, if your name's Lee, then who were you moaning at in your sleep last night?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You were moaning the name 'Lee' last night." She cocked her head. "Don't tell me you have sex dreams about yourself, because that's just sick."

He looked down again and picked determinedly at his food. "Never heard of narcissism?"

She made a disgusted noise, finished eating and stood to take her plate to the sink. She turned on the faucet to rinse it. He glanced at her.

"Hey, um… I'll take care of the dishes if you want. Least I can do, right?"

She didn't reply. She finished rinsing, dried her hands and went to the fridge. She grabbed a couple of the long stick snacks and headed for her bedroom, stopping at the shelf the set the picture George had laid on its face back upright. She stopped again at her door and turned back to look at him. "Oh, by the way, stop shutting off my computer at night and quit leaving the toilet seat up. Thanks." She disappeared inside and shut her door.

"You're welcome," George muttered.


George,

You're a fucking arse.

-Ron


Ten p.m. rolled around, and the computer was whirring and the fly was buzzing and the clock was ticking and Rutana's and Ratana's identical eyes were boring holes into his skull from the picture on the shelf across the room and finally George fled into the night in a sudden burst of frenetic energy.

He found a bar. He found a man. 

"You must be the only gay, black man in all of Bangkok," George said as he accepted the drink that had been bought for him.

"Yep. We work in shifts, we gay, black men. I'm stationed here for the moment, but I'm scheduled to take over in Idaho in another couple of weeks."

George snorted. "Well, diversity's important."

"That it is."

He smiled a blinding white smile. His name was Jon. Or it was probably Jon; George wasn't sure. He had an American accent. He reminded George of Shacklebolt; tall and dark and bald. He had a smaller frame than Kingsley, but he was larger than George. He looked like he could pick George up if he wanted to. George liked this. He let Probably-Jon take him home.

"Where are you from?" Jon asked during the cab ride to his place.

"England."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm the Mysterious Stranger. Every city needs one. Just like every city needs a tall, gay, black man."

Jon chuckled. "The agency didn't tell me they were sending the mysterious, red-headed stranger."

"The Diversity Agency? What, you didn't get the memo?"

"Apparently not."

"Well, bloody good thing we ran into each other then."

Jon nodded, eyeing George when a soft, intimate smile. "Pretty damn good, I'd say."

There were few questions and little conversation in general. They arrived at Jon's flat and there was no awkwardness, no chatter, no messing around. Jon got down to business. George liked that too. He was far from impatient, however; he was careful and gentle and attentive, and when George was ready, Jon proved that he could indeed lift George if he wanted to by gripping George's waist and pulling George effortlessly onto his lap.

The tenderness stung.

Once or twice, Jon's hand grazed the hole on the side of George's head. George instantly turned that side away from him each time. Jon didn't ask. And George didn't say.

They eventually stopped to refuel, and George had no idea what time it was and he didn't much care. He was fed more alcohol and leftovers from the fridge and then dragged back to bed where he was fucked mercilessly. He wrapped his legs around Jon's solid body and ran his hands over Jon's smooth head. But something was missing; George's fingers tried to clutch at something, closing on nothing but air every time.

At some ridiculous hour, George lay, sweaty and oddly unsatisfied despite the merciless fucking, with warm muscle wrapped around him from behind. He felt lips on his neck and he closed his eyes and sighed and nestled back against his companion.

"Would you like to stay until morning? Or afternoon?"

Yes, George thought. His eyes popped open. "Um… I can't."

"No? You sure?"

No. "Yes. Sorry."

"That's a shame. I'd like to hold you all night."

Yes. Fuck, yes. "I should go."

George would remember the evening in flashes of sweaty skin, snippets of grunts and groans and the incessant banging of a headboard against a wall. During the cab ride back to Ru's flat, he kept hearing his own voice echoing in his head, crying out in pleasure. He winced each time he heard his cries thrown back at him from the past. Had it been that good? Had he wanted it that badly? No, it hadn't, and… maybe he had. 

Something was missing. Something more than Probably-Jon could give him but it lingered just out of reach, like a dream he couldn't hold on to as he ascended into the world of the living. 

He found Ru curled up in the old armchair, nibbling another one of her long, thin biscuit snacks.

"Talk about sauntering in at three a.m. – oh, make that four a.m."

"Yeah, yeah. You just get home?"

"An hour ago. I was worried."

"About me? Aw, shucks." George smiled and dropped himself onto the sofa across from her. She was dressed in another pair of tight jeans, these ones with glittery detail along the edges of the pockets, and a plain black tank top. She had the entire box of the chocolate-covered biscuit stick snacks sitting in her lap.

"I thought maybe Mai had finally murdered you or something," she said.

"Nah, she wouldn't. Not after I promised to start doing dishes for her."

She held the box up and shook it. "Want some?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She fished out a couple of sticks. "You've been marked," she said as she tossed them to him.

"What?"

The sticks landed in his lap and she pointed at his neck. He quickly realised what she must be talking about just as he reached up to feel his throat where he knew Jon had been sucking. "Oh. Yeah."

"Meet someone?"

"Mm." George fidgeted and looked down to open up one of the snacks.

"Was he nice?"

"Why do you assume it was a he?"

She cocked her head. "We talked about that."

George nodded. "Right, right, because you know everything. Sorry, I forgot."

"So, tell me about him."

"Tall, bald, black… Jon… Jerry… Jack. Something with a 'J'. It's probably Jon."

"You don't remember his name?"

George shrugged and bit into the biscuit. "Is it important? Not like I'm gonna see him again."

"What does he do?"

"He has sex with self-destructive English men," George said with a sigh, slumping down in his seat and rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

"For a living, I mean."

George considered telling her the Diversity Agency joke, but he decided it would take too long and she probably would've had to have been there. He wondered if Fred would've been able to explain it better than he could. "How would I know?"

