IDENTICAL, BUT NOT THE SAME
Harry Potter and all characters, settings and situations in this story is © J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and all others involved. I also quote dialogue directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The magazine titles are owned by their publishers.
Author's notes: This is a re-edited version. Thanks to Sevfan at Ensnared for correcting punctuation etc, to Nathan at The Quidditch Pitch for questioning the sex and to Forsaken Elf at Fanfiction for pointing out the layout problems.
This fic contains offensively homophobic language used in a jocular way. That doesn't mean that I think these phrases are acceptable. I use them because they seem to be in character for the Weasley twins and, in George's case, show an acceptance rather than a rejection.
"Bill says they're being secretive," George mused.
"I was standing next to you when he said it," said Fred, flicking his wand towards a sheet of brown paper which wrapped itself around a 'Skiving Snackbox Deluxe'.
"What is this secret mission from Dumbledore?" George persisted. "They've been gone since the wedding and then they Apparate into Bill's garden with a dead house elf and a live goblin …"
"We've done the subject to death, though," his twin answered him.
George shrugged and tapped the order list with his own wand. Words floated from the paperwork to address the parcel.
Time passed slowly at Aunt Muriel's house. George and Fred had been used to the frantic pace of a new retail business before the message had come from Bill to shut the shop down and escape to this ex-rectory in the middle of nowhere.
Muriel herself was infuriating and it was frustrating to be living with their parents again, but worst of all, they couldn't leave the house. Everyone was sick of the sight of each other. The twins were even tetchy with each other.
"More interesting," Fred began, "Is how Ron's getting on with Hermione."
"Ah! Yes! Is he still the most sexually frustrated teenage wizard in history?" George asked. They both laughed.
"Has she spotted that Ron's uglier and stupider than Harry?"
"I hope not. His pants'll explode. Perhaps that's what the goblin's for …?"
Fred laughed. "You're sick!"
"Yeah, I think it's Know-it-all Miss Prefect or nobody for our Ron. He should be OK, as long as he follows that book we gave him…" George said, summoning the packages that were scattered through the mess in Muriel's back room.
"Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches," Fred sighed.
They sank into their own thoughts for a few minutes - Fred dishing out owl-treats to the dozen birds making a mess of the carpet, George tying a brown paper package to each of them. At least they had the business to keep them occupied.
Fred eventually broke the silence, saying, "Almost made it too easy, though. That book."
George nodded. "I know what you mean. Lost the thrill of the chase. Fleur's cousins were far too easy."
Fred agreed, "At the wedding. What an interruption, though, Shacklebolt's Patronus …"
Fred opened the window and the laden owls escaped. George started to use iscourgify/i on the carpet, but Fred stayed staring out of the window. A few of the birds swooped round and flew over the house. He watched to rest of them flying North through the garden. Most of them were heading to Hogwarts.
"I wonder how many of the twelve ways would be 'Fail-Safe' with Muggle girls," George pondered, absently stroking the puckered skin where his ear had once been.
Fred turned round quickly and stared at his twin.
George blushed, but he shrugged and moved away from Fred's stare. He liked Muggle girls. He liked their fake tans and rude jokes, all that make-up and cleavage.
"Dad will be pleased," Fred said, archly.
George just mumbled, "It's not like I'm going to meet any imprisoned at my aunt's."
"Did you meet any when we were in London, then? You keeping secrets?" Fred asked, grinning slyly.
George shook his head. He hadn't actually got anywhere with any Muggle girls, but he had popped out through the Leaky Cauldron occasionally on his lunch break to look at them. He'd tried chatting up some, but mostly he had just bought magazines: Closer, Heat, Now.
"I thought we hunted as a pair?" Fred asked.
"One of us had to be in the shop all the time. You went out on your own, too."
"Only as far as Quality Quidditch to check the results."
George sat down at Muriel's ornate writing desk and opened up the accounts book, getting the calcu-quill to add up the columns.
