seedee

Title: Lost in Reality - Part 5
Characters: George, Lee
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Word Count: ~4200
Summary: Reality is the state or quality of being real. But what is real? And more importantly, what is not real?

Many thanks to

tania_sings for the beta work.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten

gone . four

It was warm under the heavy blanket. Lee lay on his side in a cocoon of comfort, legs bent at the knees, one hand tugged under his pillow, the other resting on the soft sheets. He blinked into the darkness, the reminders of weird dreams clouding the memory of what had disturbed his sleep and awoken him in the middle of the night.

Trying to be very still, Lee listened, heart beating rapidly. But there was only the steady rhythm of George's breathing next to him. Earlier, George had mocked him for insisting on sleeping together in the big double bed in the master bedroom.

"I don't think this is necessary," George had said, "Unless you have ulterior motives. And then I'd have at least expected shaved legs."

"Big words for someone who's already undressed and hiding under the covers," Lee had answered. He'd tilted his head and pointed at his pillow. "Did you plump that up? You're a sweetheart." That had ended the discussion.

A noise pulled Lee out of his thoughts. It was a scraping sound, and didn't come from within the room. He concentrated, stopped breathing and willed himself to hear more. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he was now able to make out the outlines of the open bedroom door that led to a narrow hallway; it was nothing but a black hole in the darkness of the night.

He didn't move. And after what felt like forever but was probably only a minute later, he heard it again. Scraping, as if something was being dragged across the floor.

George was still sleeping, and Lee didn't want to wake him; he needed any sleep he could get.

As quietly as possible, Lee slipped out from under the covers. He grabbed his wand, grateful that his 'Lumos' worked, and the room appeared in the soft glow of his wand light. He took his shirt from the chair next to the bed, not thinking about why he felt the need to be dressed in more than his thin boxers.

The lit wand helped to avoid the bed and open door, then the hip-high chest of drawers once he was in the hall.

There was again the scraping sound. It came from the left side, from behind the bathroom door. Lee tip-toed closer, pressed his ear against the door and waited. He heard it again, louder.

Wand held out in front of him, Lee pressed down the door handle. He watched with his heart still beating fast as the room grew with every inch the door moved.

There wasn't much in the room. A tub, a sink with a mirror above it, a small cabinet, the toilet, a cupboard and the big broom closet that seemed out of place and was empty. He knew because they'd checked earlier. There was nothing that could have caused the sounds.

Lee exhaled with a shaky laugh, running his hand through his hair, telling himself that he must have imagined things.

As tension and adrenaline were dissipating, he realised how much his ears were hurting. He'd concentrated so hard on the imagined noise that he'd shoved the consistent dull throbbing to the back of his mind. It worried him. It reminded him of when he'd been a little boy and spent countless nights with his head on his mother's lap, crying because of infected ears. He'd always been susceptible to ear infections. Lee swallowed; that hurt as well. Dismayed, he brought one hand to his forehead. It was hot and sweaty.

The small cabinet with the big red sign had been empty earlier, too. But maybe the same person (thing) who'd shown mercy and given them clothes had left something against the fever. Lee went inside the room, the faint light of his wand leading the way, and opened the medicine cabinet. It was as empty as the room itself. "Bloody fantastic," Lee muttered, looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw – pale face, tired eyes, slumped shoulders – and turned around to go back to George and the bed that was at least warm.

Scraping.

Lee froze in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. The room was in shadows, the narrow beam of light from his wand revealing nothing that hadn't been there a minute earlier. The tiles were painted in shades of black and grey; the tub to his right was a dark pit; next to the sink on his left was the small window, and he saw the shapes of trees looming outside in the light of the waning moon.

He turned slowly and pointed his wand at the only place the noise could come from – the large broom closet at the wall directly in front of him.

Scraping.

The closet had been empty earlier, but it obviously wasn't empty now.

"Alohomora." The lock clicked, but the door didn't open.