"You didn't ask?"

George lifted his hand from his eyes and smiled. "I'm not gonna marry the guy."

"Well, did you have fun at least?"

"I suppose. There was alcohol anyway. He was nice enough. Gave me cab fare back here and everything. I didn't even have to ask… I didn't want to leave, actually, despite his mediocrity."

"Why did you?"

"Because…" George began his answer as if it should've been obvious, but he trailed off, quickly realising he wasn't sure what to say. "Because… I shouldn't… I'm supposed to be…"

"What? Grieving?"

He looked toward the ceiling and exhaled heavily. "I told you, don't."

"You know, eventually you'll have to stop being numb."

He didn't look at her. He looked over at the computer to stare at the swirling screen saver and tried not to squirm under her scrutiny.

"Who's Lee?" she finally asked. Her voice was quiet. She didn't sound accusatory, but rather merely curious.

"Been talking to your roommate, I suppose."

"Yes. And I don't believe that you moan your own name in your sleep. Even you can't be that self-centred."

He couldn't help but smile. "He's a friend."

"A lover?"

He hesitated. "Just a friend."

He expected her to ask his real name next, but she didn't. Instead, she stood and stretched and strolled over to the kitchen where she put the box back in the fridge and then went to the table where her handbag lay. She picked it up and headed for her bedroom.

"Get some sleep, Fake Lee."

"I keep trying."

"Shut the computer off. Blame it on me. You remember how, right?"

"How to what, blame things on other people? Definitely."

She stopped at her door and turned back to him, giggling. "The computer, Dum-Dum."

"Yes, I remember how to turn it off."

"Good. Oh, wait." She went over to the shelf, reached out and carefully turned the picture of her and her sister over onto its face.

George sat up. "Oh, hey, you don't have to–"

"Shush. It's fine. I've got plenty of pictures of her in my room."

George felt uneasy. He watched her walk back to her bedroom door, his uncertainty showing in his eyes. She stopped at her door again and regarded him with a softness in her eyes he'd never seen there before.

"It's fine," she said. "Sleep. Dream of him. I always dream of her."

He wondered if she meant Lee or whoever she thought he'd lost. Or perhaps she thought they were the same person. "It doesn't hurt? Dreaming about her?"

"It did at first, I guess." She shook her head. "Not anymore. They're more than just dreams. At least I think so. She visits me, I think. In my dreams."

"You believe in an afterlife then."

She shrugged. "I suppose. Sometimes. When I need to." She raised a hand and blew him a kiss. "Goodnight, Stranger."

His mouth curled up into a soft smile. "Goodnight. Sleep well."

George,

The mole is the same colour.

Come home and I might let you touch it again.

-Lee


He was underneath Probably-Jon, his legs wrapped around that firm, black body, and the bed was shaking and he felt so good, or at least he really wanted to be feeling so good, that he wasn't just moaning, he was screaming, and he ran his hand over Jon's smooth head once, twice, and on the third pass, it wasn't smooth at all, but covered in thick, tight ropes of dreadlocked hair…

"Georgie, what are you doing?"

The voice sounded exasperated and sickeningly familiar. George's eyes popped open, and in an instant, the weight of the other body lifted off of him and he was no longer lying on his back, but rather sitting up in his childhood bed. He was wearing a set of pyjamas that he'd long since outgrown. He looked around; he was home, at The Burrow, in his and Fred's old room. And there was Fred's bed across the room from his. But Fred wasn't in it. Because Fred was sitting right next to him.

Fred smiled softly and wiggled his toes beneath the covers they were sharing. "What're you looking at, eh?"

George shook his head. "Dunno. A dream? A ghost, maybe?"

"Maybe, yeah." Fred sighed and put his head back against the headboard. He was also wearing a set of pyjamas that had magically grown to fit his adult body. George also noticed that the sheets were children's sheets he and Fred had inherited from Charlie; they had moving pictures of cartoon dragons all over them. The room was lit by the soft, comforting glow of lamplight and filled with their old toys.

"So, who was that bloke then?" asked Fred.

"What? Oh. That was Jon. I think."

Fred glanced at him. "Was he any good?"

George frowned at him. "Yeah, I guess… Not sure we should be talking about that just now."

"Why not?"

"We're in our childhood room with all the toys and things from when we were kids."

"So? We're not kids anymore."

"Then why are we dressed like kids?"

"Hell if I know. It's your dream, innit? I'm just visiting. So, this Jon character; he as good as Lee?"

George smiled and shrugged. "I dunno."

Fred grinned too. "Sure you do. I remember the noises Lee made come out of you. If I hadn't known better, I'd've said he was murdering you instead of fucking you. Not sure I heard noises like that this time round. You don't make noise like that for anyone else."

George felt himself blushing. "Fred."

"Nah," said Fred, still grinning as he watched George turn pink. "He ain't as good as Lee. I can tell."

"I haven't been with Lee like that in ages."

"So, pick up where you left off. What, you think he won't have you?"

"Well…" George looked down and shrugged, instinctively tilting his head a bit as though trying to hide the hole on the side of it.

"Oh, don't be daft!" said Fred with a frown. "He doesn't give a shit about your ear. And do you really think people like Jim will never ask?"

"Jon."

"Whatever."

"Or… maybe it was Jules …"

"It doesn't matter. What are you running from anyway? Your past? Yourself? Me?" Fred shook his head. "Not on, Georgie. Firstly, you're gonna be there no matter where you go, right? Second, your past is gonna follow you, 'cause what do you think people you meet are gonna ask you about? The bloody weather? Where you got that spiffy cap you've been sporting? I don't think so. And third, well, I think it's obvious that I'm not gonna leave you alone."