"I'm not being Anti-Muggle," Fred protested, "A Muggle-born witch would be different. But with a real Muggle you'd either be explaining all the time, or hiding things, pretending …"
"I hadn't imagined wasting too much time on conversation," George interrupted, defensively.
There was another silence. But not a comfortable one.
George suddenly looked over and snapped, "But you agreed that witches are too easy, they're no fun any more!"
His twin fired back, "I haven't got a problem with you being a Muggle-fancier! I only said I'm not!"
"Sorry mate, too much time stuck indoors."
"Too much Muriel," Fred agreed.
They grinned at each other.
"So, who do you fancy, then?" George asked.
Fred stopped grinning; he walked back over to the window. The owls had all gone. He started to scratch at the paint on the frame.
It seemed like a perfectly normal question to George, one they'd asked each other regularly over the years. Something was wrong with his twin, something had been wrong for weeks. And now Fred was agitated, was avoiding the question, avoiding eye contact.
In the end George said, "So, nobody, then."
"It's not that," Fred's voice was thick, "I should have told you years ago. Makes it harder now. It's just that … we're supposed to be identical."
"We don't even look identical now," George said, his hand travelling to where his ear should have been.
"I know, I can't pretend to be you any more when Mum catches me nicking biscuits!"
George laughed, but it was half-hearted. Fred still wouldn't look at him. He knew his brother was steeling himself to say something important.
And then he said it: "I don't get turned on by witches any more. It's more …" he swallowed, paced away from George, over to the other side of the room, "… more wizards, really. Well, one in particular. But wizards, generally …" he trailed off, gazing down at a cardboard box full of string without really seeing it.
George was stunned; he should have known. How had he not known? They were identical, more like each other than like their own reflections, companions since before birth. But he had had no idea. That made him feel guilty.
Fred started gathering up the detritus that gathered round the Owl-order business - waving his wand at crates of stock, piles of paper, bottles of ink and bags of money which stacked themselves neatly in one corner.
He looked really miserable and George couldn't bear that.
Eventually George asked, "Do you want to tell me about the one wizard in particular?"
Fred turned to stare at his brother. He searched the face so like his own, trying to read George's reaction. All he could see was concern.
"Do you really want to know?" he asked, earnestly.
George nodded.
High in a damp, greying sky a tawny owl rose on firm, strong wing strokes. In the garden of The Old Rectory, the daisies embarked on the gradual process of closing themselves up for the night. The chicken in the oven was basting itself, the gravy stirred itself and Molly Weasley directed the knives that chopped and peeled potatoes and parsnips. Somewhere else a Death Eater would be torturing a child. But in the back room, two almost identical men stared at each other in silence.
George sat at the desk, no longer hearing the self-satisfied twitterings of the calcu-quill; Fred stood on the other side of the room, trying to pull himself together so that he could answer his brother.
Fred whispered, "It's Lee."
"My best friend Lee Jordan?" George answered automatically.
Fred didn't laugh, or protest, or give the usual response to the old tease, so George corrected himself, saying, "Our best friend. Does he know?"
Fred nodded.
George's head was swimming, "Did anything ... happen?"
Fred nodded again.
George continued, "What? Tell me."
"You're not grossed out?" Fred asked.
"Why would I be? You're still Fred. He's Lee. You're my best mates. I mean I don't want ... details ..." George pulled a face.
"You don't feel excluded?"
"Erm, no! No, I can safely say that that's one game I wouldn't have wanted to join you in. No matter how much fun you were having."
Fred finally cracked a smile. But he looked down at the carpet when he said, "There were three times, only three times. In sixth year, the Yule Ball. We kissed and then he ran away. And the night before we left Hogwarts, the same sort of thing ..."
"Just kissing?"
"Well, no. It was the running away that was the same, pretending nothing had happened afterwards. Then when I went on Potter Watch it wasn't just a Butterbeer I stayed on for."
"Have you heard from him since?" George asked. Fred shook his head. He swallowed, sniffed, looked at the ceiling.