"Alohomora." Nothing at all happened.

"Alohofuckingmora," Lee said. He didn't want to go over there and open the door with his own hands.

Whether it was the effect of the slightly altered curse or whether the thing inside the closet pushed, wasn't clear. It didn't matter, though, as the result was the same: the door swung open.

Lee gasped in shock. He knew at once what he was looking at. Unable to move, he stared at the vile, stinking creature that was staring back at him.

It was a rotten corpse, clothed in rags that hung in shreds from its limbs. The face was horrifying. Torn lips surrounded an empty hole shaped to utter a soundless cry. The cheeks were fallen in, the skin peeling off, exposing raw flesh. It was too dark to make out the colour, but not dark enough to miss the fat, slow moving maggots that had found a soft and squishy home.

Thin tufts of hair stood out from the uneven skull. One arm dangled at its side as if broken. It was raising the other towards Lee, pointing at him.

Lee stood there in his boxers and t-shirt, trembling violently, facing what had been his worst nightmare from when he'd been a child and seen the first picture of an Inferi in one of his father's books.

And there was the sound again as it stepped outside the closet, dragging one foot behind it almost like an afterthought. Lee could smell it now, and he wanted to gag at the overwhelming stench of the decomposing body. The book hadn't done it justice. This was worse and far more real.

Or was it?

Regaining his ability to think, Lee remembered that he'd seen this before. Years earlier, this thing had come at him from a closet – not as ugly and not as terrifying but definitely the same creature – and he'd been taught how to deal with it.

The Inferi took another one of those dragging steps towards Lee. Just one more and it would be within reach. But Lee knew what to do.

Hand still trembling but more in control now, Lee raised his wand and concentrated on the image of the thing clothed in a yellow suit, tap-dancing.

"Riddikulus," he cried and waited. Nothing happened.

It looked at him with milky eyes and rotten teeth, mouth twisted into something that resembled a grin. Lee repeated the spell, frantically trying to change the Boggart into something he could laugh at.

It didn't work. He took another step backward as the still-Inferi came another step closer. "Riddikulus," he tried to yell but it came out like a plea. And still the creature came closer, always closer. Lee looked at its raised hand and the fingers consisting of bones that were visible through almost liquefied flesh. The smell and sight of it translated into naked fear in his mind, making him unable to react.

"Riddikulus." It was a whisper now, and too late even if it worked – which it didn't. He let go of his wand, broadened his stance and made himself ready to punch the thing in the face.

He never got that far.

An arm was wrapped around his waist from behind and he was pulled backwards, flush against George whose voice sounded like thunder as he cast the spell that set the thing on fire. It burst into flames instantly, staggering and groaning with an inhuman sound that chilled Lee to the bone despite the heat that threatened to burn his skin.

George was still pulling him backwards, flames still shooting out from the tip of his wand, finding their way to the burning Inferi. It fell backwards, its dry, burnt bones snapping like twigs, its rib cage collapsing, its legs and arms twitching. And suddenly, it was still.

George doused the flames before the house burnt down, not letting go of Lee who breathed as hard as if he'd run up a hill. It sounded too loud in the silence, and he tried to get himself back under control.

Eventually, the arm around his waist relaxed.

"We need rules," George said.

Lee was staring at what was just a pile of ashes now. "Rules? Like 'George is in charge of blowing up things?'" he said, experimentally shifting his weight from George's chest to his own legs.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'Wake George up before shit happens' or 'Wake George up when an Inferi is coming at you' or 'Wake George up instead of throwing away your wand' or maybe even 'If you can't be bothered to wake George up then at least run'. Yours works, too, though." George smacked the back of Lee's head.

"Wasn't a Boggart, huh?" Lee said and picked up his wand. "Could have fooled me."

"Good thing you had the presence of mind to react quickly and save yourself. Merlin knows what could have happened." George paused and looked Lee up and down. "You're all right, yeah?"

