seedee

Title: Lost in Reality - Part 7
Characters: George, Lee
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: Reality is the state or quality of being real. But what is real? And more importantly, what is not real?

All credit goes to

tree00faery and

annafugazzi for being excellent betas. All remaining mistakes come from me stubbornly continuing to edit.

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

gone . six

Lee woke up with a warm body wrapped around him. George was breathing slowly and evenly into Lee's left ear, his chest to Lee's back, his arms wrapped tightly around Lee's middle, their bare legs tangled. Lee, still sleep-addled, smiled to himself, clinging to those few moments that lay between day and night, where awareness was foggy and life wasn't supposed to make sense.

"Aw," someone said.

Lee sighed and opened his eyes.

Fred was sitting on a chair, his feet propped up on the bed. Lee blinked a few times, settling back into the absurdity of the situation.

He tried to extract himself but gave up when George was unresponsive and refused to let him go. Not even the pattern of his breathing changed. "What's going on here?" Lee's throat was dry, felt scratchy, and his voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. Someone must have stuffed wet cotton down his throat, into his ears and into his sinuses.

Fred feigned indignation. "What? Not even a 'Good morning'?"

"Good morning." Lee wriggled, becoming aware of his sweat soaked shirt and his clammy skin. "What's going on?" George didn't move an inch. "Stubborn bastard," Lee added.

Fred smirked, looking pleased with himself. "George, here, had a rough night." He nudged George's knee with his foot; it was a gesture full of affection. "You were keeping him awake with all that shivering and talking fever-gibberish. He didn't know what to do. Warming charms didn't help." Fred waved with his hands. "He panicked a little bit - he'll deny it - and decided that your idea was a good one - he'll deny that even more."

Lee frowned. "Which idea?"

"Did you fry your brain?" Fred sounded exasperated. "George didn't know how to keep you warm. Voilà. One free fantasy hug for Mr. Jordan - as ordered. Brilliant how that works, isn't it?"

"You're mental."

Fred barked out a laugh. "That's rich, coming from you."

Lee gave him that. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on you."

Lee nodded, giving up his struggle and instead sinking back into the comforting hug from behind. For long moments, he watched Fred watching them. "What are you really doing here?" he eventually asked.

The corners of Fred's mouth went up into something that wasn't a smile and wasn't a grin, but something in between that looked like a mixture of amusement, melancholy and fondness. "Keeping an eye on him."

"Want to do him a favour?" Lee was getting impatient. "Tell us how to get home. End this. Or at least bring us to Diagon Alley."

"I would. But I can't." Fred leaned forward on his chair. "You're frustrating. You're stubborn. You're making everything so fucking difficult." For the first time, he looked as if he was about to lose his perfect air of nonchalance and coolness. "Help me, and I'll help you."

"Help you how?"

Fred leaned back again, looked at Lee, and looked at George. "Let him care."

Lee was at a loss. "Care about what?"

"About your stupid cold, for a start." Fred winked at him. "Thanks, by the way, your water stunt made that one easy."

Lee blinked, thinking that he must have missed parts of the conversation. "You made me sick so George can care?" Out loud, the conclusion sounded even sillier than it had sounded in his head.

"You made yourself sick. I just gave an itty-bitty shove in the right direction." Fred got up, walked two paces and turned around. "It doesn't matter if it's your cold, the fact that your dad still didn't turn up, or that mum came to the flat about four dozen times and George never opened the door." Fred walked back to the chair and sat down. "I don't care what makes him care, just make him care, and I'll take care of you." There was the self-satisfied grin again. "If I wasn't so brilliant, I'd have just confused myself."

Lee's brain was stuck on something Fred had said at the beginning of his little speech. "I never told him about my dad," he said after a pause.

Fred just looked at Lee, raising one eyebrow.

"I never told George," Lee said again. "We thought he'd come back, and when he didn't, I kept my mouth shut. 's not like we know what happened. Why share more bad news?" The wheels in his head were turning. "You can't be made from George's memory."

"The milkman, after all?" Fred leaned back in the chair.

"Fuck the milkman. I must have made you up." That made sense, all things considered, and it was another piece of evidence that George wasn't real.

Fred snorted. "I missed you, Jordan. Do we have a deal?"

