Fic: Spotlight
Apr. 14th, 2011 11:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rillaliciousOh joy! The ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_nextgen_fest reveals have been posted! I have been dying for that. You know how sometimes you just fall in love with the characters you're writing and you never want to stop? THAT is how I felt about this fic. In a lot of ways, it feels very unfinished to me because there was so much more I wanted to add and flesh out, but at the same time I think I got across what I wanted to say.
It's no secret that Lee Jordan is my favorite minor character in the HP books (edging out Charlie Weasley by just the slightest bit, but there you have it), and when I saw a Lee prompt listed for the fest, I had to jump all over it. I would love to continue with this at some point.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Spotlight
Pairing: Lee Jordan/Fred Weasley II
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~8700
Warnings: This is cross-gen. Lee is around 40 and Fred is about 19. Passing mention of drug use.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Making no money.
Summary: After the war, Lee left the wizarding world behind to become a celebrity in the Muggle world. Twenty years later, Fred sets out to follow in his footsteps.
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellensmithee for the beta.
Lee's more than a little drunk, but he can't deliver a speech that should belong to Fred without the warm blush of three-too-many martinis pumping through his veins.
"Here, here!" He raises his magical megaphone over his head as everyone quiets down. He looks out over the crowd. The empty chairs are so conspicuous. Why are there so goddamn many chairs? It's as if he can only see the people who are missing. The rest of the crowd is just white noise.
"I'm not s'posed to be up here right now. But I don't think that's news to anyone here. And if I'm all about anything, it's bringin' the news, yeah? So instead of your traditional toast, which," he waves his finger vaguely toward the clouds, "which is yours, Fred, I'm gonna tell everybody here somethin' they don't know."
He glances over at Angelina, her eyes wide as she drives her elbow into George's side.
~@~@~@~
"Angie," says George, "it's only two months. And it's Lee."
She rolls over in bed, brushing long braids away from her face so she can look at him.
"That's exactly why I don't want him to go. It's Lee. Don't smile at me like that. Don't pretend I don't know what kind of trouble he gets into. I've known Lee Jordan longer than you have."
"What if Roxie goes with him?"
"What? No! Absolutely not."
"Fine. Maybe we can convince him to study dragons in Romania instead."
"Honestly, George? I would prefer it."
"After all the things you've said about Charlie!"
"Oh, don't put it like that. I like Charlie. But you know as well as I do that Fred was too young to spend that summer with your brother. With his... reputation."
George's lips curl up on one side. "He does like to shag around."
"Yes. Fred was entirely too young. But he's of age now and I trust him to make good decisions."
"Except when Lee is involved."
"Except when Lee is involved," she says. "And it's not that I don't trust Fred. I just... don't want him exposed to that."
"To what? All the money? The fame?"
Angelina gets very quiet. "The war."
George flops onto his back and douses the light. He takes off the prosthetic ear he wears where his real ear used to be, sets it on his dresser beside his wand.
"The war's been over for 20 years, Angie. Lee's better now. We're all better now."
She slides her hand up his chest, fingertips grazing his throat, and traces that awful hole in his head. He shivers.
"Most of us are better now," she says, and she kisses the corner of his mouth. "And I want to protect my baby."
"Let him see a bit of the world, Angie."
"George--"
"Angie. The boy's got your good looks and your brains. He can handle himself."
This time she's quiet for so long that he thinks she's fallen asleep.
"Fine."
George wrenches himself upright. "Fine? As in, yes? He can go?"
"He can go. It's not as if I could really stop him anyway, and I'd rather he go with my blessing than without it."
"Can I tell him?"
"In the morning. Honestly, George. It's two a.m. He's been asleep for hours."
"Oh. Right. In the morning."
"But you'd better be right about Lee. I'm holding you to it."
~@~@~@~
Fred stuffs another three shirts into his already over-full rucksack and tries to pull it closed. He was heading to Los Angeles whether his mother liked it or not, but it's so much better with her on board. Two years ago she'd nixed his planned trip to Romania, which had left Fred nearly despondent at the thought of his virginity becoming a permanent condition. (Luckily, that problem was solved with Iris Montague in the prefects bathroom the following year.)
His mother, unfortunately, seemed to have figured out that the whole point of going to Romania was for Fred to get laid, and she'd forbidden the trip as soon as she'd heard about it. He supposes the plan was a little obvious. Fred cares as much about working with dragons as he does about Arithmancy, or Divination, or Puking Pastilles, and everyone knows it. Charlie is cool, but, in Fred's opinion, he's also stark raving mad. He could have played Quidditch for England. He could have been famous. Instead he went off to the Middle-of-Nowhere, Romania, and set up shop on a dragon farm. Sanctuary. Whatever. The point is that nobody knows who Charlie Weasley is. That isn't going to be the case with Fred.
He slings the rucksack over his shoulder, and doesn't look back at the Pride of Portree banners on his walls, doesn't look back at the crooked blinds hanging brokenly over the window above his desk. His parents think he's coming home in a few weeks, but Fred knows it will be longer than that. Fred's plans are much bigger. The next time he comes home, people are going to know who Fred Weasley is. He's not going to be that kid who works at the joke shop anymore.
~@~@~@~
"Roxie Hart!" Lee says, and Roxanne bounds into his arms. The first time they visited him in New York, three years ago, Lee took them to see Chicago, and Roxanne fell in love. She sang the songs for months. She still writes her name as Roxie with a little heart over the i. Lee has been calling her 'Roxie Hart' ever since.
Some of Fred's cousins worship the ground Harry Potter walks on, and the rest (the ones unfortunate enough to actually be Harry's children) idolize Quidditch stars or popular wizarding bands, but Fred's hero is Lee Jordan, a man who hasn't been part of the wizarding world for over twenty years.
Lee moved to New York before Fred was born, sometime after the war, and took a job in muggle broadcasting. The way he tells it, someone took a liking to his face and told him about an audition for something called a soap opera. Fred's father tells him that acting came natural to Lee--something he attributes to his own influence, and that of his brother, swearing they were the ones who taught Lee to lie with a straight face when they were first years--and after that the work came regularly. A little stage work, a bit part in a movie here or there, and eventually he got a break.
Lee is famous now. 'Only in the muggle world', James is quick to point out. But famous is famous to Fred, and Lee crossed oceans and worlds to get there. Just thinking about it makes Fred feel like anything is possible. Like there are things out there better than magic.
Lee's apartment in New York is huge, and on one side of the building all of the walls are glass. Fred thinks he must be able to see the whole city from where he's standing, but Lee tells him that's just a little part of it. Fred's mum murmurs that this place is far too big for one man, far too expensive to be decent, but Fred thinks it's perfect. Fred wants all this, and more. He's just finished his third year at Hogwarts, and the idea of waiting out the next four years makes him crazy.
Roxie is in the other room belting out the Cellblock Tango, and Fred's mother is pouring herself a glass of wine. Lee and Fred's father are laughing raucously at the bar. Fred doesn't think one week is going to be long enough at all.
~@~@~@~
When Fred arrives in L.A., Lee's not at the airport to pick him up. He sends someone else in a big muggle car with cool air blowing out of the vents and a wet bar. It's the coolest thing Fred has ever seen. Maybe his grandfather has a point about muggles and their gadgets.
Lee's house is all white, with glass everywhere, and a balcony that wraps around the entire upstairs. It looks new, and shiny, like the plastic case that holds an expensive toy, a muggle space ship, maybe, or something robotic. When Fred steps out of the car, even the concrete beneath his feet glistens in the sun like plastic.
Lee steps out of the front doors, holds out both hands, and laughs. Fred wants to run to him, but he doesn't because he knows that would make him look like a child.
"Finally," says Lee. "A competent assistant. Or so your dad would have me believe."
"I haven't even interviewed yet," says Fred. "Isn't that nepotism?"
"First off, we're not related." Lee ushers Fred inside. "And second, I've known you your whole life, Freddy. Believe me, you'll work harder than all those other idiots I've tried to hire for the past year. Half those morons couldn't find their own dicks with both hands."
Fred grins and shakes his head. "Right, well. At least that's something I'm good at." His laugh is a little hollow, as if the joke didn't translate as well as he'd hoped.
Lee is silent for a few seconds, because he's staring at Fred, just watching him smile, and Fred's expression fades as his stomach fills with nervous humming. Lee grins again.
"Come on," he says. "Your room's got a great view. Wait till you see it."
~@~@~@
When Fred has finished unpacking and comes down the stairs--which feels like an event, the way they sprawl out over the foyer--Lee is waiting for him.
"Come into my study," Lee says, and he chuckles. Lee understands the absurdity of possessing a room he refers to as his study.
Fred follows him in, watches as Lee closes the double doors.
"No magic here," says Lee, and he holds his hand out, palm up. "There's always someone watching in this place. It brings up too many questions."
"Uh, right," says Fred, and he looks over each shoulder before sliding his wand from his sleeve and handing it over.
"Thanks, mate." Lee unlocks the desk drawer with a small round key, tucking the wand safely inside.
Lee is beautiful. This is something Fred has always known but never consciously recognized as an adult. He recognizes it now, though. Standing here, so close to Lee's dazzling smile, to his broad, friendly face, and his glittering dark eyes, Fred can't help but see it. And it makes him feel impossibly young and out of place. Lee leads him over to the wet bar, and Fred realizes he's seen one in every room he has entered at Lee's place.
Beneath the bar is a small refrigerator, and Lee reaches inside to pull out two beers.
"Technically, I'm not supposed to let you drink here," Lee says, pressing the beer into Fred's hand. "But I'm not telling if you don't."
Fred just stares at the bottle for a moment, frowning at the cap.
"Oh, right," says Lee. "You don't have your wand." He flashes a metal contraption suddenly and flicks the top off. "There you are, mate. Drink up."
Fred takes a long swig of the beer and grins. "Dad's right. The American stuff is shite."
Lee laughs. The sound is throaty and deep and makes Fred's stomach tighten. He watches Lee drink from his own bottle and swallows reflexively.
~@~@~@~
Fred learns pretty fast that Lee can drink hard when he parties, though he doesn't particularly seem to like it. Whether it's the party or the alcohol fueling his ambivalence, or both, Fred can't quite tell. Lee's also not opposed to smoking the occasional joint, but has a strict and unyielding policy banning anything harder from the house. At first, Fred wonders if this is Angelina's doing, but it quickly becomes clear that everyone who knows Lee, everyone who walks through that door, is familiar with how Lee feels about it.
They swarm Lee like insects on a daily basis, and Fred calls them "the entourage" in his head. If he was clever like Lee, he'd have come up with something better, but he's watching Lee's every move so closely these days that it should only be a matter of time before he can fake that kind of cleverness. This is what he wants: to be Lee, to crawl into the other man's skin, into his life, and soak up the brilliant halo glow of fame.