"I'm all right. Thanks, mate."

"Don't mention it." George twirled his wand and then tucked it - tip down - between the hem of his boxers and his belly.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Lee said. "You can't afford to-"

Scraping.

The sound came from downstairs. They looked at each other.

"Not good," George said.

"Time to bugger off," Lee answered.

*

It took less than five minutes until they were ready to go. The terrible sound was coming from more than one source now.

"You got the backpack?" George asked. He was dressed. Even though his hair was a tangled mess and there were creases from the pillow still on his cheek, his eyes were wide awake and intense.

"Got it," Lee said. He'd packed it before they'd gone to sleep. All their belongings were inside, plus enough food for two days. He was glad that he'd followed his instinct and prepared everything in case they'd had to leave in a hurry.

He pulled on his shoes, wincing at the way they rubbed against his blisters. George made a similar face when he pulled on his own.

"These are no boggarts," George said. "Torch them on sight."

Lee nodded. "What if the wands don't work."

George shrugged, scratching himself behind his ear with his wand. "Then we'll run."

They went down the stairs side by side, trying to turn their backs on nothing but each other. The scraping became louder once they were on the lower floor of the house. But it came from behind closed doors, and the way outside was unobstructed.

The front door was open, although Lee was sure that they'd closed it. They stepped into the night, the moon shining bright enough for them to see the way. They paused on the door step, looking around; nothing moved.

They were almost at the gate when out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw something. This time, he reacted quickly. He wheeled around, pushed George out of the way and threw flames at the Inferi that had been only inches away from George. The flames lit up the night, and a moment later, Lee wished they hadn't. There were at least a dozen of them coming behind the first one that was now burning.

George had recovered and was already adding his flames. They were far more potent than Lee's and covered a wider area; explosives were his business, after all.

"Run," George finally called.

Lee didn't have to be told twice. He turned on the spot and dashed through the gate, George on his heels.

High on adrenaline, running and walking was easy. Lee's muscles obeyed and they were out of sight of the houses fast, left the noises and the living dead behind. They ran, then walked until the first rays of sunlight announced the new day. It was cold in those early hours of the morning, but Lee was sweating from the exertion and something he didn't want to think about.

When there was no sign of the creatures that wanted to kill them, Lee started to feel the exhaustion. He could hardly breathe, his heart was trying to beat faster than a Weird Sisters song and his legs grew heavier with every step. Sweat was running down his face and his back, soaking through his t-shirt and the thick jumper.

They stopped for breakfast as the sun came up over the horizon.

"You look sick," George said, eating a sandwich that consisted of a squished banana and two slices of bread.

Lee shook his head. "Just a bit of a cold. Nothing to write home about."

George looked at him for long moments. "You're a terrible liar," he said, but didn't press.

*

Progress was slow. Neither of them was used to walking huge distances. They were young and reasonably fit, but they needed more breaks than they'd needed the previous days. It didn't help that Lee wasn't getting better. He was alternating between sweating and shivering, occasionally doing both at once.

Lee estimated that it was around eleven in the morning when they first saw the village that lay ahead. It was far bigger than the small cluster of houses where they'd encountered dead people who'd tried to kill them. It wasn't big enough to be a town either.

"What do you think?" George asked, nodding at the settlement. They were on a hill and looking down on empty streets and untouched houses.

Lee had the same impression he'd already had the day before. It felt as if no person had ever seen this place. He heard no noises, saw no movement, smelled nothing besides the earthy scent of the ground. "I don't like it," he said.

"Me either."

They were silent, and Lee contemplated skirting it. But they'd have to go the long way around, and didn't know whether it was safer in the village or in the woods that were on either side.

George pointed at the center. "There are shops. With a bit of luck we'll find something against your fever."

"I don't have a fever."

George snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Maybe we'll find a better sleeping bag. It'll be cold tonight," Lee said. "I wouldn't mind something against blisters and sore legs."