George looked at him and found Fred was grinning again. "Have you been slipping into my dreams on purpose?"

"I go where I'm needed," Fred said simply. "And hey, we've spent our lives together. Why shouldn't we spend my death together?"

George winced and looked away. "Don't say that."

"What? Death?"

"Yeah, that."

Fred sighed. "Georgie, I'm dead. Fact of life – er, of death. Whatever."

George looked up into his eyes, looked right into them, as though searching them. "Fred… I don't know how to be without you."

"Mm," Fred nodded, brow furrowing. "I know. I've been watching. It's pitiful, really."

"You're telling me? I keep waiting for you to talk. I keep waiting to hear my cue to jump in."

Fred looked sorrowful, a subtle sadness melting into his eyes. "You got the biggest bloody cue you could possibly get, Georgie," he whispered. He turned his body more toward his twin's, sitting on his hip and curling his legs up, one shoulder to the headboard. George did the same, a mirror-image of Fred. He reached out and Fred took his hand.

George closed his eyes, afraid he might start crying. He didn't want that. He felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling his face forward, and soon he felt Fred's forehead press against his.

"I don't know… I don't know how to be."

"You'll work it out," Fred whispered. "You've got the shop, and a good man who loves you, and a family who'll skin you alive if you don't get your arse back home."

George grinned and chuckled and realised there were tears on his face. He sniffled and reached out to grip Fred's shoulder. Fred's hand stroked slowly down the side of his face, over the hole at the side, and George didn't flinch. "You're the only one who can touch me there."

"For now, yes. That'll change."

"No, it won't," George insisted with all the certainty of a pouting child. "No, it won't."

Fred's hand then went down to rest against George's neck where it lightly massaged, and George sighed and tried to stay just in this moment, to be content at least for a little while. But that didn't last long. Soon he was frowning, going over some of Fred's words in his head.

"Wait," he said. "A man who loves me? Who's that?"

"Aw, quit being so dense, will you? I taught you better than that."

"No, Fred, I really don't know. Who do you mean?"

But Fred didn't answer this time. George could still feel him, but he was afraid to open his eyes. He could feel the familiar quiet of their private world slipping away. The soft, warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table was receding. George felt cold. He held onto Fred more tightly.

"Who do you mean, Fred?"

The light was gone; George could feel the dark emptiness it had left in its wake, feel it pressing in around him. The dream was over, he just hadn't woken up. He was still clutching someone, something, but Fred wouldn't, or couldn't, answer him. George was too afraid to open his eyes.


Lee,

Ever think about Fred?

-George


George woke and blinked at the ceiling. He lay there for a long while, trying to think of nothing, and then tentatively letting himself think about his dream to see if he'd start crying. The sky was growing lighter outside the living room window and light was seeping through the gauzy, ghost-like, rather pointless curtains. He got up and trudged through the living room, manoeuvring around the rickety coffee table, the fading velour ottoman that he hadn't once seen sitting before the armchair it was meant for (not enough room between the chair and the coffee table for it), past the mysterious cardboard boxes that mostly blocked the narrow path between the wall and the sun-bleached loveseat, and finally into the kitchen to have a look at the wall clock that he couldn't properly see from across the room.

5:30. He hadn't been asleep for very long and he was certain he wasn't going to find sleep again any time soon. Ru had probably only just gotten to sleep a little while ago as well. Mai would be waking up for work in a couple of hours.

He turned and glanced around the tiny, cluttered flat. It looked almost cosy in the soft wash of morning light, almost quaint and inviting. But George wasn't fooled; he could already see the darkness of it in the dim, yet somehow harsh, artificial lights that would be turned on later in the evening when the sun began to set, the way it would highlight the dingy walls and sadly faded upholstery, making everything turn from quaint to cheap, from cosy to way too damn small, and he couldn't help but notice how he was already far too accustomed to the maze-like set-up of the space, how he moved through it effortlessly and without thinking, without even looking. Like he belonged there.

This bothered him greatly. It was time to leave.

He was quick and efficient, casting cleaning charms on the sheets and dishes he'd used, putting the dishes away and folding his sheets and leaving them in a neat pile on the sofa. He made sure the toilet seat was down and that the picture of Rutana and Ratana was face-up once more. He even managed to turn Mai's computer back on without pressing the wrong thing. When he was finished, he stuffed his feet into his shoes, slapped his cap on his head and went for the door. But as he opened it, he found he couldn't quite step out into the corridor. Something wasn't right.

He glanced back into the flat and recounted his steps. He'd done everything he'd felt he needed to… No, something was missing. He hadn't said any kind of goodbye, he realised. Or even any real thank-you. He supposed cleaning up after himself, that was a type of thank-you, but not really; cleaning up after himself was the very least he could've done. His chest twisted with guilt at the thought of taking off without a word.

He quietly shut the door and hurried out of the building. He jaywalked across the street to the convenience store. He nodded at the clerk – a tired-looking little balding man wearing glasses and a deeply penetrating scowl that made George feel terribly and unfairly suspicious – and began searching the aisles. He quickly found what he was looking for, paid for it with remaining Muggle money from Probably-Jon's gracious cab fare offering, and quickly took his leave.

He was relieved to find the flat still completely silent when he returned. He left his gift behind without making a fuss; he wrapped the plastic convenience store bag tightly around the four boxes of coated stick-biscuit snacks (he'd found there were more flavours than just chocolate and so had bought an assortment; chocolate, milk and honey, strawberry, and green tea), found a large, black marker on Mai's desk and wrote "Thanks for everything – Fake Lee/Real George" on the thin, white plastic. He left the package on the kitchen table, the marker beside it, and exited the flat, this time for good.


George,

Remember The Night of the Five-Hour Marathon? You were an animal, mate. Wonder if you can still last that long.