Fred glances at the mirror and sees himself as he is now: too much curly hair, a too broad smile that makes him look too young. Lee and his entourage are standing in the corner of the frame, but in Fred's mind, they take up the whole picture. Lee always looks good. Fred has never seen Lee looking like he couldn't just step in front of a camera. He supposes that's what Lee is prepared for all the time.
The entourage moves in a solid clump. Fred thinks it's a generous assessment that they share one brain between them. They're a constant thrumming sound that makes Fred's temples vibrate. Lee doesn't seem to think much better of them. They always want something, and they cling to Lee's pool and game room and refrigerator like barnacles. Fred can imagine a time when Lee enjoyed the attention. Maybe it was a time before they became these parasites. Maybe they really were individual people once.
A few of the blokes who hang around Lee's place regularly are all right, but Fred doesn't want to get to know them. Nels and James and Choke (Fred is ninety percent certain that's not his real name) are friendly enough, and even do a bit of looking out for him, but Fred isn't here to make friends with the hangers-on, even the ones who steer clear of the entourage. He's not one of them. And he's not going to let himself get sucked into that.
Tonight, however, he's doing shots with them, and fast discovering that he can't hold his own with this group. First there was vodka, then tequila, and now they've moved on to something a little fruity, but Fred doesn't have enough sense to even discern what it is. The room is underwater, distorted, and Fred can see the blokes laughing, but it's all in slow motion. When he falls--and he's pretty sure that he's just tripped over his own foot--he's standing behind the raised bar, and in his desperate scramble for balance, he takes down a half dozen wine bottles, spilling them over the opposite side of the bar, wine splattering on tile and carpet and over shattered glass.
Every noise at the party, the deafening buzz of the entourage and their 'friends', the chatter of Lee's famous and not-so-famous guests, it all goes dull and fuzzy, like they've all shut up at once. Even the music in the background seems distant. Fred sees Lee's shoes first, and then he slowly looks up.
"Your mum is gonna hand me my arse on a platter if you broke anything," Lee says. Then, to the others, "Clear out, mates. Take it down to the beach." He kneels beside Fred, who is trying desperately to gather his dignity as he scrambles to his knees.
"Jus' lotsa glass," Fred mumbles, reaching out to Lee's arm for support. It feels like there are a thousand people watching him. "Do I look like as much of a wanker as I think I do?"
Lee looks up at the rest of them. "TAKE IT OUTSIDE!" His voice is so loud that it's a wonder he'd ever needed a bullhorn at all, and it feels as though he's just split Fred's skull in two.
Fred groans and clings to the barstool. Slowly, grudgingly, the party makes its way through the glass doors and down to the beach.
"Sorry," Fred says, flailing blindly in Lee's direction as he tries to get up.
"Whoa, Freddy." Lee has to duck down low for Fred to swing an arm over his shoulders.
As drunk as he is, Fred still has the presence of mind to notice how strong Lee is, lifting him easily to his feet in spite of Fred's inability to support his own weight.
"Thank I... Think I drank so much."
Lee chuckles against the top of Fred's head, which has lolled onto Lee's chest. They're moving slowly toward Lee's room, and Fred thinks this is like one of those dreams where the doorway keeps getting further away, no matter how fast you're running toward it.
"Too much," says Lee. "And yeah, I reckon you did."
Fred's eyes roll back until he can see Lee's chin. "Did you use'ta have sex m'uncle?"
"Inappropriate line of questioning, mate," says Lee, his tone clipped. They're taking wide, sweeping steps now, Fred's legs following along lazily, like a marionette.
"Sorry. Drunk."
"Yes, you are."
Fred is airborne now, only for a blurry second, and then he lands with a bounce on the bed.
"Soft."
Lee laughs again. Fred smiles a stupid, drunk smile and flops onto his back, as if he's rolling around in the sound of Lee's voice.
"Get sick in my bed and your arse is fired, got that?"
Fred's arm shoots up from the bed and he gives Lee a thumbs up.
"Now get some sleep, Freddy. You're gonna feel this one in the morning. Muggles don't have a cure for hangovers."
~@~@~@~
Three weeks after his arrival, Fred hears the shouting from Lee's office for the first time. Lee is on the phone with his agent; Fred knows this because he took the call. It's not going well. Most of what Lee is saying is unintelligible through the heavy wooden door, but Fred can sift out a variety of colorful curse words, some of which he is sure Lee has just invented on the spot, and he knows better than to enter before it's over.
The shouting continues intermittently for another ten minutes. Three times, Fred reaches for the doorknob, certain that the argument is over, and three times he catches himself just before he turns it. When the silence seems permanent, Fred opens the door and steps inside.
"Didn't ask for anything, mate," Lee says without raising his eyes from whatever he's writing at the desk.
"I know. I... Just wanted to make sure you're all right."
Lee stands abruptly and turns to the window behind the desk, now absorbed in his iphone. Fred watches Lee's thumb slide across the glossy screen.
"Lee, are you--"
"Get out. I don't need anything, Freddy. Told you that."
"I know, but I overheard--"
"Just get out." Lee doesn't even look at him.
It takes Fred a second to comply, but when Lee's iphone sails across the room, he slams the door behind him.
~@~@~@~
Lee's pool is indoors, in a tiled room with an impossibly high ceiling and long, angled skylights. There are usually people in the pool and all around it, and those people are usually girls. Some of the entourage like to hang out there too. Fred tends to avoid the pool when they are around because one of them, a raging dick called Cole, is a poolside fixture.
Tonight, there is no one else at the pool, just Fred and Lee, and Lee is floating on his back, just drifting. A good metaphor for Lee's life, Fred thinks. Floating. Untethered. Lee hasn't worked since Fred got here, save for one magazine interview over the phone, and Fred wonders if it's because Lee made it so big that he doesn't have to work anymore. That is the explanation he chooses to believe at this point in time. The truth, and he knows this somewhere in the back of his skull, is a much bleaker reality, but if Fred has learned anything from Lee over the past month, it's how to tailor reality. He wonders if even Lee can tell when he stops acting.
Lee drifts closer to Fred, then suddenly folds in half, sinking beneath the water before rising straight up, pushing his dreadlocks out of his face. Fred is staring shamelessly, watching the water wind thin rivulets down Lee's neck to the hollow at the base of his throat. He wants to lick his lips and then lick Lee's throat.
"You look hungry, Freddy." Lee's voice is even lower than usual and Fred can feel the vibration straight through to his cock.
"Maybe a little," he says, surprised by his own boldness.
For a moment, Lee looks apprehensive. At least that's what Fred thinks it looks like, because he has never seen that expression on Lee's face before. Lee, who is never unsure of himself, never second guesses, looks almost fearful. But then it is gone and the grin is back and Lee is pushing through the water until he's chest to chest with Fred. Treading water has never been so difficult for Fred. Lee watches him for a moment, and Fred thinks Lee must enjoy his visible squirming.
Fred feels something in the water, and flinches before he realizes Lee's hand is on his hip, shoving his waistband down to his thigh. Fred whimpers. Lee's smile is lazy across half his face; it's a smile that says they have all the time in the world tonight. Fred reaches down with one hand to shove the other side of his swimming trunks down, and he wriggles them down his legs, kicking them away.
Lee is holding Fred's shoulders now, pushing him back toward the side of he pool. He turns Fred around and presses him up against the wall. Fred crosses his arms over the edge. Then he feels Lee's cock, thick and hard against the cleft of his arse, the tip butting up against the small of his back. Fred whimpers again, pushes back. Lee's hands are strong and soft on his shoulders, they slide down his arms slowly, Lee's fingers splayed over the curve of muscle and tendon.
Fred rubs himself against Lee, pulling up on the edge of the pool, Lee's cock sliding down the cleft of his arse. He's been with a few blokes, of course, but no one like Lee. No one grown and confident and, if he's to be honest with himself, fucking intimidating. Lee reaches down, pushes his cock out of the way and presses one fingertip to Fred's hole. Fred bites his bottom lip, crosses his arms over the poolside and spreads his legs wider.
"Fuck, yeah," Lee says, husky and gruff, his fingertip is inside now, and his other arm wrapped around Fred's chest.
Lee's lips on Fred's shoulder are searing hot, the trail of kisses burning a path to the side of his throat. Fred tilts his head. Two fingers now, and Fred murmurs nonsense, cursing and begging and wanting. Lee is slow and merciless, and by the time he pushes inside, reaches around to grip the base of Fred's cock, it's nearly over for Fred. A few strokes from Lee's strong hand, a few slow, hard thrusts of his cock at just the right angle, and Fred is clawing at the tiles, a broken cry bouncing off the walls as he shoots.
Lee is holding on like Fred is a life preserver, and the water sloshes over the edge of the pool.
"I'm glad you came," Lee whispers, his lips warm and wet on the shell of Fred's ear.
Fred's arse is still stretched open deliciously around Lee's cock, and Fred rides him a few more time before replying.
"Me too."
"I don't do this with all my personal assistants, you know."
"Hope not," says Fred, and he wants to say more, but the words fade into grunts, and the splash of water over the edge of the pool swallows any other sound.
Lee's lips travel back down to one of Fred's shoulders and then the other, and then Lee is shuddering against him, and everything inside Fred goes hot and trembling as Lee comes. Lee kisses the base of his neck and then pulls away. Fred doesn't remember the water being so cold before.
"Pack a bag in the morning," says Lee, swimming to the ladder. "We're going to New York."
"Why?" says Fred.
Lee is already out of the pool, patting his dreadlocks with a towel as he walks away naked. "Change of scenery," he calls back over his shoulder, and he laughs.
~@~@~@~
"You can't hold what happened at the wedding against him forever, Angie. He was grieving."
"So were you. Fred was your brother."
"Yeah, and he was Lee's..." George sighs. "He wasn't there when it happened. Even Percy got to be there. Lee was on the other side of the castle. He didn't even know."
"We all lost somebody that day, George." Angelina pulls the small bundle in her arms closer, offering her breast.
"And it wasn't the same for any of us. Different strokes and all," George says. "I want him to see the baby."
She nods. "All right. But Ron's still his godfather. You're not changing that."
"Of course I'm not changing that! Ron's my brother." George smiles finally. "Well, until Mum and Dad finally own up and admit he's adopted."
~@~@~@~
The first time they go to New York, Fred gets sick on the plane. He's never flown by muggle methods before and he aches for his broomstick. He needs to be in control of the flight.
When he gets back to his seat, pale green and shaking, Lee laughs and rubs his back and tells him to suck it up. There are a lot of flights in his future. Fred smiles wanly and buries his head between his legs.