"Merlin, yeah." George sounded as desperate for some relief as Lee felt. "Let's go. We'll have a look. If we're quick, we can be on the other side in less than an hour."

*

After visiting each of the four shops - a bakery, a general store, Valerie's Vegetables and something for magical maintenance - they were disheartened. The shelves hadn't been completely empty, but nothing they'd found was helpful. There were buckets and flour, fluffy toys, celery and broken magical clocks like the one in Mrs. Weasley's kitchen. The potion section in the general store wasn't any more promising.

"D'you need something to grow your hair?" George asked.

"Nope," Lee answered, frowning at differently coloured glitter, wondering what that was for.

"Something for your wrinkles?"

"No, thank you, I'm very fine." Lee was searching for pepper-up, but the shelf was empty.

"Do you have a problem with your virility?" George was holding up a small bottle.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Lee threw a bottle of something pink at George who deflected it with his forearm.

George laughed. "Don't be shy, it's just us here." He ran his hand through his hair and tugged a strand behind his ear. "I'm only trying to help."

Lee grinned, following the movement of George's hand with his eyes. His grin faltered.

"What?" George asked.

Lee stared at him.

"Jordan?"

Lee blinked and then took a step backwards. "Who are you?"

George frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

Now that he'd seen it, Lee couldn't believe how he'd ever missed it. It was so obvious; he should have seen it days ago. He should have spotted it the moment he'd seen George for the first time in this daydream. "No," he whispered. "I've been so stupid."

"Lee? What's up?"

"You're not real," Lee said, tasting the words, knowing they were true. "You're not real either. You're not George. Not my George."

"What are you talking about?" George reached out to touch Lee who flinched and took another step backwards.

"I'm talking about your ear. Your left ear. The one you lost more than a year ago."

George touched the ear in question, a puzzled look on his face. "What's your point?"

Lee waved at him, frustrated. "My point is that your ear should not be there. It's gone. There's a black hole on the side of your head. You cover it up with your hair. That's probably why I didn't notice it for more than two days. Or maybe I'm just blind. Or maybe it wasn't there yesterday. But now it is. And it can't be real, which means you are not real, because you're kind of attached to it." Lee stopped his ranting and forced himself to look into George's eyes. "You are not real."

George looked at Lee as if he'd lost his mind - and maybe he had. "Calm down for a second. I guarantee that I'm real. I'm as real as you are."

Lee snorted. "Not sure about that either, right now."

"Oh come on, you must know that I'm real. Stuff like that," George was tugging at his ear, "happens during the daydreams. Things change. Like our magic." George seemed to think for a moment. "What about your scar? I bet it's gone, too."

This time Lee didn't flinch when George reached out to touch him. He was still too stunned at the fact that George was just a figment of his imagination. George grabbed the hem of Lee's jumper and pulled it up, revealing Lee's belly. The thick scar, a pink line from his left hipbone to his navel, souvenir from a gang of snatchers, was still there.

"Bad example," George muttered and let go. "But you know me, Jordan. You can tell."

"If I made you up, how am I supposed to know the difference? You'd look and sound and feel very real. Except that I'd give you your ear back. You're a fucking fantasy."

George grinned. "That, I've been told."

"Not real," Lee said. "My George doesn't do jokes any more." He should have realised that earlier as well.

*

Lee tried to end the hallucination with the spell. If he was the one in charge of the daydream, he should be able to end it. That was the rule, after all.

It didn't work; he wasn't surprised. He was stuck in a made-up world with a friend who wasn't real, looking for a man who was dead. Lee started to see the humour in the absurdity of the situation. At least he wouldn't have to worry about George any more. George was safe at the shop, hopefully trying to figure out a way to wake Lee up.

"Well, come on my imaginary friend," Lee said. "We need to get out of this imaginary village so that the imaginary undead people don't come and imagine killing us." He shouldered the back pack. "And we need to make an imaginary lunch break and eat some imaginary food. I imagine you're hungry."