-Lee


George stared at the lights. It was amazing to him, how lit up the city was at night. It was so bright, neon and glowing, that it practically blocked out the darkness. It was the best part of Tokyo, it kept the darkness at bay by sheer will. It appealed to him more than he let on. 

He wandered around the lighted city, stopping at all the stands that lined the sides of the streets. Fresh sushi and warm sake melted Thailand off his body and eased away the thoughts of anyone else, any thing else but the fast speaking strangers and humidity of the Tokyo air. 

The city hummed with life. It was not long ago that George would have resented Tokyo because of it. But something had shifted inside of him and he would expect it had something to do with Ru. It was if she had burrowed inside of him and picked out all that had spoiled in his heart. 

He bit into his mochi ball, the sweet taste reminding him of home. He gave the rest of the sweets to a few passing children, but he finished the one in his hand. 

Then he walked on.


Ron,

Quit cursing so much, Mum would have a heart attack if she knew the filth coming out of your mouth. Speaking of your addled brains, have you finally convinced Hermione to shag you yet?

-George


Tokyo settled well against George's back, it fit. So he left. 

But the peace followed him to the bamboo forests and into the Hiroshima ruins. It was in him and it was making him itch. It made him find men to please, if only to keep the peace from sticking to him, from eating him alive. When he was fucking, the sounds saturating his mind, it was easier to block out the silence. 

But he couldn't get rid of it. No matter how many men he slept with, so he left the island. Maybe there was something about Japan, the dying suns and deep traditions melting together with progress for progress, which screamed peace.

He wondered if an old leper colony would stifle the silence and rip whatever Tokyo out of him. 


George,

My mother set me up on a blind date last night.

Yeah, I slept with her. The date, not my mother.

I regret to say that during the proceedings, I accidentally called out your name.

Surprisingly, I don't think she minded.

Then again, I'm not sure I'm all that regretful.

I miss you, idiot.

-Lee


George sat beneath a gum tree with his arms around his knees, staring out over the terracotta-brown slopes that rose above him on all sides. He could still see about half of the sun as it set behind the mountain range. The day was coming to an end. He felt like time was catching up to him. He wondered where he should go next.

The sun grew narrower in his periphery, and for one crazy moment it felt to him that the sun wasn't setting at all, but rather the mountain range was growing, rising up higher and closing in at the top, ready to blot out the sun and the sky and any possibility he had left of getting out and getting away. For a moment, his heart beat faster and his breathing quickened. For a moment he feared for his safety and his sanity. Keep running was his only instinct.

He forced himself to stay still, to watch the mountain range and reassure himself that the world was not closing in on him. He licked his chapped lips and knocked his head back against the trunk of the gum tree again and again.

"Well, that's not very smart."

He was up and on his feet and holding his wand at the ready faster than even he would've thought possible, as tired as he was. Charlie didn't even flinch. He sighed as he pulled out his own wand. He didn't train it on George, however; instead he let both his arms dangle at his sides as he approached.

"Persistent bugger, ain't ya?" said George.

"Did you really think I'd give up?"

"No. And stop moving."

To George's surprise, Charlie obeyed. He stopped about fifteen feet away, shoved his free hand into his pocket and looked out over the landscape. "Nice view."

George hazarded a glance up at the mountain tops; he could only see a quarter of the sun now. "Yeah." He looked quickly back at Charlie to ensure he hadn't moved any closer. He hadn't. He was watching George again, however.

"Come home, George," he said.

"Why? You've moved on, Bill's moved on. What's wrong with me doing a bit of travelling?"

"Nothing… if that was what you were doing."

"I'm not travelling? I haven't actually left home, then, is that it? Ooh, don't tell me! I'm still in my bed and the war never happened and Fred's still alive and I'm just dreaming, right?"

"This isn't a joke, this is your life. And you know it's pointless bullshit. You're not going to find any kind of peace out here that you wouldn't eventually find at home."

George looked away, just enough to not be looking directly at Charlie, but not so much that he couldn't still make out any subtle movements if Charlie happened to make any. He stared across the river that wound through the vast gorge. The sun was merely a sliver in his periphery now. Everything went away in the end.

"Fred would kick your arse for pulling this kind of stunt now, you know that?"

George clenched his teeth as anger prickled at his insides. "Shut it, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "Don't."

"Don't what? Say his name? He was my brother too, George."

"Don't tell me what he'd do." George looked at him again. "You don't think I know what he'd do?"

"I think you're being short-sighted–" Charlie began to say gently, but George cut him off.

"You don't think I know exactly what Fred would do every second of every fucking day? You don't think I've been thinking about what Fred would do in this situation, what he'd say, how he's say it?" His voice was rising and he could feel his face heating up and his eyes stinging with tears and his limbs quivering. "You honestly don't think that I see his face every fucking day, every fucking night, inside my head, in every fucking reflective surface?" There was moisture on his face now and his voice was shaking terribly and fuck the stupid ball cap; he tore it off his head and threw it to the ground as violently as the soft fabric would allow. The soft slap it made against the dirt was wholly unsatisfying. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me you know what Fred would've done better than I do? Can you honestly fucking stand there and look at my face and tell me that I don't know him enough to know what he'd do?"

George felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass, splintered and sharp but broken. Anger burned white hot behind his eyelids and his hand gripped tightly around his wand. He felt out of control and dangerously clear minded, like he was on the brink of something really important or inanely destructive. 

But Charlie stood firm, didn't move, barely blinked, and the increasing look of pity in his eyes only angered George more.

"Stop looking at me like that!" George screamed, his voice echoing through the gorge.

Charlie took a breath, licked his lips, and seemed to be choosing his words. Finally he said, "What've you found out here, George?" in a voice so soft, George wanted to slap him.