Lee still has the same place in New York that Fred remembers from his childhood. The furniture has changed, but everything else is the same. When they carry their bags inside, Fred looks down the hall, toward the room he used to share with Roxie when they were kids.
"Where're you going?" Lee says, looking amused.
"I, uh, I thought... The room we used to..." Fred trails off. "Obviously that's not the plan."
Lee just grins, and throws open the door behind him, as if he's staged it this way, and Fred realizes he'll be staying in Lee's room.
Lee's room with its absurdly large bed and heavily draped windows and fully stocked bar. Lee's room, where Fred will be sleeping in the same bed as Lee.
"Well, come on then," Lee says, throwing one of his bags onto the bed. "Let's get to the unpacking."
Lee orders Chinese take away, enough food for fifteen people, and soon the empty fridge is full of leftovers. They sprawl out on the couch and Lee puts in one of his movies, wisecracking non-stop until the credits finish rolling.
When it's over, Lee gets to his feet, tugs on Fred's arm. "Bed."
"It's not even ten o'clock!" says Fred. They're in New York, after all, and Fred has been hoping that Lee was planning to take him to one of those bars he used to visit with Fred's dad into the small hours of the morning on their all too infrequent visits here.
"Believe me," says Lee, "it'll be worth it." And he disappears into the hall.
It takes Fred a minute to follow, as the slow realization that this trip might just be about them, and not only about Lee, takes root. But once he's on his feet, he runs to the bedroom, not caring that he looks like an impulsive idiot, because Lee wants him, alone and here in the apartment Fred has coveted for as long as he can remember, and he doesn't want to waste that by sitting on the couch ruminating.
He stops briefly at his suitcase, slipping something out of the front pocket. Lee is sitting on the bed. Fred tackles him, landing astride Lee's lap and knocking the bigger man down on his back.
Lee laughs. "Enthusiastic much, Freddy?"
"Only a little," says Fred, and he pulls out his wand, grinning dangerously.
Lee pales. "Where did you get that?" he asks.
"You think you and my father were the only ones clever enough to nick things from Filch's desk? I can get around a muggle lock, Lee."
"I thought the honor system would keep you--"
"Honest?" says Fred. "Do you know who raised me?"
"I'm also well acquainted with your mum."
Fred grins. "I'll give it back tomorrow. I promise. This is just for tonight. Just for this."
"Just for this," Lee repeats, and his voice has gone a little stiff.
Suddenly, it's clear to Fred that Lee hasn't banned magic from his house to keep the muggles from growing suspicious. He has banished magic from his life entirely. The long list of things that Fred still doesn't know about Lee seems insurmountable now.
"I thought it might save us some time," says Fred carefully. It's like fucking on eggshells, he thinks, not knowing exactly how Lee and magic parted ways. It could have been boredom, or maybe something sinister. It could have been the war. But the wand is out all ready and Fred is going to use it. He charms away their clothes.
Lee's shoulders sink into the mattress and he chuckles, reaching up to run his hands up the plane of Fred's stomach. "You stole your wand back just for that?"
"Not only for that," says Fred, and he casts a spell. As he reaches down to grip the base of his own erection which, he's noticed, has sprung to attention much more quickly than Lee's, the spell ensures that Lee will feel the same thing.
The sharp intake of breath through Lee's parted lips tells Fred that it's working. He lets go, shimmies down Lee's body, rubs his prick lightly over the inside of Lee's thigh as he lowers his head.
"You miss this," Fred breathes, his lips ghosting over Lee's chest, over the winding tattoo that curls around the place where Fred can hear Lee's heartbeat.
"Magic?" Lee says, panting. "Hell, yes. I miss it. Freddy, please."
Fred whispers a spell and tiny sparks dance up the inside of Lee's thigh. They twirl a dancing stream of light around his balls, and Lee shudders all over. Then the light spirals up his cock, now fully erect and gorgeous, and Lee throws his hands up over his head, laughing breathlessly.
"Brilliant," he rasps.
"I know," says Fred, unable to stop grinning. "Isn't it, though? Lee, you look so good like this."
"Like what?"
"All spread out naked and at my mercy."
"Fuck all, Freddy. When did you grow up and get so hot?"
Fred closes his teeth around Lee's nipple, tugging gently. He sucks on it, grinding his prick against Lee's thigh. Lee's hips gyrate in a constant circle beneath him.
"Why did you leave magic behind?" Fred asks, kissing his way up to the hollow at the base of Lee's throat, then dragging his tongue across it.
"Ancient history." Lee's voice sounds like rain on gravel.
"When, then?" says Fred, sucking and licking his way up Lee's throat. He wants so badly to make Lee come apart for him that he forces himself to be bold.
"After the wedding," says Lee. "No more questions, Freddy. Fuck."
The tip of Fred's cock slides over the base of Lee's as his mouth reaches Lee's ear, and Fred finds himself in agreement with Lee's request. He has more important things to care about right now, and as Lee's strong hand squeezes their pricks together, the sparks of light encircling them both, Fred cries out and nearly collapses.
~@~@~@~
Later, in bed, they are both breathless, exhausted and sweaty, and after a lengthy silence, the mood grows cool. Lee can do that, somehow, change the mood of an entire room without saying a word. Fred finds it amazing and infuriating and terrifying all at once. This time, it leaves Fred feeling neglected. Until Lee speaks.
"You were right," Lee says, rolling away from Fred. "I used to fuck your uncle."
"I know."
"That's not why I'm fucking you."
"I know that too," says Fred. And he does.
"You're nothing like him."
"None of this is news, Lee."
"But you haven't heard me say it before."
"I have now."
"That's all I wanted."
And the air between them is warmer, just like that. Fred rolls onto his side and curls behind Lee, wrapping an arm around his middle, nuzzling through the long dreadlocks until he finds bare skin to kiss. Lee hums contentedly.
"Are you falling in love with me, Lee?"
"No, Freddy. No chance of that."
"Because I'm too young for you?"
"Because your star's not lit yet, kid."
Fred is not quite sure what that's supposed to mean. "I'm a pretty good fuck, though, all the same."
"Yeah, and modest too," says Lee, twisting his neck to turn his head back, watching Fred out of the corner of his eye.
"I learned from the best," says Fred.
That one-sided smile creeps over Lee's face, his left eye crinkling with merriment. "That you did."
~@~@~@~
Fred's mother has taken Roxie to Diagon Alley for school supplies (Fred picked up his own after he got off work at his dad's shop earlier in the week) and Fred and Lee are all alone in the house. His parents' house. It makes him feel juvenile.
"So," Lee is sprawled out in the corner arm chair, one leg draped up over the side, "any plans for after Hogwarts?"
Yeah, thinks Fred. I'm going to be a star.
"Nothing yet," he says instead. "I'm still considering my options."
"Ever think of coming out to L.A.?"
A light goes on inside Fred. That's all he ever thinks about.
"Sometimes."
"I'll tell you what," says Lee. "You finish your seventh year--no cutting out early like that wanker father of yours did--and in the mean time I'll see what I can put together for you. Maybe you can spend the summer at my place. Working, of course. You'll have to earn your keep. But you seem to like the spotlight, mate. I can introduce you to people, if you like. Get your foot in the door. Get you in a summer theatre program, even."
"I'll think about it," Fred says, when what he really wants to do is run to the floo and scream so loudly that everyone he knows will hear it. He's going to spend the summer with Lee Jordan. And he's going to be famous.
~@~@~@~
New York only lasts for a week and a half. Just like when he was a kid, Fred doesn't think that was nearly enough time. Lee was happier there, more relaxed. Back in L.A., he's harder to gauge. He's more impatient with the entourage now, with his agent, his publicist, anyone who needs to ask him questions or give him advice.
Everyone except Fred. Lee's anger takes place at a distance now, and it's directed toward other people, but it still makes Fred feel distant. Fred hasn't moved into the big bedroom here. Not like in New York. Lee hasn't asked and Fred hasn't brought it up. So when they do finish fucking in there, and Fred barely has the energy left to fall asleep, he makes sure he's up in the morning before Lee, under the pretense of slipping down to the kitchen to make coffee.
Tonight is another party, but it wasn't Lee's idea. These things snowball, sometimes, like one of those teen movies, where the kid asks a few friends over when his parents are gone, and suddenly the house is crawling with people and alcohol and loud music. Lee played a crazy DJ in one of those movies, early in his career. Fred likes to mock him for it when Lee's mood is good. Fred pushes his way through the crowds, past the tall girls made even taller by their spike-heeled sandals, past the clumps of boisterous, vacant-eyed pretty people, and he's almost reached the bar when the silence begins to spread out over the party like a fog.
Lee is standing in the middle of that great expanse of quiet, standing there and looking down into one of the bathrooms. Cole, the arsehole from the pool, is standing just inside the door, staring Lee down defiantly. There's a needle on the floor, and another in the sink, and a girl, half out of her dress, sitting in the tub. Even Fred knows what's going on here. Lee is speaking to Cole in a low, dangerous voice, but Cole isn't impressed. He smirks at the girl, blows Lee off.
"Whatever, man."
In the next few seconds, Lee is through the doorway, his fists twisting in Cole's open shirt.
"You don't bring that shit into my house and you don't ever come back here!" Lee slams Cole against the wall again and Fred can hear Cole's teeth clacking together at the impact. Lee reaches for his back pocket, the move so quick that it has to be instinctive, and while everyone else crowded around the bathroom door seems to think he's going for a muggle weapon, Fred realizes that Lee is reaching for his wand.
It isn't there, of course. Lee hasn't carried a wand in twenty years, to Fred's knowledge. Lee freezes with that hand behind his back, growling in Cole's face.
"That's enough, Lee. He's got the message." Fred speaks from a distance, Lee's ferocity unnerving him.
Lee drops Cole, cussing him out under his breath, and turns around. "Party over," he says. "Move on. Freddy, find someone to clean this shit up."
And then he pushes past Fred, and is gone.
~@~@~@~
At four in the morning, everyone is gone, and Fred wanders down to the living room. Lee is lying on his back on the couch. His eyes are bloodshot and he's staring at the glass wall that overlooks the beach.
"A game show," he says, so abruptly that Fred staggers on the steps. "I've got a whole fucking room full of fucking awards and they want me to host a fucking game show." He's scowling, breathing heavily through his nose. "What the fuck is that?"
Fred's never shied away from curse words before, but the venom in Lee's voice makes him cringe. If Lee didn't know he was there, he'd want to run away. This is one of those times he thinks he could forget that he ever wanted to be famous. This is the other end of it, Fred thinks, the downhill slope, and he never wants to see it first hand.
He doesn't want to watch Lee skidding down it, either.
"Well?" Lee says impatiently. He's leaning off the couch now, his head hanging over the arm so he's looking at Fred upside down.
Fred scratches his eyebrow. He's tired of this. Tired of Lee's incomprehensible mood swings. Tired of this shiny, plastic house.
"Let's go back to New York, Lee."
"Why?"
"You're happier there."
"I am, yeah?" Lee closes his eyes. "I like New York."
"Then let's go. You only get like this in L.A."
"I can't go to New York. We start shooting in a few days."
"You're doing it?" Fred says. "You're doing the bloody game show? Weren't you just saying it's shite?"
"It's a fucking slap in the face is what it is," Lee says.
"Then why are you doing it?"
"I've gotta be somebody, Freddy." Lee's looking at him again, his eyes pleading with Fred to make him stop talking. But Fred doesn't want to stop him. He wants Lee to learn how to stop on his own. "Who am I gonna be if I don't do it? You know how long it's been since I've seen a fucking script? Even a piece of fucking garbage? My fucking agent doesn't even fucking call me back but once a month, to tell me he's got nothing. Who'm I gonna be if I let that go on?"
"You'll be Lee, you idiot," Fred says, and he doesn't care if this does make Lee send him home. He'd rather be home than watch this same movie of Lee's pathetic life play out over and over in front of him. "You fucking idiot. And you'll still be somebody to me. But you don't care about that, do you?"
Lee's mouth is frozen, half-open, he's reaching for words now. Fred leaves before he has the chance to say something else.
~@~@~@~
The portkey to Romania makes Fred sick to his stomach. He's out of practice now. But Charlie was prompt in sending it when he got Fred's owl, probably imagining an emergency far worse than Fred's pathetic crisis of the heart. Now Charlie is standing in front of a thorny, menacing hedge that edges the Ironbelly fledglings' enclosure. He snaps away at the thick branches with a massive pair of shears, cutting back the new growth. Fred stretches out in the grass, tilts his head back to face the sun. He thinks the sun here in Romania is an entirely different star than the one that shines over L.A.
"So, what can I do for you, mate?" asks Charlie after the silence has stretched on for some time.
"What happened at the wedding?" says Fred.
"Ask your mum."
"I have. She won't tell me anything."
"Then ask your dad."
"Uncle Charlie. I'm not stupid. Do you think I would have taken three bloody portkeys to get to Romania if I could have just asked my dad?"
Charlie sets down the shears and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"No one wants to think about the war anymore, Fred," Charlie says. "It's been over a long time. Everybody's working on their happily ever afters now."
"Except Lee."
Charlie sits down in the grass beside him.
"Fred, are you getting tangled up with Lee?" asks Charlie.
"I'm his assistant," says Fred, shrugging, trying to sound light about it.
"You don't belong there, Fred. You want to do whatever it is that Lee went off to do? Lemme help you. He's not the only one who knows people," says Charlie. "I still have a few old Quidditch contacts. Meghan McCormack, she manages Portree now. She's got to know someone in the press box."
"Lee's an actor now," Fred says quietly. "A very famous one. You really ought to get out more, Charlie."
Charlie snorts. "Okay. It was a shallow attempt. Fred, I know guys like Lee. I've shagged guys like Lee. Lots of them." Fred will never cease to be struck by how comfortable Charlie is talking about sex with just anyone. "They're pretty and wild and good in bed and it's fun. But if you're looking for more than fun..."
"I'm nineteen, Charlie. Why would I want more than fun?"
"Yeah, you're nineteen. And you're living in his world, Fred. Not yours. That right there makes it more serious than you think."
"What happened at the wedding, Charlie?"
Charlie presses both hands to his forehead. "You're not gonna let this go?"
"Nuh-uh."
"All right." And Charlie starts to talk.
~@~@~@~
"And he's not... He's not comin' back. And that's why..." Lee trails off, staggers a few too many steps to the left and falls against a table stacked with gifts, knocking boxes to the ground. "Tha's why..." He slams his hand down on the table. "You know, I think fucking is prob'ly a good way to deal with grief. In't that right, Georgie? Unless the one you're fucking is one of the dead ones. Then you've got nothin'. Hey, Angie." She's sobbing now, and Lee can't quite figure out why, but he's trying to make it better. "You're so pretty, Angie. Beautiful bride you make. George, he'll appreciate your pretty... prettiness. What--Hey, Charlie."
Lee looks glassy-eyed into Charlie Weasley's stern glare.
"C'mon, mate," Charlie says quietly. "Speech is over."
"M'not done," Lee says, and Charlie's fighting him for the megaphone now, winning easily.
"You're done, Lee."
And Lee sees Bill standing on the other side of the platform.
"S'go," says Charlie and the two eldest Weasley boys half-carry him down the stairs and out of the tent.
Lee vomits in the grass. The music inside the tent starts again.
He doesn't go back.
~@~@~@~
When Fred wakes up, Lee is standing in the doorway.
"Let's go to New York."
Fred's eyes are still raw from too little sleep and he blinks hard as he tries to focus. "What?"
"You and me," says Lee. "New York."
"Right now?" Fred yawns. "Don't you start shooting that game show this week?"
"I quit."
"You what?" Fred looks at the clock. It's 8 in the morning. "Are you out of your mind?"
Lee just grins and comes to sit at the foot of the bed.
"You were right, Freddy. I'm happier in New York."
"Then go."
"I want you to come, too. I'm selling this place. I'm not coming back to L.A."
Fred presses both hands to his forehead. "Lee. You and I both know that's not going to happen."
"Why not? Because I've never done it before?" Lee shakes his head. "That's not me anymore. I'm a new man."
"Since last night?" Fred sits all the way up and stretches his arms overhead. "You're a completely different Lee overnight? Really."
"Really!" says Lee, and his utter enthusiasm makes him sound closer to fifteen than to forty. It makes him sound like he's still Fred's hero.
Fred feels like a parent, giving in to an excited child. He feels like his mum must have felt when she gave him her blessing to stay with Lee.
"All right," he says, smiling with just one corner of his mouth. "We'll go."
~@~@~@~
Lee gets agitated on the plane but Fred is able, for the most part, to talk him down. Things will be all right in New York, Fred promises.
And they are.
Lee starts doing theatre again, something he enjoyed when he first arrived from England, when he realized that broadcasting wasn't all he wanted to do. Fred starts reading for parts, too, and though the one he finally gets is for a play that no one has ever heard of, performed in a cramped room in some building's basement, he's starting to feel like maybe he's on to something here. Maybe he doesn't want to run back home after all. Maybe he likes it for more than just the imagined adulation.
September rolls around and Fred writes home to tell them he's staying. He can almost hear the scolding his father is sure to get.
Lee is working hard on an off Broadway show that runs through early December. Fred only leaves his side for auditions, though their relationship (which is how Fred thinks of it in his head; he's not ready to use the word in front of Lee) is not public knowledge. Fred thinks maybe he likes it better that way. With this new show, Lee's agent is talking come back, and that means media scrutiny among other personal discomforts. It means telling his parents that he's sleeping with his dad's best friend. That maybe it's even more than that. Being famous: not as simple as Fred once expected it to be.
Fred goes to Central Park every morning while the sun is still low in the sky to sit in the frosty grass and let the cold dampness seep into his trousers. It makes him shiver to the bone and reminds him that he's still alive, that L.A. didn't turn him into some artificial, sunshine-drenched automaton like the rest of Lee's entourage, the ones who stayed behind. It probably makes him look a little crazy, but Fred is nearly famous, and maybe that's an excuse for eccentricity after all. The thought of that makes him wonder if, back in L.A., he was too hard on Lee. He's better now, here in New York, and Fred is the one who did that for him. Fred is the one who saved him.
Mostly saved him. Sometimes Lee is still just Lee.
They're sitting deep inside a cafe in Soho when Lee says, "Maybe I should start collecting art."
Fred rolls his head back and exhales.
"What?" Lee looks genuinely hurt.
"Again, Lee? This is what we came to New York for? So you could take up an art collection?" Fred gets to his feet. They have a method of dealing with this now, these times when Lee starts to get restless, wants to self destruct. "Home," he says. "Home now."
Lee looks like he wants to argue, but he stands, and walks out of the cafe, Fred following on his heels.
Back at the apartment, Fred rolls Lee onto his back on the big bed, and Lee lets him. He lets Fred undress him, slowly and deliberately and without magic. He lets Fred hold him down and fuck himself on Lee's cock until they're both dizzy with exhaustion and dehydration. And then he lets Fred summon the water pitcher from the kitchen--they keep wands around the apartment now, for convenience mostly--and pour him a drink.
Today Fred is feeling bold, and a little cocky, and he is ready to know where he stands. Even if Lee is not yet ready to tell him.
"You know," says Fred, "for a while there, I didn't know if I wanted to be you, or if I wanted to be with you." Maybe he shouldn't have led in with something that sounded so much like an insult.
Lee shakes his head. "You're better off with neither."
"You don't get to decide how I'm better off, Lee."
"You decided how I'm better off," Lee says, barely grinning. "And you were right. I'm not a good choice for anybody, Freddy."
Fred sighs. "Jesus Christ. Do you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?" As long as it's already out in the air between them, he doesn't see how he can make it any worse. And then he hears the next words rolling off his lips. "You weren't there when he died. I get that. We all get that, Lee. It was over twenty fucking years ago. Move the fuck on, already!"
Lee is silent for a few breaths. Fred can hear his own heart beating. He's pretty sure he can hear Lee's too. And then, what Fred isn't expecting. Lee laughs.
It's a hard, empty sound. Lee shakes his head and long dreadlocks flop off his shoulders.
"I am way too old for you, kid," he says suddenly.
"I know that already," says Fred. "Practically decrepit, you are."
"Hey now, that's pushing your luck."
"You're the one who said it."
"And you're supposed to argue."
"Oh." Fred smiles. "That's what this is, then. You're going through the motions. And I'm supposed to do the same thing. And then what? We get to be all happily ever after?"
"Or not," says Lee. "Look. Freddy. I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't think you can find it here. I'm only going to hold you back. We're in completely different places."
"Not right now," says Fred. "Right now we're both in the same city, in the same apartment, in the same bed. Can't this just be what it is, for as long as... As long as we want it to be?"
Lee looks over at Fred, draws one fingertip down his cheek. "You got your mum's brains too, kid. Lucky, that."
Fred grins. That's close enough to an answer. The sun is starting to set, the ceiling turning orange in the early evening glow. Lee looks back up at that gloaming light.
"Are you falling in love with me yet, Lee?"
Lee's breath is deep, and his broad chest rises and falls in the bedroom shadows.
"Yeah, Freddy. I guess I am."
"Mmm." Fred is tired now. He doesn't realize how tired he is until Lee answers the question. "Good."
[END]
hp_nextgen_fest reveals have been posted! I have been dying for that. You know how sometimes you just fall in love with the characters you're writing and you never want to stop? THAT is how I felt about this fic. In a lot of ways, it feels very unfinished to me because there was so much more I wanted to add and flesh out, but at the same time I think I got across what I wanted to say. It's no secret that Lee Jordan is my favorite minor character in the HP books (edging out Charlie Weasley by just the slightest bit, but there you have it), and when I saw a Lee prompt listed for the fest, I had to jump all over it. I would love to continue with this at some point.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Spotlight
Pairing: Lee Jordan/Fred Weasley II
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~8700
Warnings: This is cross-gen. Lee is around 40 and Fred is about 19. Passing mention of drug use.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Making no money.
Summary: After the war, Lee left the wizarding world behind to become a celebrity in the Muggle world. Twenty years later, Fred sets out to follow in his footsteps.
A/N: Thanks to
ellensmithee for the beta. Lee's more than a little drunk, but he can't deliver a speech that should belong to Fred without the warm blush of three-too-many martinis pumping through his veins.
"Here, here!" He raises his magical megaphone over his head as everyone quiets down. He looks out over the crowd. The empty chairs are so conspicuous. Why are there so goddamn many chairs? It's as if he can only see the people who are missing. The rest of the crowd is just white noise.
"I'm not s'posed to be up here right now. But I don't think that's news to anyone here. And if I'm all about anything, it's bringin' the news, yeah? So instead of your traditional toast, which," he waves his finger vaguely toward the clouds, "which is yours, Fred, I'm gonna tell everybody here somethin' they don't know."
He glances over at Angelina, her eyes wide as she drives her elbow into George's side.
~@~@~@~
"Angie," says George, "it's only two months. And it's Lee."
She rolls over in bed, brushing long braids away from her face so she can look at him.
"That's exactly why I don't want him to go. It's Lee. Don't smile at me like that. Don't pretend I don't know what kind of trouble he gets into. I've known Lee Jordan longer than you have."
"What if Roxie goes with him?"
"What? No! Absolutely not."
"Fine. Maybe we can convince him to study dragons in Romania instead."
"Honestly, George? I would prefer it."
"After all the things you've said about Charlie!"
"Oh, don't put it like that. I like Charlie. But you know as well as I do that Fred was too young to spend that summer with your brother. With his... reputation."
George's lips curl up on one side. "He does like to shag around."
"Yes. Fred was entirely too young. But he's of age now and I trust him to make good decisions."
"Except when Lee is involved."
"Except when Lee is involved," she says. "And it's not that I don't trust Fred. I just... don't want him exposed to that."
"To what? All the money? The fame?"
Angelina gets very quiet. "The war."
George flops onto his back and douses the light. He takes off the prosthetic ear he wears where his real ear used to be, sets it on his dresser beside his wand.
"The war's been over for 20 years, Angie. Lee's better now. We're all better now."
She slides her hand up his chest, fingertips grazing his throat, and traces that awful hole in his head. He shivers.
"Most of us are better now," she says, and she kisses the corner of his mouth. "And I want to protect my baby."
"Let him see a bit of the world, Angie."
"George--"
"Angie. The boy's got your good looks and your brains. He can handle himself."
This time she's quiet for so long that he thinks she's fallen asleep.
"Fine."
George wrenches himself upright. "Fine? As in, yes? He can go?"
"He can go. It's not as if I could really stop him anyway, and I'd rather he go with my blessing than without it."
"Can I tell him?"
"In the morning. Honestly, George. It's two a.m. He's been asleep for hours."
"Oh. Right. In the morning."
"But you'd better be right about Lee. I'm holding you to it."
~@~@~@~
Fred stuffs another three shirts into his already over-full rucksack and tries to pull it closed. He was heading to Los Angeles whether his mother liked it or not, but it's so much better with her on board. Two years ago she'd nixed his planned trip to Romania, which had left Fred nearly despondent at the thought of his virginity becoming a permanent condition. (Luckily, that problem was solved with Iris Montague in the prefects bathroom the following year.)
His mother, unfortunately, seemed to have figured out that the whole point of going to Romania was for Fred to get laid, and she'd forbidden the trip as soon as she'd heard about it. He supposes the plan was a little obvious. Fred cares as much about working with dragons as he does about Arithmancy, or Divination, or Puking Pastilles, and everyone knows it. Charlie is cool, but, in Fred's opinion, he's also stark raving mad. He could have played Quidditch for England. He could have been famous. Instead he went off to the Middle-of-Nowhere, Romania, and set up shop on a dragon farm. Sanctuary. Whatever. The point is that nobody knows who Charlie Weasley is. That isn't going to be the case with Fred.
He slings the rucksack over his shoulder, and doesn't look back at the Pride of Portree banners on his walls, doesn't look back at the crooked blinds hanging brokenly over the window above his desk. His parents think he's coming home in a few weeks, but Fred knows it will be longer than that. Fred's plans are much bigger. The next time he comes home, people are going to know who Fred Weasley is. He's not going to be that kid who works at the joke shop anymore.
~@~@~@~
"Roxie Hart!" Lee says, and Roxanne bounds into his arms. The first time they visited him in New York, three years ago, Lee took them to see Chicago, and Roxanne fell in love. She sang the songs for months. She still writes her name as Roxie with a little heart over the i. Lee has been calling her 'Roxie Hart' ever since.
Some of Fred's cousins worship the ground Harry Potter walks on, and the rest (the ones unfortunate enough to actually be Harry's children) idolize Quidditch stars or popular wizarding bands, but Fred's hero is Lee Jordan, a man who hasn't been part of the wizarding world for over twenty years.
Lee moved to New York before Fred was born, sometime after the war, and took a job in muggle broadcasting. The way he tells it, someone took a liking to his face and told him about an audition for something called a soap opera. Fred's father tells him that acting came natural to Lee--something he attributes to his own influence, and that of his brother, swearing they were the ones who taught Lee to lie with a straight face when they were first years--and after that the work came regularly. A little stage work, a bit part in a movie here or there, and eventually he got a break.
Lee is famous now. 'Only in the muggle world', James is quick to point out. But famous is famous to Fred, and Lee crossed oceans and worlds to get there. Just thinking about it makes Fred feel like anything is possible. Like there are things out there better than magic.
Lee's apartment in New York is huge, and on one side of the building all of the walls are glass. Fred thinks he must be able to see the whole city from where he's standing, but Lee tells him that's just a little part of it. Fred's mum murmurs that this place is far too big for one man, far too expensive to be decent, but Fred thinks it's perfect. Fred wants all this, and more. He's just finished his third year at Hogwarts, and the idea of waiting out the next four years makes him crazy.
Roxie is in the other room belting out the Cellblock Tango, and Fred's mother is pouring herself a glass of wine. Lee and Fred's father are laughing raucously at the bar. Fred doesn't think one week is going to be long enough at all.
~@~@~@~
When Fred arrives in L.A., Lee's not at the airport to pick him up. He sends someone else in a big muggle car with cool air blowing out of the vents and a wet bar. It's the coolest thing Fred has ever seen. Maybe his grandfather has a point about muggles and their gadgets.
Lee's house is all white, with glass everywhere, and a balcony that wraps around the entire upstairs. It looks new, and shiny, like the plastic case that holds an expensive toy, a muggle space ship, maybe, or something robotic. When Fred steps out of the car, even the concrete beneath his feet glistens in the sun like plastic.
Lee steps out of the front doors, holds out both hands, and laughs. Fred wants to run to him, but he doesn't because he knows that would make him look like a child.
"Finally," says Lee. "A competent assistant. Or so your dad would have me believe."
"I haven't even interviewed yet," says Fred. "Isn't that nepotism?"
"First off, we're not related." Lee ushers Fred inside. "And second, I've known you your whole life, Freddy. Believe me, you'll work harder than all those other idiots I've tried to hire for the past year. Half those morons couldn't find their own dicks with both hands."
Fred grins and shakes his head. "Right, well. At least that's something I'm good at." His laugh is a little hollow, as if the joke didn't translate as well as he'd hoped.
Lee is silent for a few seconds, because he's staring at Fred, just watching him smile, and Fred's expression fades as his stomach fills with nervous humming. Lee grins again.
"Come on," he says. "Your room's got a great view. Wait till you see it."
~@~@~@
When Fred has finished unpacking and comes down the stairs--which feels like an event, the way they sprawl out over the foyer--Lee is waiting for him.
"Come into my study," Lee says, and he chuckles. Lee understands the absurdity of possessing a room he refers to as his study.
Fred follows him in, watches as Lee closes the double doors.
"No magic here," says Lee, and he holds his hand out, palm up. "There's always someone watching in this place. It brings up too many questions."
"Uh, right," says Fred, and he looks over each shoulder before sliding his wand from his sleeve and handing it over.
"Thanks, mate." Lee unlocks the desk drawer with a small round key, tucking the wand safely inside.
Lee is beautiful. This is something Fred has always known but never consciously recognized as an adult. He recognizes it now, though. Standing here, so close to Lee's dazzling smile, to his broad, friendly face, and his glittering dark eyes, Fred can't help but see it. And it makes him feel impossibly young and out of place. Lee leads him over to the wet bar, and Fred realizes he's seen one in every room he has entered at Lee's place.
Beneath the bar is a small refrigerator, and Lee reaches inside to pull out two beers.
"Technically, I'm not supposed to let you drink here," Lee says, pressing the beer into Fred's hand. "But I'm not telling if you don't."
Fred just stares at the bottle for a moment, frowning at the cap.
"Oh, right," says Lee. "You don't have your wand." He flashes a metal contraption suddenly and flicks the top off. "There you are, mate. Drink up."
Fred takes a long swig of the beer and grins. "Dad's right. The American stuff is shite."
Lee laughs. The sound is throaty and deep and makes Fred's stomach tighten. He watches Lee drink from his own bottle and swallows reflexively.
~@~@~@~
Fred learns pretty fast that Lee can drink hard when he parties, though he doesn't particularly seem to like it. Whether it's the party or the alcohol fueling his ambivalence, or both, Fred can't quite tell. Lee's also not opposed to smoking the occasional joint, but has a strict and unyielding policy banning anything harder from the house. At first, Fred wonders if this is Angelina's doing, but it quickly becomes clear that everyone who knows Lee, everyone who walks through that door, is familiar with how Lee feels about it.
They swarm Lee like insects on a daily basis, and Fred calls them "the entourage" in his head. If he was clever like Lee, he'd have come up with something better, but he's watching Lee's every move so closely these days that it should only be a matter of time before he can fake that kind of cleverness. This is what he wants: to be Lee, to crawl into the other man's skin, into his life, and soak up the brilliant halo glow of fame.
Fred glances at the mirror and sees himself as he is now: too much curly hair, a too broad smile that makes him look too young. Lee and his entourage are standing in the corner of the frame, but in Fred's mind, they take up the whole picture. Lee always looks good. Fred has never seen Lee looking like he couldn't just step in front of a camera. He supposes that's what Lee is prepared for all the time.
The entourage moves in a solid clump. Fred thinks it's a generous assessment that they share one brain between them. They're a constant thrumming sound that makes Fred's temples vibrate. Lee doesn't seem to think much better of them. They always want something, and they cling to Lee's pool and game room and refrigerator like barnacles. Fred can imagine a time when Lee enjoyed the attention. Maybe it was a time before they became these parasites. Maybe they really were individual people once.
A few of the blokes who hang around Lee's place regularly are all right, but Fred doesn't want to get to know them. Nels and James and Choke (Fred is ninety percent certain that's not his real name) are friendly enough, and even do a bit of looking out for him, but Fred isn't here to make friends with the hangers-on, even the ones who steer clear of the entourage. He's not one of them. And he's not going to let himself get sucked into that.
Tonight, however, he's doing shots with them, and fast discovering that he can't hold his own with this group. First there was vodka, then tequila, and now they've moved on to something a little fruity, but Fred doesn't have enough sense to even discern what it is. The room is underwater, distorted, and Fred can see the blokes laughing, but it's all in slow motion. When he falls--and he's pretty sure that he's just tripped over his own foot--he's standing behind the raised bar, and in his desperate scramble for balance, he takes down a half dozen wine bottles, spilling them over the opposite side of the bar, wine splattering on tile and carpet and over shattered glass.
Every noise at the party, the deafening buzz of the entourage and their 'friends', the chatter of Lee's famous and not-so-famous guests, it all goes dull and fuzzy, like they've all shut up at once. Even the music in the background seems distant. Fred sees Lee's shoes first, and then he slowly looks up.
"Your mum is gonna hand me my arse on a platter if you broke anything," Lee says. Then, to the others, "Clear out, mates. Take it down to the beach." He kneels beside Fred, who is trying desperately to gather his dignity as he scrambles to his knees.
"Jus' lotsa glass," Fred mumbles, reaching out to Lee's arm for support. It feels like there are a thousand people watching him. "Do I look like as much of a wanker as I think I do?"
Lee looks up at the rest of them. "TAKE IT OUTSIDE!" His voice is so loud that it's a wonder he'd ever needed a bullhorn at all, and it feels as though he's just split Fred's skull in two.
Fred groans and clings to the barstool. Slowly, grudgingly, the party makes its way through the glass doors and down to the beach.
"Sorry," Fred says, flailing blindly in Lee's direction as he tries to get up.
"Whoa, Freddy." Lee has to duck down low for Fred to swing an arm over his shoulders.
As drunk as he is, Fred still has the presence of mind to notice how strong Lee is, lifting him easily to his feet in spite of Fred's inability to support his own weight.
"Thank I... Think I drank so much."
Lee chuckles against the top of Fred's head, which has lolled onto Lee's chest. They're moving slowly toward Lee's room, and Fred thinks this is like one of those dreams where the doorway keeps getting further away, no matter how fast you're running toward it.
"Too much," says Lee. "And yeah, I reckon you did."
Fred's eyes roll back until he can see Lee's chin. "Did you use'ta have sex m'uncle?"
"Inappropriate line of questioning, mate," says Lee, his tone clipped. They're taking wide, sweeping steps now, Fred's legs following along lazily, like a marionette.
"Sorry. Drunk."
"Yes, you are."
Fred is airborne now, only for a blurry second, and then he lands with a bounce on the bed.
"Soft."
Lee laughs again. Fred smiles a stupid, drunk smile and flops onto his back, as if he's rolling around in the sound of Lee's voice.
"Get sick in my bed and your arse is fired, got that?"
Fred's arm shoots up from the bed and he gives Lee a thumbs up.
"Now get some sleep, Freddy. You're gonna feel this one in the morning. Muggles don't have a cure for hangovers."
~@~@~@~
Three weeks after his arrival, Fred hears the shouting from Lee's office for the first time. Lee is on the phone with his agent; Fred knows this because he took the call. It's not going well. Most of what Lee is saying is unintelligible through the heavy wooden door, but Fred can sift out a variety of colorful curse words, some of which he is sure Lee has just invented on the spot, and he knows better than to enter before it's over.
The shouting continues intermittently for another ten minutes. Three times, Fred reaches for the doorknob, certain that the argument is over, and three times he catches himself just before he turns it. When the silence seems permanent, Fred opens the door and steps inside.
"Didn't ask for anything, mate," Lee says without raising his eyes from whatever he's writing at the desk.
"I know. I... Just wanted to make sure you're all right."
Lee stands abruptly and turns to the window behind the desk, now absorbed in his iphone. Fred watches Lee's thumb slide across the glossy screen.
"Lee, are you--"
"Get out. I don't need anything, Freddy. Told you that."
"I know, but I overheard--"
"Just get out." Lee doesn't even look at him.
It takes Fred a second to comply, but when Lee's iphone sails across the room, he slams the door behind him.
~@~@~@~
Lee's pool is indoors, in a tiled room with an impossibly high ceiling and long, angled skylights. There are usually people in the pool and all around it, and those people are usually girls. Some of the entourage like to hang out there too. Fred tends to avoid the pool when they are around because one of them, a raging dick called Cole, is a poolside fixture.
Tonight, there is no one else at the pool, just Fred and Lee, and Lee is floating on his back, just drifting. A good metaphor for Lee's life, Fred thinks. Floating. Untethered. Lee hasn't worked since Fred got here, save for one magazine interview over the phone, and Fred wonders if it's because Lee made it so big that he doesn't have to work anymore. That is the explanation he chooses to believe at this point in time. The truth, and he knows this somewhere in the back of his skull, is a much bleaker reality, but if Fred has learned anything from Lee over the past month, it's how to tailor reality. He wonders if even Lee can tell when he stops acting.
Lee drifts closer to Fred, then suddenly folds in half, sinking beneath the water before rising straight up, pushing his dreadlocks out of his face. Fred is staring shamelessly, watching the water wind thin rivulets down Lee's neck to the hollow at the base of his throat. He wants to lick his lips and then lick Lee's throat.
"You look hungry, Freddy." Lee's voice is even lower than usual and Fred can feel the vibration straight through to his cock.
"Maybe a little," he says, surprised by his own boldness.
For a moment, Lee looks apprehensive. At least that's what Fred thinks it looks like, because he has never seen that expression on Lee's face before. Lee, who is never unsure of himself, never second guesses, looks almost fearful. But then it is gone and the grin is back and Lee is pushing through the water until he's chest to chest with Fred. Treading water has never been so difficult for Fred. Lee watches him for a moment, and Fred thinks Lee must enjoy his visible squirming.
Fred feels something in the water, and flinches before he realizes Lee's hand is on his hip, shoving his waistband down to his thigh. Fred whimpers. Lee's smile is lazy across half his face; it's a smile that says they have all the time in the world tonight. Fred reaches down with one hand to shove the other side of his swimming trunks down, and he wriggles them down his legs, kicking them away.
Lee is holding Fred's shoulders now, pushing him back toward the side of he pool. He turns Fred around and presses him up against the wall. Fred crosses his arms over the edge. Then he feels Lee's cock, thick and hard against the cleft of his arse, the tip butting up against the small of his back. Fred whimpers again, pushes back. Lee's hands are strong and soft on his shoulders, they slide down his arms slowly, Lee's fingers splayed over the curve of muscle and tendon.
Fred rubs himself against Lee, pulling up on the edge of the pool, Lee's cock sliding down the cleft of his arse. He's been with a few blokes, of course, but no one like Lee. No one grown and confident and, if he's to be honest with himself, fucking intimidating. Lee reaches down, pushes his cock out of the way and presses one fingertip to Fred's hole. Fred bites his bottom lip, crosses his arms over the poolside and spreads his legs wider.
"Fuck, yeah," Lee says, husky and gruff, his fingertip is inside now, and his other arm wrapped around Fred's chest.
Lee's lips on Fred's shoulder are searing hot, the trail of kisses burning a path to the side of his throat. Fred tilts his head. Two fingers now, and Fred murmurs nonsense, cursing and begging and wanting. Lee is slow and merciless, and by the time he pushes inside, reaches around to grip the base of Fred's cock, it's nearly over for Fred. A few strokes from Lee's strong hand, a few slow, hard thrusts of his cock at just the right angle, and Fred is clawing at the tiles, a broken cry bouncing off the walls as he shoots.
Lee is holding on like Fred is a life preserver, and the water sloshes over the edge of the pool.
"I'm glad you came," Lee whispers, his lips warm and wet on the shell of Fred's ear.
Fred's arse is still stretched open deliciously around Lee's cock, and Fred rides him a few more time before replying.
"Me too."
"I don't do this with all my personal assistants, you know."
"Hope not," says Fred, and he wants to say more, but the words fade into grunts, and the splash of water over the edge of the pool swallows any other sound.
Lee's lips travel back down to one of Fred's shoulders and then the other, and then Lee is shuddering against him, and everything inside Fred goes hot and trembling as Lee comes. Lee kisses the base of his neck and then pulls away. Fred doesn't remember the water being so cold before.
"Pack a bag in the morning," says Lee, swimming to the ladder. "We're going to New York."
"Why?" says Fred.
Lee is already out of the pool, patting his dreadlocks with a towel as he walks away naked. "Change of scenery," he calls back over his shoulder, and he laughs.
~@~@~@~
"You can't hold what happened at the wedding against him forever, Angie. He was grieving."
"So were you. Fred was your brother."
"Yeah, and he was Lee's..." George sighs. "He wasn't there when it happened. Even Percy got to be there. Lee was on the other side of the castle. He didn't even know."
"We all lost somebody that day, George." Angelina pulls the small bundle in her arms closer, offering her breast.
"And it wasn't the same for any of us. Different strokes and all," George says. "I want him to see the baby."
She nods. "All right. But Ron's still his godfather. You're not changing that."
"Of course I'm not changing that! Ron's my brother." George smiles finally. "Well, until Mum and Dad finally own up and admit he's adopted."
~@~@~@~
The first time they go to New York, Fred gets sick on the plane. He's never flown by muggle methods before and he aches for his broomstick. He needs to be in control of the flight.
When he gets back to his seat, pale green and shaking, Lee laughs and rubs his back and tells him to suck it up. There are a lot of flights in his future. Fred smiles wanly and buries his head between his legs.
Lee still has the same place in New York that Fred remembers from his childhood. The furniture has changed, but everything else is the same. When they carry their bags inside, Fred looks down the hall, toward the room he used to share with Roxie when they were kids.
"Where're you going?" Lee says, looking amused.
"I, uh, I thought... The room we used to..." Fred trails off. "Obviously that's not the plan."
Lee just grins, and throws open the door behind him, as if he's staged it this way, and Fred realizes he'll be staying in Lee's room.
Lee's room with its absurdly large bed and heavily draped windows and fully stocked bar. Lee's room, where Fred will be sleeping in the same bed as Lee.
"Well, come on then," Lee says, throwing one of his bags onto the bed. "Let's get to the unpacking."
Lee orders Chinese take away, enough food for fifteen people, and soon the empty fridge is full of leftovers. They sprawl out on the couch and Lee puts in one of his movies, wisecracking non-stop until the credits finish rolling.
When it's over, Lee gets to his feet, tugs on Fred's arm. "Bed."
"It's not even ten o'clock!" says Fred. They're in New York, after all, and Fred has been hoping that Lee was planning to take him to one of those bars he used to visit with Fred's dad into the small hours of the morning on their all too infrequent visits here.
"Believe me," says Lee, "it'll be worth it." And he disappears into the hall.
It takes Fred a minute to follow, as the slow realization that this trip might just be about them, and not only about Lee, takes root. But once he's on his feet, he runs to the bedroom, not caring that he looks like an impulsive idiot, because Lee wants him, alone and here in the apartment Fred has coveted for as long as he can remember, and he doesn't want to waste that by sitting on the couch ruminating.
He stops briefly at his suitcase, slipping something out of the front pocket. Lee is sitting on the bed. Fred tackles him, landing astride Lee's lap and knocking the bigger man down on his back.
Lee laughs. "Enthusiastic much, Freddy?"
"Only a little," says Fred, and he pulls out his wand, grinning dangerously.
Lee pales. "Where did you get that?" he asks.
"You think you and my father were the only ones clever enough to nick things from Filch's desk? I can get around a muggle lock, Lee."
"I thought the honor system would keep you--"
"Honest?" says Fred. "Do you know who raised me?"
"I'm also well acquainted with your mum."
Fred grins. "I'll give it back tomorrow. I promise. This is just for tonight. Just for this."
"Just for this," Lee repeats, and his voice has gone a little stiff.
Suddenly, it's clear to Fred that Lee hasn't banned magic from his house to keep the muggles from growing suspicious. He has banished magic from his life entirely. The long list of things that Fred still doesn't know about Lee seems insurmountable now.
"I thought it might save us some time," says Fred carefully. It's like fucking on eggshells, he thinks, not knowing exactly how Lee and magic parted ways. It could have been boredom, or maybe something sinister. It could have been the war. But the wand is out all ready and Fred is going to use it. He charms away their clothes.
Lee's shoulders sink into the mattress and he chuckles, reaching up to run his hands up the plane of Fred's stomach. "You stole your wand back just for that?"
"Not only for that," says Fred, and he casts a spell. As he reaches down to grip the base of his own erection which, he's noticed, has sprung to attention much more quickly than Lee's, the spell ensures that Lee will feel the same thing.
The sharp intake of breath through Lee's parted lips tells Fred that it's working. He lets go, shimmies down Lee's body, rubs his prick lightly over the inside of Lee's thigh as he lowers his head.
"You miss this," Fred breathes, his lips ghosting over Lee's chest, over the winding tattoo that curls around the place where Fred can hear Lee's heartbeat.
"Magic?" Lee says, panting. "Hell, yes. I miss it. Freddy, please."
Fred whispers a spell and tiny sparks dance up the inside of Lee's thigh. They twirl a dancing stream of light around his balls, and Lee shudders all over. Then the light spirals up his cock, now fully erect and gorgeous, and Lee throws his hands up over his head, laughing breathlessly.
"Brilliant," he rasps.
"I know," says Fred, unable to stop grinning. "Isn't it, though? Lee, you look so good like this."
"Like what?"
"All spread out naked and at my mercy."
"Fuck all, Freddy. When did you grow up and get so hot?"
Fred closes his teeth around Lee's nipple, tugging gently. He sucks on it, grinding his prick against Lee's thigh. Lee's hips gyrate in a constant circle beneath him.
"Why did you leave magic behind?" Fred asks, kissing his way up to the hollow at the base of Lee's throat, then dragging his tongue across it.
"Ancient history." Lee's voice sounds like rain on gravel.
"When, then?" says Fred, sucking and licking his way up Lee's throat. He wants so badly to make Lee come apart for him that he forces himself to be bold.
"After the wedding," says Lee. "No more questions, Freddy. Fuck."
The tip of Fred's cock slides over the base of Lee's as his mouth reaches Lee's ear, and Fred finds himself in agreement with Lee's request. He has more important things to care about right now, and as Lee's strong hand squeezes their pricks together, the sparks of light encircling them both, Fred cries out and nearly collapses.
~@~@~@~
Later, in bed, they are both breathless, exhausted and sweaty, and after a lengthy silence, the mood grows cool. Lee can do that, somehow, change the mood of an entire room without saying a word. Fred finds it amazing and infuriating and terrifying all at once. This time, it leaves Fred feeling neglected. Until Lee speaks.
"You were right," Lee says, rolling away from Fred. "I used to fuck your uncle."
"I know."
"That's not why I'm fucking you."
"I know that too," says Fred. And he does.
"You're nothing like him."
"None of this is news, Lee."
"But you haven't heard me say it before."
"I have now."
"That's all I wanted."
And the air between them is warmer, just like that. Fred rolls onto his side and curls behind Lee, wrapping an arm around his middle, nuzzling through the long dreadlocks until he finds bare skin to kiss. Lee hums contentedly.
"Are you falling in love with me, Lee?"
"No, Freddy. No chance of that."
"Because I'm too young for you?"
"Because your star's not lit yet, kid."
Fred is not quite sure what that's supposed to mean. "I'm a pretty good fuck, though, all the same."
"Yeah, and modest too," says Lee, twisting his neck to turn his head back, watching Fred out of the corner of his eye.
"I learned from the best," says Fred.
That one-sided smile creeps over Lee's face, his left eye crinkling with merriment. "That you did."
~@~@~@~
Fred's mother has taken Roxie to Diagon Alley for school supplies (Fred picked up his own after he got off work at his dad's shop earlier in the week) and Fred and Lee are all alone in the house. His parents' house. It makes him feel juvenile.
"So," Lee is sprawled out in the corner arm chair, one leg draped up over the side, "any plans for after Hogwarts?"
Yeah, thinks Fred. I'm going to be a star.
"Nothing yet," he says instead. "I'm still considering my options."
"Ever think of coming out to L.A.?"
A light goes on inside Fred. That's all he ever thinks about.
"Sometimes."
"I'll tell you what," says Lee. "You finish your seventh year--no cutting out early like that wanker father of yours did--and in the mean time I'll see what I can put together for you. Maybe you can spend the summer at my place. Working, of course. You'll have to earn your keep. But you seem to like the spotlight, mate. I can introduce you to people, if you like. Get your foot in the door. Get you in a summer theatre program, even."
"I'll think about it," Fred says, when what he really wants to do is run to the floo and scream so loudly that everyone he knows will hear it. He's going to spend the summer with Lee Jordan. And he's going to be famous.
~@~@~@~
New York only lasts for a week and a half. Just like when he was a kid, Fred doesn't think that was nearly enough time. Lee was happier there, more relaxed. Back in L.A., he's harder to gauge. He's more impatient with the entourage now, with his agent, his publicist, anyone who needs to ask him questions or give him advice.
Everyone except Fred. Lee's anger takes place at a distance now, and it's directed toward other people, but it still makes Fred feel distant. Fred hasn't moved into the big bedroom here. Not like in New York. Lee hasn't asked and Fred hasn't brought it up. So when they do finish fucking in there, and Fred barely has the energy left to fall asleep, he makes sure he's up in the morning before Lee, under the pretense of slipping down to the kitchen to make coffee.
Tonight is another party, but it wasn't Lee's idea. These things snowball, sometimes, like one of those teen movies, where the kid asks a few friends over when his parents are gone, and suddenly the house is crawling with people and alcohol and loud music. Lee played a crazy DJ in one of those movies, early in his career. Fred likes to mock him for it when Lee's mood is good. Fred pushes his way through the crowds, past the tall girls made even taller by their spike-heeled sandals, past the clumps of boisterous, vacant-eyed pretty people, and he's almost reached the bar when the silence begins to spread out over the party like a fog.
Lee is standing in the middle of that great expanse of quiet, standing there and looking down into one of the bathrooms. Cole, the arsehole from the pool, is standing just inside the door, staring Lee down defiantly. There's a needle on the floor, and another in the sink, and a girl, half out of her dress, sitting in the tub. Even Fred knows what's going on here. Lee is speaking to Cole in a low, dangerous voice, but Cole isn't impressed. He smirks at the girl, blows Lee off.
"Whatever, man."
In the next few seconds, Lee is through the doorway, his fists twisting in Cole's open shirt.
"You don't bring that shit into my house and you don't ever come back here!" Lee slams Cole against the wall again and Fred can hear Cole's teeth clacking together at the impact. Lee reaches for his back pocket, the move so quick that it has to be instinctive, and while everyone else crowded around the bathroom door seems to think he's going for a muggle weapon, Fred realizes that Lee is reaching for his wand.
It isn't there, of course. Lee hasn't carried a wand in twenty years, to Fred's knowledge. Lee freezes with that hand behind his back, growling in Cole's face.
"That's enough, Lee. He's got the message." Fred speaks from a distance, Lee's ferocity unnerving him.
Lee drops Cole, cussing him out under his breath, and turns around. "Party over," he says. "Move on. Freddy, find someone to clean this shit up."
And then he pushes past Fred, and is gone.
~@~@~@~
At four in the morning, everyone is gone, and Fred wanders down to the living room. Lee is lying on his back on the couch. His eyes are bloodshot and he's staring at the glass wall that overlooks the beach.
"A game show," he says, so abruptly that Fred staggers on the steps. "I've got a whole fucking room full of fucking awards and they want me to host a fucking game show." He's scowling, breathing heavily through his nose. "What the fuck is that?"
Fred's never shied away from curse words before, but the venom in Lee's voice makes him cringe. If Lee didn't know he was there, he'd want to run away. This is one of those times he thinks he could forget that he ever wanted to be famous. This is the other end of it, Fred thinks, the downhill slope, and he never wants to see it first hand.
He doesn't want to watch Lee skidding down it, either.
"Well?" Lee says impatiently. He's leaning off the couch now, his head hanging over the arm so he's looking at Fred upside down.
Fred scratches his eyebrow. He's tired of this. Tired of Lee's incomprehensible mood swings. Tired of this shiny, plastic house.
"Let's go back to New York, Lee."
"Why?"
"You're happier there."
"I am, yeah?" Lee closes his eyes. "I like New York."
"Then let's go. You only get like this in L.A."
"I can't go to New York. We start shooting in a few days."
"You're doing it?" Fred says. "You're doing the bloody game show? Weren't you just saying it's shite?"
"It's a fucking slap in the face is what it is," Lee says.
"Then why are you doing it?"
"I've gotta be somebody, Freddy." Lee's looking at him again, his eyes pleading with Fred to make him stop talking. But Fred doesn't want to stop him. He wants Lee to learn how to stop on his own. "Who am I gonna be if I don't do it? You know how long it's been since I've seen a fucking script? Even a piece of fucking garbage? My fucking agent doesn't even fucking call me back but once a month, to tell me he's got nothing. Who'm I gonna be if I let that go on?"
"You'll be Lee, you idiot," Fred says, and he doesn't care if this does make Lee send him home. He'd rather be home than watch this same movie of Lee's pathetic life play out over and over in front of him. "You fucking idiot. And you'll still be somebody to me. But you don't care about that, do you?"
Lee's mouth is frozen, half-open, he's reaching for words now. Fred leaves before he has the chance to say something else.
~@~@~@~
The portkey to Romania makes Fred sick to his stomach. He's out of practice now. But Charlie was prompt in sending it when he got Fred's owl, probably imagining an emergency far worse than Fred's pathetic crisis of the heart. Now Charlie is standing in front of a thorny, menacing hedge that edges the Ironbelly fledglings' enclosure. He snaps away at the thick branches with a massive pair of shears, cutting back the new growth. Fred stretches out in the grass, tilts his head back to face the sun. He thinks the sun here in Romania is an entirely different star than the one that shines over L.A.
"So, what can I do for you, mate?" asks Charlie after the silence has stretched on for some time.
"What happened at the wedding?" says Fred.
"Ask your mum."
"I have. She won't tell me anything."
"Then ask your dad."
"Uncle Charlie. I'm not stupid. Do you think I would have taken three bloody portkeys to get to Romania if I could have just asked my dad?"
Charlie sets down the shears and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"No one wants to think about the war anymore, Fred," Charlie says. "It's been over a long time. Everybody's working on their happily ever afters now."
"Except Lee."
Charlie sits down in the grass beside him.
"Fred, are you getting tangled up with Lee?" asks Charlie.
"I'm his assistant," says Fred, shrugging, trying to sound light about it.
"You don't belong there, Fred. You want to do whatever it is that Lee went off to do? Lemme help you. He's not the only one who knows people," says Charlie. "I still have a few old Quidditch contacts. Meghan McCormack, she manages Portree now. She's got to know someone in the press box."
"Lee's an actor now," Fred says quietly. "A very famous one. You really ought to get out more, Charlie."
Charlie snorts. "Okay. It was a shallow attempt. Fred, I know guys like Lee. I've shagged guys like Lee. Lots of them." Fred will never cease to be struck by how comfortable Charlie is talking about sex with just anyone. "They're pretty and wild and good in bed and it's fun. But if you're looking for more than fun..."
"I'm nineteen, Charlie. Why would I want more than fun?"
"Yeah, you're nineteen. And you're living in his world, Fred. Not yours. That right there makes it more serious than you think."
"What happened at the wedding, Charlie?"
Charlie presses both hands to his forehead. "You're not gonna let this go?"
"Nuh-uh."
"All right." And Charlie starts to talk.
~@~@~@~
"And he's not... He's not comin' back. And that's why..." Lee trails off, staggers a few too many steps to the left and falls against a table stacked with gifts, knocking boxes to the ground. "Tha's why..." He slams his hand down on the table. "You know, I think fucking is prob'ly a good way to deal with grief. In't that right, Georgie? Unless the one you're fucking is one of the dead ones. Then you've got nothin'. Hey, Angie." She's sobbing now, and Lee can't quite figure out why, but he's trying to make it better. "You're so pretty, Angie. Beautiful bride you make. George, he'll appreciate your pretty... prettiness. What--Hey, Charlie."
Lee looks glassy-eyed into Charlie Weasley's stern glare.
"C'mon, mate," Charlie says quietly. "Speech is over."
"M'not done," Lee says, and Charlie's fighting him for the megaphone now, winning easily.
"You're done, Lee."
And Lee sees Bill standing on the other side of the platform.
"S'go," says Charlie and the two eldest Weasley boys half-carry him down the stairs and out of the tent.
Lee vomits in the grass. The music inside the tent starts again.
He doesn't go back.
~@~@~@~
When Fred wakes up, Lee is standing in the doorway.
"Let's go to New York."
Fred's eyes are still raw from too little sleep and he blinks hard as he tries to focus. "What?"
"You and me," says Lee. "New York."
"Right now?" Fred yawns. "Don't you start shooting that game show this week?"
"I quit."
"You what?" Fred looks at the clock. It's 8 in the morning. "Are you out of your mind?"
Lee just grins and comes to sit at the foot of the bed.
"You were right, Freddy. I'm happier in New York."
"Then go."
"I want you to come, too. I'm selling this place. I'm not coming back to L.A."
Fred presses both hands to his forehead. "Lee. You and I both know that's not going to happen."
"Why not? Because I've never done it before?" Lee shakes his head. "That's not me anymore. I'm a new man."
"Since last night?" Fred sits all the way up and stretches his arms overhead. "You're a completely different Lee overnight? Really."
"Really!" says Lee, and his utter enthusiasm makes him sound closer to fifteen than to forty. It makes him sound like he's still Fred's hero.
Fred feels like a parent, giving in to an excited child. He feels like his mum must have felt when she gave him her blessing to stay with Lee.
"All right," he says, smiling with just one corner of his mouth. "We'll go."
~@~@~@~
Lee gets agitated on the plane but Fred is able, for the most part, to talk him down. Things will be all right in New York, Fred promises.
And they are.
Lee starts doing theatre again, something he enjoyed when he first arrived from England, when he realized that broadcasting wasn't all he wanted to do. Fred starts reading for parts, too, and though the one he finally gets is for a play that no one has ever heard of, performed in a cramped room in some building's basement, he's starting to feel like maybe he's on to something here. Maybe he doesn't want to run back home after all. Maybe he likes it for more than just the imagined adulation.
September rolls around and Fred writes home to tell them he's staying. He can almost hear the scolding his father is sure to get.
Lee is working hard on an off Broadway show that runs through early December. Fred only leaves his side for auditions, though their relationship (which is how Fred thinks of it in his head; he's not ready to use the word in front of Lee) is not public knowledge. Fred thinks maybe he likes it better that way. With this new show, Lee's agent is talking come back, and that means media scrutiny among other personal discomforts. It means telling his parents that he's sleeping with his dad's best friend. That maybe it's even more than that. Being famous: not as simple as Fred once expected it to be.
Fred goes to Central Park every morning while the sun is still low in the sky to sit in the frosty grass and let the cold dampness seep into his trousers. It makes him shiver to the bone and reminds him that he's still alive, that L.A. didn't turn him into some artificial, sunshine-drenched automaton like the rest of Lee's entourage, the ones who stayed behind. It probably makes him look a little crazy, but Fred is nearly famous, and maybe that's an excuse for eccentricity after all. The thought of that makes him wonder if, back in L.A., he was too hard on Lee. He's better now, here in New York, and Fred is the one who did that for him. Fred is the one who saved him.
Mostly saved him. Sometimes Lee is still just Lee.
They're sitting deep inside a cafe in Soho when Lee says, "Maybe I should start collecting art."
Fred rolls his head back and exhales.
"What?" Lee looks genuinely hurt.
"Again, Lee? This is what we came to New York for? So you could take up an art collection?" Fred gets to his feet. They have a method of dealing with this now, these times when Lee starts to get restless, wants to self destruct. "Home," he says. "Home now."
Lee looks like he wants to argue, but he stands, and walks out of the cafe, Fred following on his heels.
Back at the apartment, Fred rolls Lee onto his back on the big bed, and Lee lets him. He lets Fred undress him, slowly and deliberately and without magic. He lets Fred hold him down and fuck himself on Lee's cock until they're both dizzy with exhaustion and dehydration. And then he lets Fred summon the water pitcher from the kitchen--they keep wands around the apartment now, for convenience mostly--and pour him a drink.
Today Fred is feeling bold, and a little cocky, and he is ready to know where he stands. Even if Lee is not yet ready to tell him.
"You know," says Fred, "for a while there, I didn't know if I wanted to be you, or if I wanted to be with you." Maybe he shouldn't have led in with something that sounded so much like an insult.
Lee shakes his head. "You're better off with neither."
"You don't get to decide how I'm better off, Lee."
"You decided how I'm better off," Lee says, barely grinning. "And you were right. I'm not a good choice for anybody, Freddy."
Fred sighs. "Jesus Christ. Do you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?" As long as it's already out in the air between them, he doesn't see how he can make it any worse. And then he hears the next words rolling off his lips. "You weren't there when he died. I get that. We all get that, Lee. It was over twenty fucking years ago. Move the fuck on, already!"
Lee is silent for a few breaths. Fred can hear his own heart beating. He's pretty sure he can hear Lee's too. And then, what Fred isn't expecting. Lee laughs.
It's a hard, empty sound. Lee shakes his head and long dreadlocks flop off his shoulders.
"I am way too old for you, kid," he says suddenly.
"I know that already," says Fred. "Practically decrepit, you are."
"Hey now, that's pushing your luck."
"You're the one who said it."
"And you're supposed to argue."
"Oh." Fred smiles. "That's what this is, then. You're going through the motions. And I'm supposed to do the same thing. And then what? We get to be all happily ever after?"
"Or not," says Lee. "Look. Freddy. I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't think you can find it here. I'm only going to hold you back. We're in completely different places."
"Not right now," says Fred. "Right now we're both in the same city, in the same apartment, in the same bed. Can't this just be what it is, for as long as... As long as we want it to be?"
Lee looks over at Fred, draws one fingertip down his cheek. "You got your mum's brains too, kid. Lucky, that."
Fred grins. That's close enough to an answer. The sun is starting to set, the ceiling turning orange in the early evening glow. Lee looks back up at that gloaming light.
"Are you falling in love with me yet, Lee?"
Lee's breath is deep, and his broad chest rises and falls in the bedroom shadows.
"Yeah, Freddy. I guess I am."
"Mmm." Fred is tired now. He doesn't realize how tired he is until Lee answers the question. "Good."
[END]
