seedee

I plan on making another rec post tomorrow. While there's not a lot to do, I'm still stuck at work today and tomorrow, probably until late. Then I'll be on holiday for a few days. Just in case I won't find the time to post, I wave goodbye until next week. Happy New Year to all of you! See you in January.

Title: Lost in Reality - Part 6
Characters: George, Lee
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Word Count: ~4000
Summary: Reality is the state or quality of being real. But what is real? And more importantly, what is not real?

It comes late, but here it is. 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 . five

When morning came, Lee still felt sick and weary and would have preferred to stay in the warm sleeping bag, even though the ground beneath it was hard. But he knew that they needed to go to London. Therefore he gritted his teeth, told himself not to be a wimp and forced down some food.

George had prepared breakfast, and when they were done, he packed up their things, shouldered the back pack, and announced that it was time to go. Lee was glad that someone else was making the decisions. He was also grateful for the way George distracted him with constant chatter. And while Lee sometimes caught him looking worried, George didn't comment.

Reducing the pace helped, but wasn't enough. After less than an hour on the road that they'd discovered early in the morning and had since been following, Lee needed the first break. He was breathing heavily; sweat was running down his back; his head was pounding. The simple act of walking became as hard as trying to overtake a hippogriff without a broom.

They stopped, and Lee sat down in the soft grass beside the road, exhausted. He shivered and at the same time felt too warm under the bright spring sun. The scene was postcard worthy. The sky was blue, adorned with some stray clouds. The grass was green, spring flowers growing in colourful patches. A group of trees stood to the left, and the sound of running water could be heard.

"You all right?" George asked and handed Lee the almost empty water bottle. "You look done in."

Lee drank. The cool, clean water brought relief. "I'm all right," he said. "Just give me a few." He coughed and spat into the grass, nearly gagging at the disgusting taste of mucus. He wanted to wash it away, but there was hardly a mouthful left in the bottle. "Can you get some more?" he asked George, handing him the empty bottle. "There must be a stream or something behind the trees."

George gave him another one of the worried looks. Only after Lee reassured him that he wasn't planning on dying within the next five minutes - that people rarely died of a cold in general - George took off towards the sound of the running water.

Lee closed his eyes and exhaled, repressing the urge to cough again.

"What's up, mate?" The voice was unexpected and cheery, and the person that belonged to the voice sat down next to Lee, nudging him playfully.

Had he been more awake, and had his brain been less fever-addled, Lee would have recognised the person instantly. As it was, he had time enough to think that George must have run to the stream and back in record time before he realised that this wasn't, in fact, George.

Lee snorted. "Somehow, I'm not surprised at all," he said.

Fred grinned at him. "That's disappointing. I was hoping to make a big entrance."

"Try harder, next time. Where have you been?"

"Around." Fred plucked a tiny daisy and stuck it into Lee's hair. "Much better. Distracts from your unnatural skin colour."

Lee shook his head, then regretted the movement and stopped before the flower had a chance to tumble to the ground. The constant nausea was worse than the pain in his ears, he thought.

Fred reached out and steadied Lee. "Did anyone tell you lately that sweaty-greenish really doesn't go well with your complexion?"

"Did anyone tell you lately that it's rude to be an obnoxious smart arse in someone else's fantasy?" Lee retorted.

"Well," Fred said and leaned back on his elbows, stretching out his legs, "No one taught me how to do it properly, and there's no handbook. It's all learning by doing. But I'm not too bad, don't you think? It's my first time on this side of reality."

Lee blinked. "Does that mean that you know that you're not real?"

Fred gave him an indignant look. "Obviously. Question is, do you know. You seem to have an awful time lately determining whether someone is real or not."

"How does that work?" Lee was baffled. "You can't know."

"No?" Fred shook his head sadly. "Look at me. I'm doing it wrong already."

"George thinks he's real. Why don't you? And who made you up? Was that me? Was it George?"

"Maybe it was the milkman." Fred ruffled Lee's hair. "Maybe you're asking all the wrong questions. Ever thought of that?"

Lee batted Fred's hand away. "Cut the shit and tell me what you know."

"I'm not real. What would I know?" Fred was enjoying this; Lee wanted to throttle him.

There was a noise coming from where George had disappeared. A small group of bushes was standing there; behind them were tall trees, hiding the stream that could be heard but not seen. A branch was breaking, then there was an uttered curse. George was going to emerge from between the trees at any moment.

Fred got up and stretched, his joints cracking. "I'd love to stay for a bit, but I have an appointment. See you later, lovely." He tipped an invisible hat.

"Wait," Lee called, just as Fred turned on the spot and disapparated. He was gone in an instant. Lee was left with the knowledge that Fred was able to magically transport himself to places where George and Lee couldn't follow. He still wasn't surprised.

George came back across the meadow, the full bottle of water swinging at his side. He threw it at Lee once he was closer. "What did you do while I was gone? Did you pine?"

Lee caught the bottle. "I talked to your brother. He's well and chipper, and aware of his non-existence. He also thinks that I look good with daisies in my hair."

George stared at him and opened his mouth.

Lee interrupted before he had the chance to talk. "If you ask me now if I'm having hallucinations, I swear I'll knock you out with the bottle."

George snapped his mouth shut.

Lee shook his head at this. "You're so not real," he muttered resigned.

*

The landscape around them was changing. It had started in the morning with the road they'd discovered and continued first with little clues - ploughed fields, a road crossing, then another one - then with smatterings of houses first in the distance, then closer.

"It's so pointless," Lee said exasperated as they passed yet another empty house. "Why bother to add civilisation to a fantasy when this civilisation is dead?"

"Do you never add random details to your fantasies?" George asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Lee thought about this. "You mean like imagining a good-looking bloke fucking me and then adding a nice bedroom and nice curtains on top of a big dick?"
George gaped at him. "'Too much' doesn't nearly cover the amount of information there, Jordan. I'm going to blackmail you into the next century once we're back."

Lee was nonplussed. "I should be allowed to talk about my fantasies with my fantasy."

"Do yourself a favour and keep it to yourself, yeah?"

Lee shrugged a non-committal 'whatever', then had to stop for a moment to put his hands on his thighs and catch his breath. Walking and talking at the same time had made him pant.

George stopped as well and looked Lee up and down. "Break?"

Lee plopped to the ground. "I've needed a break for at least an hour."

George sat down beside Lee. He unpacked the food and wrinkled his nose at the sparse offerings. "I'd kill for some curry or stew," he said.

Lee wasn't hungry, but he nodded anyway. He was still dizzy and grabbed the sleeping bag from where George had dumped it on the ground. He used it as a pillow as he lay back. "I'd let you kill me, but I'm afraid you won't get any food for it. Unless you want to eat me." Lee wasn't too exhausted to waggle his eyebrows.

"You're overripe." George frowned, then motioned at the closest house. "Mind if I have a look? I'll be back in twenty. You can take a nap or something."

Lee hummed his agreement. A nap sounded great. Already half asleep, he heard George getting up and walking away. He lay there for long minutes, considering moving off the sleeping bag and crawling into it; he was cold. In the end, it was too much effort. It wasn't that bad, he thought, shivering.

"Want me to cast a warming charm?" a familiar voice asked.

Lee coughed and forced one eye open. "Fred. What a nice surprise. Could you send me back home instead?"

Fred laughed and flicked his wand, warming the air around them with surprising ease. "Do you really think I can do that?"

"That's what George says," Lee answered. "Why d'you think we're on our bloody way to bloody London?" The warming charm made him stop shivering, but it didn't make him feel better.

Fred crouched down next to Lee. "Didn't you say he wasn't real? How would he know?"

Lee blinked at him. That made far too much sense. "Does that mean you can't?"

Fred blocked out the sun, casting a short midday shadow over Lee. He had a frown on his face. It had always been a sign that he was lost in thoughts. "You realise that you hurt him," he said after a while, completely ignoring Lee's question.

"Who?"

"George." Fred turned his head and looked at Lee. "You tell him constantly that he doesn't exist. That's not good for a man's ego."

"But he doesn't exist. You can't hurt the feelings of your own imagination." And yet, Lee felt instantly guilty.

Fred nodded. "But if he existed - hypothetically - and you told him again and again that he does not exist, what would you think would that mean for someone who has no idea who he is or where he belongs?"

Lee blinked tried to understand what Fred was telling him but he couldn't quite grasp it. There were too many 'what ifs' and too much hypothetical nonsense.

"I reckon I'll let you sleep on it." Fred got up.

Lee made another effort to keep his eyes open. "Can't you stay until George gets back and we can talk this through?" Lee thought that he should get up now and try to hold Fred back. Maybe he could wrestle him down and sit on him or do something equally heroic.

Fred chuckled. "I don't think so," he said and apparated before Lee could act on his plan.

*

When Lee woke up after a long nap, he felt marginally better. Upon seeing that George had returned, he told him the story of Fred's re- and disappearance in one long run-on sentenced rant, throwing it all at George's feet. He was outraged, frustrated, indignant, and all of that was tinted with the dark amusement that hadn't left him since he'd discovered the ear that should not be there. When he was done, he looked at George, waiting for a response.

George bit his lip.

"Oh, go on," Lee said. "I'd rather see you laughing than being hurt."

George snickered and then seemingly realised what Lee had said. "Hurt?"

Lee shrugged and watched George's face as he said, "Fred said I hurt you when I say you don't exist. Now I feel guilty. I'm the king of hurting you - real or not."

George shifted, looking uncomfortable.

Lee wasn't concerned. "I'm trying to help, you know? I've been trying for months. You're not well. You're bloody miserable. And I make you feel worse."

"Lee, I don't think-" George started, but Lee interrupted.

"I'm your friend, and watching you destroy yourself is bloody agonising. I can't just sit back and do nothing. It hurts like fuck that everything I do is making it worse and nothing I do is making it better. It's like I don't even count, y'know." He realised that he was ranting at his own imagination. Yet, it was liberating.

"Just for the record," George said, "You are going to regret every word you say. Don't blame me once we're back." He took a deep breath before he continued. "Now tell me what the hell you mean?"

Lee huffed. "What am I supposed to think when every time I come around, I feel like you don't want me there? You don't let me help. You don't talk to me. You miss your old life so much that you have no interest whatsoever in the one you have. I'm supposed to be your best friend."

"And what do you-" George tried but Lee didn't give him the chance to speak.

"I can't be what Fred was, but that doesn't mean I can't be anything at all. I try to be there when you need someone; I clean up your messes as best as I can. I make excuses to your friends and family, go shopping, haul your arse back from potion trips." Lee clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into his palms. His throat felt tight. "And in the end, it's still all about me. These things make me feel better. It's just the illusion that I do something."

Lee paused and took a deep breath, trying not to cough and hurt his throat. "I'm not stupid. I know that you don't want the talking and the coddling and the company. It's been almost a year, and you don't give a fuck."

The helplessness was suffocating. More quietly, Lee said, "Tell me what I'm supposed to do because I don't know any more."

George looked over Lee's shoulder into the distance. "It's easier here," he finally said. "No expectations. I don't live above a dead shop with Fred's clothes still on the floor of his bedroom. How can I put them away when they're Fred's clothes? Here, there's no stain on the wall that I can't vanish because Fred made that stain. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live with that stain? And it's from him so shouldn't I be bloody happy about it? No random people who want me to eat more, drink less, go out, clean, do stuff just so they can go home and say 'George is moving on'. How do I go about moving on when he's all around me? I'd rather get rid of myself than get rid of the last traces of him. You of all people know how close we were. How can I do anything when everything was ours and nothing was mine?"

George ran his hand through his hair and tugged at the strands. "I'm going to punch you for making me have this conversation once we're back," he said.

Lee waited for more, but there wasn't. "George?" he prompted. "What do you need me to do?"

"You know," George said, still not looking at Lee. "You're the only one who's still coming every day no matter how much I curse and rant at you." There was a pause. "Sometimes I want to strangle you. But maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

George looked up and shrugged. "Don't give me up yet. Sometimes I think I've almost figured it out." It was said matter of factly.

Lee would have given everything for hearing those words from the real George. His George.

*

"If only we could find a broom." George, who'd been chipper the whole day - even after their conversation - was losing his momentum. "How far did we come today? Ten miles? Fifteen?"

"At the most," Lee said.

George cursed. "At this pace we'll need another week. Damn." He kicked a stone and sent it flying into the empty front yard of a three storey building.

"Excuse me for being sick," Lee snapped. He knew very well whose fault the slow pace was. He didn't need George to tell him.

"I excuse you for being a dick," George snapped back and scowled. "Now get your arse through the door. I'm not spending another night outside when there are walls and a roof."

"What about our rotting friends?" It was a dumb question. Lee knew it as soon as he'd asked. If there were Inferi in the area, they'd probably be safer in the house.

"At this point, I'll be glad about everyone I see - dead or alive."

Lee snorted. "Or made up." He pushed open the door, looking into a clean hallway. No stray shoes on the floor, no coats on the rack, no dirt on the threshold.

They went inside, inspecting the rooms on the lower floor with caution. It reminded Lee of his parents' house, the place where he'd grown up and that had been burnt down once the Death Eaters had attached a name to the voice behind Potterwatch.

This house was lovely, but like his parents' old house, it was missing something. Lee had never known what 'something' was - until he'd been at the Burrow for the first time. Something was in the way he'd smiled in wonder at the crooked house; it was in the cosiness, in the loving chaos, in the smell of cake, in the warmth of hand-knitted jumpers, quilted blankets, crackling fire and hearty hugs. And yet, Lee missed the house where he'd grown up. He touched a framed photograph - not moving - showing a picture of a small boy eating ice cream. The child was happy, grinning and with sticky hands holding a huge cone. He missed his dad so much.

"Jordan!" George yelled. "Did you get lost?"

Lee followed the voice and wasn't surprised to find George, who possessed the uncanny Weasley ability to track down food, in the kitchen.

"You hungry?" George asked.

Lee shook his head. "I'll be a party pooper and find me a bed."

George pointed at him with a wooden spoon. "Sit and watch. I'll make soup."

Lee blinked. "You're joking, right?"

"He's not." Fred - as always appearing out of nowhere - sat down on one of the chairs, tapping his fingers on the rough surface of the table and grinning at Lee. "He's good at cooking. Never liked it, mind, but when required, he'll rock the pot." He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you his best mate? Shouldn't you know that?"

"'s not like he's talking to me." Lee glared at Fred.

"Huh?" George looked confused. "Who's not talking to you?"

"You're not talking..." Lee's voice trailed away as George continued to look utterly lost. "You don't see him, do you?"

"Who?" asked George while Fred still grinned.

Lee sat down as well and dropped his head onto the table. It hit the surface with a dull thump. "Fred's here," he said resigned. "He's sitting in the other chair and talking to me. He told me you're good at cooking."

"He's what?" George turned his head slowly, facing Fred and the chair. "Fred? Not funny, Jordan."

Lee lifted his head a couple of inches and let it drop back on the table. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw that George again glanced at Fred, then looked back at him. "Fred's not here."

Lee snorted. "Fred, say something."

"Sorry, mate," Fred said. "I'm afraid he can't see or hear me. I'm all yours."

"I don't want more unreal people. Go away." Lee sighed and lifted his head. The pounding behind his temples had intensified. "He says you can't see him."

"Thanks." George's tone was sardonic. "I'd have never known." George paused and filled the big pot he'd taken out of a cupboard with water. "So he shows up here suddenly and only you can see him." He put the pot on the stove, then grabbed an onion from the pile of vegetables he'd found in yet another cupboard. "He's talking but only you can hear him." George took a big kitchen knife, gesturing. "How's your fever, Lee?"

"Fuck you both." Lee stood up, sending his chair flying backwards. The noise was staggering in the otherwise silent room and felt sharp as a knife in Lee's skull. He winced, then turned around to go and find the nearest bed. Neither Fred nor George followed him as he stomped up the stairs in a fit of what he knew was childish rage. That didn't mean he'd have been able to stop himself.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Lee was out of breath. He cursed the stupid cold and went searching for the bathroom. He found it and found also a towel, soap, a toothbrush - how considerate - but no medication. He used the loo, splashed some water in his face, decided that the dirt was only imaginary anyway so he could skip the shower, went back out and entered the next room, delighted that he'd discovered the master bedroom. With a sigh, he plopped down on the big bed, forcing himself to pull off his jeans and jumper before crawling under the soft but thin covers in t-shirt and boxers.

Belatedly, he realised that he was thirsty. And cold. Lee shivered.

Too tired to get up, but too cold and thirsty to sleep, Lee lay in the bed, thinking about the mess he'd got himself into. He'd taken an experimental potion, believed in the words of a hallucination, decided to bath his head in ice cold water, almost let an Inferi kill him, and doubted his own sanity more and more. He had no idea what the real situation was. Was he sick back at home? How much time had passed? Was George caught in another version of this dream? Had this even started in the back of the shop or were his memories just as unreal as the rest?

Lee's head was spinning, and only part of it was because of the fever.

When the door opened, he was almost glad for the distraction. Lee opened his eyes. It was George, carrying a tray. He was alone.

"Did you order soup and water?" George smiled wryly. "Please, say 'no'. I'd love to use my wand to force it down your throat."

Lee's irritation melted away. "I think I love you," he said, his tongue as dry as sandpaper.

George put the tray down on the nightstand. "Is it my boyish charm, razor sharp wit or my ruggedly handsome face?"

"All of them." The soup smelled like something Lee thought he might be able to swallow. He sat up and took the glass of water, drinking the cool liquid in greedy gulps.

The soup wasn't bad. Lee ate half of it but gave up when his stomach protested. George took the bowl from him and started to eat the rest of it.

"Shouldn't you have your own bowl?" Lee asked him. "I'm sick, remember?"

George shrugged. "I already had mine."

The logic was as non-existent as the man himself, Lee thought.

"He was here, yeah? You saw him?" George asked after a few spoons.

Lee nodded. "Three times today."

George hummed and ate some more. "So why do you think he didn't want to talk to me?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Lee wondered if it would help to solve the riddle and bring them back home.

"Suppose not. Doesn't matter." The tone of George's voice implied that it mattered a lot.

Lee scooted down again, disappearing under the covers, pulling them up to his nose. He shivered; possibly his teeth were chattering.

"You cold? Want me to cast a warming charm?" George asked.

Lee huffed. "Typical. Only I can come up with a defective fantasy."

George groaned. "What now?"

"Aren't you supposed to be a bit more fantasy like? Offering to strip and warm me up with the heat of your body?"

A snort was the answer, followed by a charm.

* * *

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