George wanted to keep screaming. He wanted to tell Charlie to fuck off. Instead, he blinked tearfully up into the sky, his chin trembling. He wiped furiously at his cheeks with his sleeve. The sun was almost gone.

"Nothing," he said quietly, so quietly he was certain Charlie couldn't have heard him properly.

"What was that?"

He couldn't stop his chin from trembling or the tears from coming but they came silently. Through clenched teeth, he repeated, "Nothing."

"That's what I thought."

George shook his head for several seconds, trying to get his voice to work right. "No," he finally said. "You don't get it. That's what I was looking for. No… funeral, no family looking at me like they think they know, like our pain is the same." He glared at Charlie for a moment, but quickly turned away again. "No shop to run, no… nothing."

"You have to start feeling something sometime. It'll only catch up to you in the end."

George's chin trembled at the sliver of sun as it shrank further. "It already has," his voice low and raw in its emotion but he didn't look away from the dying light of the sun. 

"Georgie?"

The trembling got worse at the sound of his nickname and George couldn't stop his face from scrunching up in anguish. He suddenly realised that he'd lowered his wand, but he also realised how silly it was to care; this was his brother, not an enemy. This was Charlie.

He looked at the ground and shook his head, tears dripping into the dirt. 

"George." Charlie took a step toward him, extending a hand. Something shifted around him and the world came back into focus, and George was alert again, eyes up and focused on his brother, wand trained on him.

"Don't!" he said sharply, wiping his face again. "Stay back!"

Charlie stopped, sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He put his wand away inside his jacket and held his hands out to show he was no longer armed. "I'm begging here, George. Come home. We need you back. You just have to let yourself feel it, yeah?"

Something in the corner of George vision disappeared. He looked up and to the left and saw that the sun had gone, dropped behind the mountains completely. He felt like something was catching up to him. Not just Charlie, not just time, but something else. The darkness was closing in. He had to open his eyes. And keep going.

He looked at Charlie again, eyes sad and watery and tired. He let his wand arm drop like dead weight to his side. "I have to go."

"No. George, please. This is ridiculous." Charlie's voice was showing the slightest hint of panic now. George felt bad about that. "You can't keep running."

George sniffled and looked up to where the sun had been. "The light's gone," he said.

"What?" Charlie's gaze followed George's, his face scrunched up in confusion. "George…"

But there was a sudden crack and George was gone, and he was sorry for the worry he'd left in his brother's eyes, but he wouldn't be taken. Not on anyone's terms but his own.


Hey Dum-Dum,

Thanks for putting the seat down.

We'd never tried the green tea flavour before. I love it. Mai hates it. She grumbles at it and thinks of you.

I hope you find what you're looking for.

It was nice to meet you, George.

-Ru


George smiled to himself, folded up the letter and put it in his pocket as he strolled into Diagon Alley. He kept his head down, watching his feet on the cobblestone. He walked without purpose, letting his feet carry him where they wanted to. The glare of his store front window was familiar and reflective. When he looked back up at the store window, he jumped; Lee was standing right there, watching him, his face blank.

George's stomach dropped a bit. Despite the light, flirtatious tone of Lee's correspondences, George wasn't sure what to expect. He lowered his face and stepped over to the door just as Lee did. He stood there staring at the ground as the locks clicked and the door opened. He swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes to his friend's face. Lee's expression hadn't changed. George didn't know what to think or say.

"Well, as you can plainly see, I haven't burned the place down or anything," Lee finally said.

George nodded. "Good man."

"You look dreadful."

"Thank you."

"Your hair's gotten longer."

"Yes, hair does that."

"And you're all tan."

"That would be from the sun."

"I hate tans."

"Look who's talking."

Lee gave him a withering look. "Being black ain't the same thing, is it?"

"No, I suppose not."

Lee stepped aside to allow George in. George stepped inside and looked around. A few displays had been moved around, but otherwise everything was as he'd left it. He heard the door close and lock behind him and heard Lee walk across the shop, back behind the counter, where he perched on his stool and continued writing. George stared at him.

"Don't I get a hug?"

"You're lucky I don't punch you on the nose, wanker," Lee replied, but his tone was far from harsh. George smiled.

"Your letters were rather interesting."

"Were they?"

"Yeah." George approached the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sentimental-like, and, um… kinda sexy."

Lee snorted.

"Well, sexy for you anyway." George stopped at the counter, watched Lee write for a moment and then looked up at his face. "I missed you too, you know."

Lee stopped writing and met his eyes, face blank again. "You didn't come back for me."

"How do you know?"

"I know Charlie's been following you all this time. Must've caught up with you and threatened you with bodily harm if you didn't haul arse and get back here."

"No – well, yes, actually, he basically did do that, but that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here then? Worried about the shop?"

"Yeah. But no." Lee waited quietly for George's answer. George took a breath and finally replied, "Fred. He told me to come back."

Lee blinked at him.

"I… dreamt of him. Yeah, I know it's stupid."

"No, it's not," Lee said gently, but he didn't say anything else. George got the impression he didn't know what to say and had perhaps felt obligated to disagree with the idea that George having conversations with his dead twin was preposterous.

"You don't have to say that. I know it's mad."

"Well… what did he say that made you come back?"

"Amongst the various insults, he said something that made me stop and think." George hesitated, staring up into Lee's deep, brown eyes. "Before I tell you what he said, let me ask you something about your letters."

"Yes?" Lee asked warily.

George narrowed his eyes at him as though studying him. "You were just trying to lure me back here with vague promises of hot sex, right? You were just appealing to my perverted side, weren't you? I mean, that wasn't… Well, what was that exactly?"

Lee looked down sheepishly and went back to what he was writing. "I told you, George… I missed you, that's all. And the shop needs you, of course."

There was nothing but the scratching of Lee's quill across the paper as George tried to decide whether or not to continue. Lee waited patiently and didn't look up once.