Lee shrugged. "Sure." He wasn't sure what the deal was, but didn't have the nerve to keep up a conversation with his own imagination. Nothing productive could come out of that.

"All right, then. Be a good boy, and I'll swish and flick you to Diagon Alley. George can figure out how to get you home from there."

Lee shook his head. "You're the strangest piece of imagination I've ever encountered."

Fred grinned and tipped his chair back, balancing on two of its legs. "Am I?" he asked. Then he winked at Lee, and an instant later, he was gone. He disappeared with a quiet pop that was nothing more than air filling the empty space he'd left.

Lee closed his eyes for a minute, cursing Fred for his hurting ears and the confused buzzing in his head. It became more and more difficult for him to keep both Georges apart - the one that existed in the real world but wasn't there, and the one that didn't exist, but could be heard and touched and felt. Lee wondered whether the difference even mattered. It was abstract, here in this world, where he didn't belong and where George - real or not - was the only constant.

Lee decided to worry about differences once he was back, and for now listen to his instincts. He reached for George's wrists with his own hands and wrapped his fingers around them, holding them in a tight grip. "I've listened to you sleeping for seven years," he said once he'd made sure that George wouldn't be able to easily pull away. "You suck at faking it."

George tensed and attempted to pull his hands away. Lee didn't let go. He pulled George's arms even tighter around himself.

If George had really wanted to get away, he could have done so; he was the stronger one of the two. But after some moments of tugging and struggling, George relaxed.

"Did you see him?" Lee asked.

"No," George said, his voice thick with sleep. "But I know he was here. I felt him. And I-" George hesitated, "-I almost heard him. Like he was here. Just out of reach."

Lee nodded.

"What did he say?" George asked.

"That you panicked because you couldn't keep me warm and decided that my hugging idea was a good one."

George huffed. "That's not true," he said; it was utterly unconvincing.

Lee snickered. "Fred said you'd say that. I suspect that you just like cuddling."

George pinched him hard.

Lee pushed his elbow back, right into George's belly.

George tightened his grip with his left arm, grabbed the pillow with his right hand and used it as an effective weapon on Lee's head.

Lee retaliated by rolling and going straight for George's ticklish spot, low on his right side, just above the hipbone - the things one learned in a dorm.

They fought and snickered, rolling around the bed like school boys until Lee had a coughing fit and George said he'd accept surrender because of Lee's pathetic performance.

All in all, it was a good morning - possibly the best in more than a year.

*

Lee took a long shower, relaxing his sore legs and thinking that the pain in his ears had lessened a little bit. It also could have been his imagination. He laughed out loud when the absurdity of that thought hit him.

George banged on the door. "What are you doing in there? You're not touching yourself, are you? That can make you blind."

"That's just a rumour," Lee called back over the running water. "You'd not be able to see a thing if that were true."

*

"When are we going to talk about your dad?" George asked once they were seated at the table. Lee had made breakfast while George had taken his turn under the shower.

Lee froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "My dad?"

George gave him a look that would have made his mother proud. "You do realise that I heard your end of the conversation, right? It's not like I just forgot what you said."

Lee put the fork into his mouth and chewed the slightly burnt pieces of egg.

"And I'm not going away just because you ignore me, Jordan," George went on.

"Worked before," Lee said.

"Not since you were thirteen and I caught you snogging that Hufflepuff bloke under the Quidditch stands." George stabbed his knife in the direction of Lee.

"Don't tell me you're still traumatised." Lee hoped that if he stayed off topic long enough, George would eventually forget. His attention span wasn't all that impressive.

"You're not trying to distract me, are you?" George put down his knife and fork and looked right at Lee, not letting him off the hook. "Because I'd really like to know what's going on and why in the name of Merlin you didn't tell me."

"You know everything already. My dad disappeared. That's it. You were there when I got the message."

"Don't give me that shit," George said. "That was before we went to Hogwarts. I thought he'd come back after the battle when people returned from Azkaban."

"No, he didn't. And that's all." Lee stubbornly continued to eat his eggs after adding some more salt and pepper.

"I've been living under a rock." George ran his hand through his hair. He looked as if he was starting to shout any second. But he didn't. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked after a while. "Why did you lie to me?"

Lee stared at his half eaten food, and then pushed the plate away. "Because you'd have told me it's not my fault."

"It's not your fault."

Lee looked up at him. His automatic reaction was to distract and derail and talk about something inconsequential. But Fred had said he should let George care, and why the hell not? Why shouldn't he lay it out for once and be done with it? Everything was happening in his head anyway.

"You're smart, George. Tell me. What do you think happened? We know that at the beginning of March, Death Eaters came to his office in the Ministry and took him away. Nowbody's seen him since. What then?"

George hesitated. "We thought they took him to Azkaban. They wanted to know where Potterwatch was broadcasting from. And they wanted to get you through him."

"Right. What then?"

"Nothing. He wouldn't have told them." George frowned.

"And then what?" Lee got up and poured himself a glass of water. "He didn't tell them anything. What did they do?"

George made a helpless gesture.

Lee rolled his eyes, sitting back down. "Don't be shy. I've thought about this for a year. Torture, prison, killing curse. Take your pick; your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he killed himself."

George had stopped eating as well. "You're the one who always says that Fred's death wasn't my fault," he said quietly. "So why's this different? You're a hypocrite."

"I'm not. Fred had a choice."

"So did your dad."

Lee snorted. "That's the point. He never had a choice. They took him, they interrogated him, and he never had a choice. And why didn't he have a choice?"

George shook his head. "Don't go there, Jordan. He supported Potterwatch. You talked to him before we started it. It was his decision to stay at the Ministry, and he wouldn't have-"

Lee cut him off. "Oh yes, I will bloody well go there. He didn't have a choice because I never told him where to find me. It should have been his choice. If he'd wanted to talk, he should have been able to. But he had no clue. It was my decision that killed him. I made the choice for him."

"You didn't. He wouldn't have said anything. It would have made no difference."

"Would." Lee hated the word. "It makes a difference to me."

George reached out and squeezed Lee's hand. "You're mental." He squeezed again and then pushed the plate with the rest of eggs back in front of Lee. "I bet it doesn't break when you throw it against the wall."

Lee stared at George. Then he looked down at the plate, picked it up and threw it with as much force as he could muster. The sound of the plate crashing against the wall and breaking into a thousand tiny pieces was satisfying. It was even better to see eggs and ketchup and grease smeared across the wall and the floor, making an angry, avant-garde statement.

"I bet that doesn't break either," Lee said, pointing at George's plate.

George grinned and picked it up, aimed for the same spot and threw. They watched more eggs, more ketchup and more shards complete the mess. "I hope they'll all go to hell," George said. His grin faltered as he turned back to Lee. "What else did you keep from me?"

*

They started walking late that day. Showering, eating, talking and packing had taken time. It was almost noon when Lee waved goodbye to the house that had provided shelter, food and interesting conversations.

"You realise the house can't actually see you when you're waving?" George asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Lee, who was waving to Fred now, not at the house, shrugged. "Can't hurt either. Maybe this is the house that's responsible for everything. Might as well make it happy."

"That's a reason to burn it down," George muttered.

Lee slung an arm around George's shoulders and ruffled his hair. "Look at you, all grumpy today."

George huffed but leaned into the touch instead of away from it. "Just tired. How ‘bout you? Any better?"

"Loads," Lee lied. He still felt sick as a dog, with hurting ears, thrumming head, cold sweat running down his back and the ever present exhaustion that was grating on his nerves.

"Uh-huh," George more grunted than said. Lee heard the disbelief nonetheless. "Just tell me when it's too much."

"And then what?" Lee asked.

George shrugged. "We'll figure something out."

"Uh-huh," Lee said, mimicking George.

They'd walked almost in silence for the better part of two hours, when George announced, "Gotta take a leak. Break for everyone."

"I love your bladder," Lee said. He thought that he wouldn't be able to go on for much longer. The fever and the pain, exhaustion and weakness that came with it, had grown stronger over the previous hour.

"Me, too," George said as he turned and stepped next to a midsized tree on the side of the road. "It's so practical."

Lee smiled upon hearing him unzip and then the unmistakable groan made of pure satisfaction as George released the pressure.

As the merry splashing sound subsided, Lee wanted to congratulate on the formidable length (of time), but was cut short when George cursed. "What the hell?" he said, then again, after a moment, "What the hell?"

"What?" Lee asked from his position on the ground. He didn't turn around, trusting George to tell him if there was something interesting.

There was a pause, and then came George's awed voice. "There's a broom. Firebolt 3-60 with aerodynamic racing twigs, sports handle and the new generation acceleration charms. Cherry wood."

Lee snorted. "If you didn't live like a hermit, you'd know that the new model isn't even out yet."

It turned out that the new model of the Firebolt - which wasn't yet on the market - was indeed in George's hand. Lee stared at it after he'd turned around. "Where did that come from?" he asked.

George shook his head. "I've no bloody idea. Leaned against the tree. I nearly pissed on it." He lovingly ran the tips of his fingers over the smooth, polished wood of the handle. "It's a beauty," he breathed.

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between wanting to admire the brilliant broom, demanding to know where it came from, laughing at the fact of the perfect solution presenting itself just like that, and calling Fred and screaming obscenities into his face.

He did none of the above. Instead, he waggled his eyebrows, got up and asked suggestively, "Gonna give me a ride, handsome?"

George looked up, grinning from ear to ear with the pure joy of a little boy who just found a new, shiny toy. "Clean your bum first."

They mounted the broom, George in front, Lee behind him. They'd flown like this many times, and while flying with George wasn't quite the suicide ride that flying with Fred had been, it was necessary for Lee to wrap his arms tightly around George's middle and sit close enough so he could hold on to him with his thighs as well.

"Ooh, Jordan, getting cozy."

Lee set a mocking kiss to the back of George's neck. "Survival strategy."

"Clever boy," George said and took off.

They ascended in an almost vertical line, the acceleration taking Lee's breath away. Straight towards the clouds, George headed, straight towards the sun that was lurking above them, casting a muted light through the thick mass of something that looked like cotton but couldn't be touched.

Lee held on tight and threw his head back, closing his eyes and inhaling the cold wind through flared nostrils. He loved riding like this, trusting George blindly, feeling safe behind the solid form of his best friend.

George flew like a beater. Straight lines, hard angles, sharp drops, unexpected rolls. Lee didn't know if the man had ever flown a curve or planned the next manoeuvre. George tested the broom, whooping as they dropped and nearly hit the ground. Only a sharp and immediate turn to the left saved them. All the while, George kept the speed as fast as he could while still holding the broom steady. Lee felt the muscles of George's stomach and arms hard like steel under the strain of the ride.

They were high up in the air, and Lee could see far ahead. When the first excitement subsided and he looked into the direction they were flying, Lee saw the town. It wasn't just another village, or something a bit larger. It was a real town, a big one. It was London - Lee knew it, even though this wasn't the real world, and this town even though large, was not the metropolis he'd grown up in. But it was a version of the city where they might find a version of Diagon Alley.

It was still far and would have been an impossibly long way to walk, but at the speed they were flying, they'd reach it in less than an hour.

He risked taking one hand off George to point. George nodded in return. And flew faster.

Almost an hour later, they were past the outskirts of the city and following the river, aiming for the Leaky Cauldron. Lee didn't know where it was located from this perspective, nor did he think that he could find it on the ground. Now that they were closer, he could see that this city didn't have much in common with the real London. The houses weren't big enough, the roads not broad enough, the expanse of the town itself not even close to the real thing. Not to mention that it was - like everything else they'd encountered - entirely empty. There were no people, no cars, no noises. It was eerie, and Lee hoped they'd find the entrance to the magical world soon - provided that there was one.

George kept flying to what Lee thought was the centre of the city.

The first wave - Lee didn't know what else to call it - hit them when they were only a few minutes short of their destination. It was like a sudden shove from behind - like a gust of wind directed at them with purpose. Lee was in no danger of falling, as he always suspected a sudden change of speed or direction when George was flying, and George had the broom steady in no time. Talking was impossible, so Lee squeezed to show George that he knew something was up.

George nodded again, shifting into a more stable position. The second wave was far stronger than the first one, and accompanied by a dull thump. The noise reminded Lee of what they'd heard in the woods when they'd been followed by something invisible. Back then it had been the noise of something big stomping on the forest ground - that couldn't be the case now, high up in the air over an empty city. Could it?

The strength of the second wave had thrown them off course, and George struggled to get the broom back under control. Lee wasn't too worried yet, holding on tightly, following George's movements with his own body to help him steer. George was an outstanding flier, and both of them had enough nerve not to panic.

The noise came back, and then again. The slow, deep thumping, that could be felt rather than heard, was unsettling. It was as if the air around them vibrated with a giant presence that loomed behind them. Lee resisted the urge to turn around - it could throw the broom off balance, and he realised that George hadn't turned around either. Lee's heart was starting to beat faster.

The next shove from behind was so strong that they were propelled forwards, tumbling in a series of loops that allowed Lee to see that there was nothing but empty air behind them. George was able to catch them, but not before they dropped almost halfway to the ground. And still the noise continued in its gut-clenching, vibrating sonority.

George accelerated, but didn't ascend. He flew just over the houses at breakneck speed, and Lee blinked against the sharp wind, straining to keep his eyes open, looking for familiarity among the buildings.

There was another shove, and they missed a chimney - which looked surprisingly magical in this Muggle area - only by inches. The thumping became louder, the sense of urgency greater.

"Go," Lee shouted against the wind. "Faster."

George wheeled the broom around, back on track. Lee recognised some of the buildings they passed, even if their arrangement seemed random, as if done by someone who'd been in the area a few times, but didn't know it very well.

"Hold on," Lee heard George yell.

A second later, they dropped, and at the same time, George swung the broom around hard. He'd turned right into a smaller road, only a couple of feet above the ground. Lee wondered whether this was a good time to start praying, as the intangible presence behind him became overwhelming. Every moment he expected to be grabbed and pulled off the broom. George must have felt the same; he sped up even more, racing down the street and turning once again - to the left now.

Lee was disoriented, but he recognised the Italian restaurant where they'd been a few times after they'd left Hogwarts. The thumping had grown to an almost constant drumming; Lee's heart was trying to match the rhythm.

And then he saw it, at the end of the road. It wasn't the Leaky Cauldron, but it was - without a doubt - the entrance to another world. There was a stone arch, overgrown by ivy. A pale light shone through from the other side, and it was wide enough for them to fly through.

The broom slowed down as they approached, as if George was considering whether flying through was a good idea. It was decided for them, as the presence behind them made its move and instead of pushing them, it sucked. Air rushed backwards, and Lee clung to George who'd reacted instinctively, throwing himself forward on the broom and urging it on.

There was powerful magic in the broom. It had been designed for professional sports, and it reacted that way. It withstood the sucking, jumped, and then flew despite the relentless pull from behind.

Lee's arms started to quiver, and he didn't know how George managed to hold himself on the broom. "Just through the archway," he told himself. "Just to the end of the street." He was hoping - and believing - that the thing wouldn't be able to follow, just as it hadn't followed them out of the woods.

Once again, they were thrown off course, nearly bumping into the wall of a house. But George was prepared and countered the move, swung the broom around in a way that made clear that he was indeed able to fly curves.

Into the archway they went, and once they were through, the sudden absence of the pulling force behind them made them lurch forward. The broom wasn't as fast with the weight of both of them as it would have been with only one flier, but it was still fast enough for the wind to cause tears in Lee's eyes. They were racing down the familiar alley far too fast.

George didn't seem to make a big effort to slow down. Maybe he feared the thing that had followed them, even though Lee was sure it was gone. Or maybe George was just bloody nuts.

Lee tugged frantically at George's clothes as they came closer to Wheezes. The door loomed in front of them - and then it flew open. Lee ducked as they raced into the shop far too fast, still clinging to George, his eyes wide open, his heart hammering - there wasn't even enough time to yell.

George yanked up the handle with enough force to unseat both of them as they came to a sudden and violent halt in the middle of the store. Caught in their momentum, they were catapulted off the broom, skittered over the floor and crashed hard into the counter.

Lee had let go of George and put his head between his arms, making himself as small as possible. He acted on pure instinct as several - from the sound of it - heavy objects fell down around them and at least one shelf fell over. George was next to him; Lee heard him cursing. He reached for George and gripped tightly when he found his wrist. "You alive?" he asked, feeling the pulse of his best friend beating rapidly beneath his fingers.

"Fuck, yes!" George said and started to laugh.

* * *

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