George couldn't think of anything else to say. He wanted to get away, to ignore the obvious pain. He wanted to lose himself in his Muggle magazines. But he stayed. Because it was Fred. When he got used to the idea this would probably become a joke - part of the usual flow of banter - but how long would that take?
"You gonna tell Mum and Dad?" George asked.
Fred shook his head, "They've got enough to cope with: Ron off being a hero, Percy being a prat, Bill's face, your ear and the whole Dark Lord rising to take over the wizarding world thing."
"But if they don't know you're gay then they don't know who you are," George argued. I didn't know you as well as I thought I did.
"Maybe if things had worked out, " Fred conceded, "But there's nothing to tell. You know the form: The Weasley Twins Score Every Time. 'Cos when it doesn't work out, nobody needs to know."
That night in the attic bedroom, they both nursed their own thoughts. George studied an article on celebrities who'd had plastic surgery in Heat magazine. There were strangely still photographs covered in arrows and text explaining what had been operated on. There were 'before' and 'after' shots and George could see the differences. He ran his Lumos-tipped wand over the page.
On the other side of the room, Fred lay with his face pressed into the pillow. He didn't know why he'd chosen this evening to tell George about Lee, any more than he knew why he hadn't told him before. It had opened up the hurt and the desire all over again. He let his mind caress his memories, lingering on the details that his brother hadn't wanted to hear.
They'd tried to get their money back off Ludo Bagman at the Yule Ball. After that had failed, George had found a pretty Beauxbatons girl and Fred had gone to watch the Weird Sisters. He'd lost Angelina, and he was vaguely looking for her. He could see Lee, though. Well, everyone saw Lee. He was sitting on the edge of the stage doing a mad sort of hand jive.
For once it was OK to stare at him. Fred had been impressed by Lee the first time they'd met. He had the same sense of humour as the twins and he was as loud as they were. But also, he looked stunning. Fred had never seen dreadlocks before. But it was more than that. Lee's skin, lips and eyes were smooth, strong ... Fred didn't have the words. He was only eleven. How was he supposed to know that he'd fallen in love?
Usually, he avoided looking straight at Lee. But sometimes, when he dozed off in History of Magic, say, he'd notice that his gaze was on Lee's thigh and he'd have to stop himself from imagining how it would feel if he could touch it. Each passing night made him more physically aware that Lee was lying in the next bed. And he couldn't stop the dreams.
Fred had feasted his eyes on the boy on the stage. Nobody would notice. Fred was part of the crowd, all staring in the same direction. He sank into his desires. He didn't need to be guarded. Then Lee had spotted him in the audience. They'd made eye contact; it was like a hex, burning through Fred to his toes. And then Lee had grinned and dived into the crowd. He'd lain flat as they passed him, hand to hand, to the back of the hall. Fred had pushed his way through the other students to follow.
Lee had waited in the open doorway long enough to be sure that Fred had seen him. Then he'd looked straight into Fred's eyes, winked and sauntered across the Entrance Hall to the stairs.
Fred had followed as though he had the Imperius curse on him.
George's wand went dark. Fred heard him pushing his weird muggle mags under the mattress and lying down. Fred couldn't sleep. Not with Lee on his mind again.
Lee had been cocky in the Great Hall; alone with Fred in the sixth-year boys' dormitory, he'd become nervous. The best friends had looked at each other more openly than usual, but still guardedly. Fred had allowed himself to look directly into Lee's deep, dark eyes and had begun to drown. He'd been gasping for breath. It was Lee, though, who had reached out and touched Fred's face, tracing a thumb down his nose, caressing freckles.
So Fred had put his fingers into Lee's hair. He'd touched the smooth, dark scalp spaces between dreadlocks. It was what he'd long dreamt of doing, what he had spent Divination classes imagining. He had held a dreadlock softly in one fist and pressed it to his own cheek.
Lee had kept glancing nervously towards the door, so Fred had pointed his wand and locked it. Then Lee had moved towards Fred until the full lengths of their torsos pressed against each other. Fred had moved a hand to the small of Lee's back and they had wrapped their arms around each other, in silence, holding each other, Lee's head resting on Fred's shoulder. Fred could feel Lee's arousal.
"I can't. Not here," Lee had said suddenly, breaking away.
On the landing between the sixth-year and seventh-year dormitories, there was a linen closet. The house-elves kept the clean bedding there, ready for regular changes and available for accidents.
Fred had grabbed Lee's hand and pulled him inside the closet, shutting the door behind them, pushing Lee against it. Fumbling, they had breathlessly managed to seal and soundproof the door.
There was very little room. Shelving on three sides was crammed with neatly folded sheets and pillowcases. The smell of ironed starch was strong.
Ever since, Fred hadn't been able to sleep on clean sheets. The scent was too arousing.
Lee had raised his face, grasped his friend's head and pressed his lips to Fred's, who responded fiercely. Their mouths had opened, tongues thrusting to explore and their bodies had rubbed against each other. Desperate to touch Lee's bare skin at last, Fred had grabbed at the hem of Lee's dress robes, trying to lift them.
Which was when Lee had pushed him off and left the closet, slamming the door behind him.
Fred had been stunned for a moment. It had been a moment too long. By the time he'd opened the door, the landing had been empty. He had heard footsteps running on the stone stairs.
In his single bed in his aunt's attic, Fred relived that baffled pain. Then he rubbed his face and turned the pillow over to the dry side. George was snoring.
Later, George woke in pitch darkness in the middle of the night. His heart was beating hard and fast, his mouth was dry and he felt sick. He tried to work out why, to focus on where he was, what had happened during the day. 'I am George, he is Fred', he said to himself. It was his mantra for reorientation. But tonight the words sent nausea through him. Out of habit, he put a hand up to the ear that wasn't there. He hadn't had another nightmare about Snape's hex, though.
He remembered and flushed feverishly: Fred and Lee.
Fred had been so miserable and so scared when he'd told George that it had been unbearable. George had just wanted to make things right. He'd acted cool in the hope that that would make Fred feel better.
But actually it wasn't OK.
Fred and Lee. Either one of them lying to him would have been devastating. But this was both of them! They had been inside this big secret without him. If he couldn't trust his best friends then who was left?
He sat up in the bed and ran his hands over his head and neck. He needed to calm down. He looked across the room. He couldn't see Fred, it was too dark. He felt the need to be further away from him.
Silently, George left the bedroom. He was good at it, they'd spent enough nights together roaming undetected through Hogwarts. He crept silently down four flights of stairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea.
This house was stuffed full of his relatives. Was it possible that none of them would wake and find him here? If someone appeared in that doorway and asked him what was wrong, was there anyone he could tell?
Not Fred. Not yet. George had to organise his own thoughts first.
He usually did that by talking things through with Fred.
How long had Fred been gay? How long had he hidden it? He must have told George lies, have faked interest in witches. He'd seen Fred kiss plenty, each kiss a lie.
And what did it mean that Fred had been secretly lusting after Lee? Had he been imagining doing things ...? George didn't want to think about that. Had Fred watched Lee, wanting to touch him, holding himself back?
What about Lee? Did he like Fred more than George then? How could he desire Fred and not get turned on by George? Their bodies were identical.
Three times they'd done things to each other without him, without him knowing. He did feel left out. Not because he wanted to see them at it, or - Merlin preserve us - join in. But because he'd been kept in the dark.
Would it have been OK if they'd told him at the time? How would that have gone?
"Good morning, Fred."
"Good morning, George. I snogged Lee last night. Pass the bacon, please."
George chuckled to himself.
They hadn't told anyone. That was something. And after all, he did have his own secret desire for something forbidden. It was nothing to do with sex, but it was a need that was taking him over. He hadn't told Fred about that.
They created the swamp on the fifth floor of the East Wing in one day. First, they perfected the design of the charms and then they had to lay them. They decided to do that in the dead of night. It wasn't strictly necessary - but it did make it all more fun. After all, it was the last adventure of their school careers!