"Fred said to me," George finally went on, "that I've got a good man here who loves me. He said that's one of the things that will help me get through all this."

"A man. Here?" asked Lee without looking up.

"Yeah. Well, no, he didn't say here specifically, but the other things he mentioned were things that are here, so I assume the guy is too."

"Anybody I know?"

"You tell me."

Lee stopped writing and looked at him again. "Well, of course I love you, George, you're my best mate." When he started writing again, George was quick to reach out and stop him, laying a hand on top of the hand holding the quill. The scratching instantly stopped and brown eyes met brown eyes.

"I don't think that's what he meant," said George. Without breaking eye contact, George removed the quill from Lee's hand and set it down. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"George, come on, you know why."

"No, I really don't."

Lee sighed and lowered his gaze. "You were already in the most important relationship you were ever going to have."

George frowned. "Who with?"

Lee looked at him again. "You know who."

George cocked his head. "Are we talking about Fred here?"

Lee remained silent, but he held George's gaze.

"Seriously? My brother?"

"He was the most important person in your life, George."

"Yeah, but my brother?"

"Oh, don't get defensive. I'm not suggesting there was anything incesty going on."

George snorted. 

"Not like I'd be the first to suggest it, though."

"No, but you should certainly be the very last person to ever do so."

Lee nodded. "Yeah. Well, there wasn't room for anyone else in your life. Not really. And now I feel like right git for saying that, because he was your twin. Of course he was the most important person in the world to you. And he was my best mate. I felt like I was being selfish. So I never said anything."

George shook his head. "You shouldn't have felt that way. I think… I think he wants us to be together. I think he did when he was alive too."

Lee gave him that uncertain look again. George broke the gaze, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

"Well, anyway," Lee went on, looking at the counter. "I knew you could never really be with me. I mean, there was the sex, and that was pretty amazing–"

"Well, I do what I can," George said with a grin.

"–but a relationship?" Lee shook his head. "And what am I saying? Who's to say I was ready for a relationship anyway?"

"What about now?"

Lee looked at him, stared at him for a moment. "I don't know. Everything's different now."

George nodded. He thought of all the people who were lucky to be alive, including himself and Lee. "We've been given another chance. So, maybe we shouldn't waste it."

"Maybe."

"I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

George turned his face to the side, reached up and swept his hair back, uncovering the ear-sized scar on the side of his head. He saw Lee fidget out of the corner of his eye. "Touch it."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Please? I need to check something."

"This isn't some kind of weird fetish for you now, is it?"

George chuckled and he wanted to kiss Lee full on the mouth just for making that joke. "No, sicko. Just… If it's too weird for you, I understa–"

"No, no, no, don't be silly. It's not weird. Well, yeah, it's a little odd, but… Are you going to explain to me why you want me to touch it?"

"No."

Lee sighed. "Fine. Hold still."

George could see Lee's hand approaching in his periphery and he turned his face back to him a bit so he could look at him as the hand drew nearer. He studied Lee's face, watched it closely. Would he look disgusted? Nervous? Would he flinch? George swallowed hard and felt a bit sick to his stomach at the thought of his best mate and former lover not wanting to touch a part of his body.

But Lee looked neither disgusted, nor nervous. He wasn't afraid and he didn't flinch when his fingers grazed the scar. His fingertips glided over it, and all George could see on his face was mild curiosity. There wasn't even a hint of pity there.

And all at once, George realised that he, himself, hadn't flinched at the touch. And in the very next moment he noticed how he was even leaning into it.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Soon, Lee's large hand was cradling the side of George's head while his thumb caressed over the empty space. George just stood there and let it happen, let his eyes close, let his breathing slow, let his body relax against the counter. He finally, almost unconsciously, brought his hand up and cupped it over Lee's hand, caressed it, slide his hand down Lee's arm, stroking down over the elbow and then back up to the wrist.

"I love you, George," he heard Lee whisper. He opened his eyes and looked at him. He took hold of Lee's hand and removed it from his head, held onto it as he came around the counter and joined Lee behind it, eyes glued to his face the entire way. He slipped his free hand around Lee's waist, pulled him close and clutched the hand he was holding to his chest. He let his eyes trace every inch of Lee's face.

They kissed once, briefly, softly, tilting their faces up to avoid a nose collision, eyes dropping shut for that short moment. And then they stared at each other, as though checking to see that everything was still okay, was still real. George inhaled slowly. His breathing grew shaky and there was the slightest hint of tears in the sound of his sigh.

"Shhhh," Lee hushed him, and he tilted his face, shut his eyes and pressed his mouth to George's once again, this time for much, much longer. Flashes of memory went off in George's brain; yes, these were Lee's lips, impossibly full and soft and pillowy. And this was Lee's smell, clean and sweet and slightly spicy. George remembered this, how it felt, how Lee felt, and he fell right back into it as though it had never stopped.

George felt Lee reach into his own robes and opened George eyes only long enough to watch Lee extinguish the one light above the counter that had still been burning. The shop dimmed further, street lights from the now darkened street weaving through the shop displays and casting odd shadows on the walls. By the time Lee reached over to set the wand on the counter, George had already shut his eyes again and had plunged his tongue into Lee's mouth. The way Lee sucked it, those impossibly full lips encircling it and drawing it in further, brought the blooming erection in George's jeans to its full capacity. And then Lee's hands were on George's shoulders, pushing his jacket off. George shrugged it off and let it fall and helped Lee out of his robes.

The sounds of their breathing were magnified by the stillness of the empty shop. George pushed Lee back against the wall, knocking over a small rubbish bin in the process. Neither of them paid it any mind. George pressed into him and moaned at the feeling of the hardness between Lee's legs. There was suddenly a hand cradling the back of George's head and neck and George received an answering push, and another and another, from Lee's needy hips.

Lee's lips moved down and caressed George's neck, and George's head lolled to the side and finally fell right back. He opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, his chest expanding and body arching into Lee's, and as he let that breath out in the softest sigh, he opened his eyes and blinked slowly at the ceiling.

His breath caught in his throat. The shop's ceiling was the flat's floor, he thought. His flat. His and Fred's flat.

Fred.

He felt Lee's exploration of his neck come to a halt. He lowered his face, but didn't meet Lee's eyes. He stared at Lee's neck and collar instead.

"What's wrong?" Lee whispered.

"What? Nothing."

"You tensed up."

George didn't know how to respond. Fred's dead, he thought. Body's probably not even cold yet and here you are about to shag his best mate in his shop.

"George?" Lee rubbed gently at the back of George's head and then brought his hand around to glide softly over the earless side. Once again, George didn't flinch, didn't even consider it. He finally met Lee's eyes.

"George, what is it?" Lee asked, and George thought Lee must be seeing sadness, or perhaps worry, in his eyes just then.

George hesitated, swallowed, and then whispered, "Do you believe in an afterlife?"

Lee nodded in an "ah, I see" kind of way and let his hand go down to rest on George's shoulder. "Yes, I think so."

"Yeah?"

"Sure."

George licked his lips. "But… don't you think it's awfully convenient?"

Lee cocked his head. "How so?"

"Well, isn't it convenient to be able to tell yourself that someone you loved who died isn't really gone, but is just… somewhere else, waiting for you? I mean, it seems more like a nice little explanation to help the living cope with the idea of death, rather than something that actually happens."

Lee considered that for a moment. "Maybe. But, well, where's the harm in it? I mean, if it helps people and isn't hurting anyone, you know? And what about ghosts? They're proof of an afterlife, aren't they?"

"Sort of, I guess. But not everyone becomes a ghost. Some of them just… cease to exists." Like Fred, he thought, and he had to look away for a moment. "Ghosts are just dead people who have unfinished business. What happens once their business is finished?" George met Lee's eyes again. "Where do they go?"

Lee shook his head. "I don't know."

George nodded. "You looked at me funny when I said Fred spoke to me in my dreams."

"Oh, George," Lee sighed. "I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around George's neck and pulled him in for a hug. George embraced him around his middle and put his head down on Lee's shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply that that couldn't possibly happen, I just… I just…"

"It's okay," George whispered. "It's crazy, I know."

"No." Lee kissed the side of George's head, George's hair the only thing separating Lee's mouth from the earless space. "It's not crazy. It's nice. Of course he'd come to see you."

Lee's whisper wafted warm breath over George's scarred skin. George shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "He said… Fred said that you made me make noises I don't make with anyone else."

"What?"

"When we'd have sex."

"Oh, he said that, did he?" George could hear the smile in Lee's voice. He smiled too.

"Yes. He said it sounded like you were murdering me."

Lee chuckled. George felt Lee's chest shake as he laughed and Lee squeezed him tighter and turned his face into George's to nuzzle at the side of his head, his nose nestling against the hole. George squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Lee and thought of Fred's words, and how wrong Jon's hand on the side of his head had felt, and Ru's dead twin sister, and the countless bars and strangers and dingy hostels and the running, the constant running. He thought about fear of the silence finally catching up with him and swallowing him whole, darkness and all. 

"Lee?" he whispered.

"Yes, George."

"You know… you're the only one who can touch me there now."

They loosened their embrace and George pulled back slowly to look at Lee. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Lee's, softly, delicately, and he reached up and took one of Lee's hands and gripped it as he pulled back again. He couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he began to lead Lee away from the counter, to the back of the store.

"Where are we going?"

"Back. Can't shag up here in front of the window, can we?"

"Prude."

George scanned the shop for items that might come in handy. His eyes landed on a large bin filled with square throw pillows in deeply saturated jewel colours. He stopped next to the bin. "These been selling alright?" he asked as he selected a deep purple one.

"Oh, yeah, they're a hit."

George moved to the very back of the store. The entire back wall was a shelving unit filled with sweets arranged according to colour. It was like a rainbow sweeping from floor to ceiling, from one side of the store to the other. This entire section was raised slightly, a couple of steps up from the rest of the shop.

George dropped the pillow onto the black-and-white checkered floor before the massive sweets wall. He aimed his wand at it and whispered, "Engorgio," and the pillow began to expand. George continued to adjust it until it was just the right size for two grown men, and rectangular rather than square, and he ensured that the Tickle Charm was disabled. Lee came up beside him, took his hand and nodded his approval.

There were no words as they undressed each other, only appraising looks, appreciative smiles and finally laughter as they fell together onto the pillow, their arms around each other. They each sat on a hip, bodies turned toward each other. Lee pulled the ponytail holder from his hair and sat up tall, arching his back a bit as he tossed his head and let his mane fall down around his face and over his broad shoulders, the dreads long and smooth. George eyed his body as he did this, admiring the way the street lights from the front window reflected softly off his dark skin. He swept Lee's dreads off one shoulder and let his hand trail down Lee's bicep, across to his smooth chest, down his flat belly and into the carpet of tight little black curls at his crotch.

Lee sat still for him while he did this, and he spread his legs when George's hand found its way down between them. He looked down to watch as George's fingers began a slow journey up his erection, and they both let out soft breaths, George not even realising he'd been holding his, as George's hand finally wrapped around the warm, silken length.

They kissed deeply, and Lee's cock jerked in George's hand. George began to slowly stroke it, causing Lee to squirm and nestle closer. Finally, Lee broke the kiss, got up on his knees, swung a leg over George and straddled him.

Their eyes locked as Lee gripped George's shoulders and gently guided him down onto his back. George's hands found Lee's waist and held on as Lee hovered over him, bringing his face down close to his, his hair cascading down to surround both their faces.

"You're nervous," Lee whispered.

George swallowed. "Stupidly enough, yeah, I think I am."

Lee nodded and stroked George's hair. "I can tell. I can see it in your eyes."

George opened his mouth to respond, but Lee softly shushed him, brushing his lips against George's and finally taking his mouth once again in a deep, moist kiss. George thought he was being ridiculous. Why should he be nervous with Lee? He'd never been nervous with him before. They'd been mates forever, lovers on and off for years, and he certainly hadn't been nervous with the strangers he'd given himself to recently.

But all of that worry was soon pushed right out of his head as Lee's hips began to rock and he felt Lee's cock slipping back and forth against his. George pushed up against him and soon they were lost in an increasing and almost agonising pleasure.

George's hands cupped Lee's arse and kneaded and rubbed there, encouraging Lee's rocking hips. He couldn't remember when they'd stopped kissing, but now Lee's forehead was pressed to his and they were panting into each other's mouth. Soon the soft backbeat of heavy breathing was joined by moans that flew without permission from George's throat.

"I love you," George declared breathily. He heard Lee chuckle even as Lee continued to pant.

"Doesn't count if you say it when you're about to toss your load, mate," Lee murmured shakily.

George couldn't help but chuckle too. "That rule… only applies if – oh, fucking hell – if my dick is inside you."

"Says you – oh, shit, oh, George…"

George felt moisture drip onto his lower belly. Pre-come. He wondered which one of them it belonged to.

"Whoever comes first has to work my shift tomorrow," said Lee.

George smiled. "Fuck off."

They rubbed faster, skin now moist and hot, dignity forgotten. George pushed his head back into the pillow, arching his neck, fingertips digging into Lee's cheeks, prying them open a bit, a finger venturing down between them to prod at his hole. Lee closed his eyes and emitted a quivering moan. Soon their rubbing became frantic and desperate, their noises harder and louder, their hands needy.

"Lee?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I don't… think we can… sell this pillow now – oh, fucking fuck-shit-YES!" George cried out, body arching and writhing out of control as he spilled his seed onto his belly, pushing roughly up against Lee.

"You lose, Weasley," Lee groaned, and he too began to come.

George's hands had lost their focus and went roaming around wildly as though searching Lee's back for something. Lee latched his mouth onto George's neck and sucked hard, and George wrapped his arms around him and held onto him for dear life as they both rode out the waves of pleasure.

Their noises died away and their bodies finally gave out and Lee managed to muster enough strength to push himself off of George and fall onto the pillow at his side. When George opened his eyes and looked over at him, he found Lee was watching him.

"I think we need to locate ourselves a proper bed for the night," Lee panted. "Verity said she'd quit if she came in here and found me naked one more time."

George laughed. "I'm going to assume you're joking."

"Hey, that's the kind of thing that happens when you're gone too long."

George gazed at him quietly for a moment, the smile leaving his face completely. "I can't go upstairs yet," he whispered.

"I know," Lee replied immediately. He laid a hand on George's chest. "I know. And George?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

George frowned at him. "Too?"

Lee snorted. "Told you it didn't count."


George,

What the fuck?

-Charlie


"You shagged in the shop."

"We didn't shag. We just… rubbed a bit."

"You filthy bugger. Oh, hey, tell Lee his missing-ear fetish joke was killer!"

The twins both had a good laugh and a smile spread across George's sleeping face.


Ginny,

Quit getting in fights in pubs over Harry. The pictures in the Prophet aren’t very becoming, little sis. Plus, he can't be that good in bed anyway. 

Maybe we can catch a pint or two. I may be in the area.

-George


"Lee?"

"Hm?"

"You know my nervousness back at the shop when we were about to…"

"Yeah?"

"That wasn't about you, you know."

"What was it about?"

"Lots of things, I guess. The war's over and everything's different and… it's complicated, I guess. But the thing is… it's weird, but I wasn't nervous with other people I've been with recently."

"Why's that?"

George raised his face from Lee's chest to look at him. "Because they didn't matter."

Lee smiled lazily at him and stroked his hair. "That's good to know. But you've never been nervous with me before."

"True. But last night was kind of huge, I think."

"Because we finally found the bollocks to tell each other how we feel?"

"Exactly."

Lee sighed. "Well, this has been nice. But your mother is going to be beating down our door in about 20 minutes, tops. And I would like to be clothed for your horrid death at the hands of your loving family."

George groaned, rested his head on Lee's chest again and nestled more snugly against him. "Oh, I would hope they'd be decent enough not to murder me in front of my friends."

"Your dad maybe. But your mother… ?"

George winced. "We'd better get dressed soon."

"Indeed."

"Not just yet, though. Just a few more minutes, yeah?" George blinked groggily at the morning light pouring in through Lee's bedroom window. Mere days ago, yesterday even, he would have been offended by such a bright and cheery intrusion. But not today. "I kept dreaming about you, you know."

"When?"

"While I was gone."

"What kinds of dreams?"

George grinned. "The dirty kind." He couldn't see Lee's face, but he knew Lee was grinning too. "But Fred…"

"Fred was there too?"

"No. Well, yes. He kept interrupting us. Don't get your hopes up; it wasn't a threesome situation."

"Hmph. Well, that clinches it."

"What clinches what?"

"I am now fully convinced that Fred is visiting you in your dreams. Because interrupting us during sex is definitely something he'd do. Has done. On purpose. Repeatedly."

George laughed. "Good point… He said to tell you good job on the missing-ear fetish joke last night."

Lee's chest shook with soft laughter. He gave George a squeeze. "Tell him I said 'hi'," he murmured.

"I will."