George groaned, tugging at the strap of the back-pack, indicating that it was his turn to carry it. "I'd say that you're usually more funny, but let's face it, you aren't. And stop saying that I'm not real."

"Or what? Are you going to imagine a threat?"

*

The day was long and exhausting - both physically and emotionally. After leaving the village, they made a short lunch break and then walked until evening. The light was already getting dim when they set up camp for the night. They were surrounded by trees, but not in an actual forest. It was a good place, sheltered without closing them in.

Lee was leaning with his back against a tree, glad that he could rest. He was exhausted and stretched out his legs, rubbing his sore muscles.

"You need to eat something," George said and held out a thick piece of casserole.

Lee's stomach lurched. "Not hungry," he said.

"You must be really sick."

It took a few moments, but the giggle that had been building in Lee's chest couldn't be contained. He felt silly and didn't care. Snickering, he looked at George. "There's something very funny about you using the word really."

George rolled his eyes and sat down next to Lee. "What does it take to make you believe that I'm real?"

"That's a paradox. If you do something that convinces me, it'll be because my subconsciousness knows what would be convincing and made you do it. If you can't do it, I won't be convinced." He reached out and tugged at George's ear. "I'm glad you have it back, but that's proof enough for me."

George batted at Lee's hand and looked at him sideways. "Is that going to change anything?"

"Of course," Lee said. "I don't have to worry about you being killed by an Inferi, invisible forest monster, or maybe a giant flying chicken. That's a big plus. And I don't have to worry about you being stuck here with me either. That's another plus." On the other side was the fact that Lee started to feel alone. He was sick and tired and lost. He'd have liked to have a friend with him, but wasn't selfish enough to wish George was there. And he had at least this George, who wasn't quite real, but a decent imitation. Although dreams and memories where he found himself alone with George usually contained less danger.

"We're still going to London, though?" George asked.

Lee nodded. "We can't stay here."

There was a pause. Lee tried to eat at least part of the casserole, but gave up eventually. He wasn't hungry and would rather have some more Firewhiskey. The half empty bottle on the kitchen table downstairs in the haunted house hadn't been the first priority upon leaving, though.

"Know what I think?" Lee said with his eyes closed. "I think he's punishing me." He opened his eyes; George frowned.

Lee tried to make sense of his own thoughts. "If this is my hallucination, and Fred took over - which is as likely as before - then he's punishing me."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would he punish you?"

Lee laughed darkly. "Lots of things. He's dead for once. I was there with him, guarding that hallway, minutes before it happened. Merlin knows why we split up and I just left him there. Funny, how no one ever asked me where the hell I was when he was killed." He took a swig from his water bottle, flinching as his right ear hurt suddenly and sharply. "Then there's his twin. They've always been far closer to each other than I've been to either of them. But they were always my best friends, and I never felt excluded. But now I am excluded. Fred's gone, and I can't reach my other best friend at all anymore. It's like he's slipping away a bit more every day."

"Don't talk about me as if I wasn't here."

"I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about George. Stubborn, brilliant, funny George, who's a bit like the bastard child of an avalanche and an explosion. Watch me; I'll kill him, too. And then who's left?"

"We need to stop this conversation right now," George said. He felt Lee's forehead with the back of his hand. "You're feverish, you think George is not listening, and you're talking bullshit. If I let you talk now, it'll be one hell of an awkward morning tomorrow."

Lee shrugged. "Suit yourself. Been thinking about sleep the whole day. I don't mind crawling into my sleeping bag."

As soon as he could convince himself to move, he did just that.

Through half closed eyes, Lee watched George puttering around their camp, making fire, casting warming charms, setting alarm hexes and traps in case of uninvited visitors during the night. He eventually slipped into the kind of sleep that came with cold sweat and twisted dreams.

* * *
Next

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten