Fic: The Long Way Home, Part 1 of 2

[madeyemax.livejournal.com]

Title: The Long Way Home, Part 1 of 2
Author: loony4lupin and madeyemax
Beta: f13tch3r
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: George, eventual George/Lee, George/OMC
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.
Word Count: 17,359
Disclaimer: They're not ours. Boo.
Note: This was written for annafugazzi for weasley_fest '08. Big thanks to star54kar for organizing the fest!




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 to 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."

Part 2