The Weasley twins didn't need an Invisibility Cloak to evade Filch. They were Gred and Forge - the naughtiest boys in the school. But they were ready to become Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the most popular shop on Diagon Alley.
When they were nearly back at Gryffindor Tower with mischief managed, George whispered, "What about a raid on the kitchens for old time's sake?"
Fred shook his head, hissing, "Bring us back a cream horn, though."
The common room should have been empty when Fred climbed through the Portrait Hole. Instead, Lee was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace.
"Where's George?" Lee asked.
"Kitchens."
Lee nodded.
"How come you're ...?" Fred started to ask, but Lee cut him off.
"You're leaving tomorrow?"
"George told you?"
"Look, Fred, I'm sorry about ... the Yule Ball. I thought we had the rest of the year. I mean, I've been planning to say that, to show you ..."
Fred just shrugged. Lee began to walk towards Fred but he stopped. He glanced over at the Portrait Hole.
"George'll be back soon," Lee started. "Come in the linen closet with me."
Fred shook his head. "So you can run away? I'm not doing that again."
"But the time's all gone. It has to be tonight."
"I don't have to do anything. I can live with a missed opportunity but I don't think I could cope with you walking out on me again," Fred answered grimly.
He walked briskly to the stairs, intending to go to sleep. Lee followed him and, a few stairs up, grabbed his arm.
"I'm so sorry," Lee said, desperately, "but this thing terrifies me."
"What thing's that?" Fred asked, angrily, turning to face Lee.
Lee checked back to the Portrait Hole before answering, "I mean the way we ... the way I feel about you. Please can we discuss this in the closet? George is going to come back and anyone could come down. Ron and his friends are always wandering around in the middle of the night."
Fred nodded tersely, regretting and yet desiring and yet not knowing how he really felt.
The smell in the linen closet reminded Fred of the last time. He folded his arms and leaned back against the shelves of pillow cases. Lee charmed the door as he closed it, then stepped forward and grabbed Fred's shoulders and Fred's body remembered how it felt to be this close to Lee's.
"Why should I trust you?" Fred asked, his voice croaking, suddenly too constricted for speech.
Lee leant over and his breath brushed Fred's ear as he whispered, "Because I'm the only one who's never got you two mixed up."
It was true. Not once in over six years. They could fool their own mother, but not Lee Jordan.
Lee's lips moved closer to Fred's lobe, driving him crazy, as he continued, "It's because of the way you look at me, the way you've always looked at me, and the way that makes me feel."
Lee slid his hands down Fred's arms and unfolded them. He wrapped his dark fingers round the pale wrists, lifting Fred's hands to his own head. Fred tried not to react; for a moment he even considered pulling away. Instead, he let his hand clench and pushed Lee into a bruising kiss. They crushed against each other, kissing and licking.
This time it was Lee who pulled at Fred's robes - hauling them off. Then Fred undressed Lee. He pushed his face against Lee's slim chest while Lee stroked Fred's more muscular arms and biceps.
Fred sank to his knees. He glanced up at Lee's face to judge his reaction. Lee was staring down at him, watching with an intense, frozen expression. Gently, Fred took Lee's shaft in his hand. He tried to stay calm, worried that anything else would spook Lee. Lee closed his eyes and moaned softly, which was all the encouragement Fred needed.
He didn't really know what he was doing, could only go on instinct and memories of fantasies of what he would have liked to have had done to him. It seemed to be enough though, because soon Lee was jerking and panting, his knees giving way and he fell to the floor. Fred moved back and watched Lee. Then Lee fell sideways against the door and started to sob.
Fred tried to put his arms round the slight, shaking shoulders, but Lee pushed him away. Suddenly Lee grabbed his clothes, sprang to his feet and sprinted out of the closet.
Fred lay curled up on the stone floor, naked aroused and alone.
The next day at five o'clock, Fred and George raised their wands together and detonated the charms that turned a corridor into a swamp. Then there was the chase and Umbridge's stupid question:
"So - you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp do you?"1
Fred was feeling even more reckless than usual when he answered her with, "Pretty amusing, yeah."1
He didn't care about anything any more. The night before, lying on that cold floor, breathing in starch, he had decided that he had to stop feeling, had to stop caring. From now on life would be about fun. To hell with fear and pain and love. He was only going to care about himself. At breakfast he had made a slight correction: and maybe George a bit.
In front of the whole school that evening, the twins had stood up to Umbridge and Filch. Fred took the lead, maybe even more so than usual. But George was good. Without prompting he gave the right answers to Fred's questions in the right tone of voice.
Adrenalin pumping through him, Fred had Accioed his broom and they'd announced the opening of the shop before mounting their brooms and flying off into the sunset to Peeves' salute and the students' cheers. That moment, chain and peg bumping his leg and evening air on his face, was the proudest of his life. And he was sure he didn't care that he was flying away from Lee as well as from everything else.
Fred opened his eyes. He'd floated in and out of consciousness all night, remembering and dreaming. He was tired, he thought it was pretty early.
George was shaking his shoulder, that was why he'd woken up.
"Go 'way. S'middle ova night," Fred muttered.
"I made you a cup of tea. I need to talk to you."
And then Fred remembered. Oh Morgana Le Fey! Fred sighed and looked at his twin.
"You want to talk about me being a shirt-lifter?" Fred asked.
"That sort of thing, yeah. Sit up and drink your tea," George answered.
Fred groaned, but did as he was told. George opened the curtains. It wasn't dark, but it wasn't really light yet either.
"I couldn't sleep," George explained.
"I was managing 'til you started pulling me arm off."
"But it's your fault I can't sleep."
"Fair enough. Good tea. Now, what are we talking about?" Fred asked.
George began: "I don't think I've got a problem with you being a bum boy ..."
"Good," Fred interrupted.
"... Or with you doing stuff with Lee, which makes him a fudge-packer, too ..."
"But?" Fred prompted.
"But it's not OK that you're a lying, two-faced, devious pair of arse bandits. And we were a gang of three, except that I'm the only one of the three of us who didn't know this was going on. That's what pisses me off."
Fred groaned, then said, "I never should have told you."
"No! You should have told me at the time! Both of you!"
"Keep it down, you'll wake everyone up."
"And then what will we do? Tell some more lies?"
Fred rubbed his eyes and shook his head, "It wasn't like that, like what you're saying. I know you don't want the gory details ..."
"I don't think anyone would want to know about who touched what and how ..." George broke off and screwed his face up.
Fred replied, "You'd be surprised. But, really, we were pretending there was nothing to ourselves, too. To each other. To the whole world."
George sounded close to tears as he whispered, "But I'm not the whole world. I'm George."
"I know, mate. I'm not saying that. What are you thinking? You know nobody's more important to me than you are. You're me standing somewhere else."
"Really?" George asked, hopefully.
"God yeah! You're more to me than he is! I can live without him, I am living without him ..."
George interrupted, "But you're miserable about it."
"Not nearly as miserable as I'd be without you, bro'," Fred insisted.
"You never say."
Fred laughed, "Oh, it's my job to talk about emotions now 'cos I'm the fairy?"
George managed a lop-sided half grin.
"No," Fred continued, "We're Englishmen. Talking about emotions is for girls and garlic-eaters."
George shook his head sternly. "That's your excuse for not telling me about Lee? 'Cos you don't do lovey-dovey bleurgh? We're not nine year-olds, Fred."
"No. It's my excuse for not talking about you and me. With Lee, I don't know. I don't know if it's love or anything like it," Fred said. "Mostly when I think about him - and I try not to - I feel hurt and pissed off and, and, and ..." he trailed off, unable to articulate the bizarre, overwhelming mixture of his emotions.
"Miserable?" George asked.
Fred just shrugged. They were silent for nearly ten minutes, then, both of them sitting on Fred's bed, drinking tea and staring out of the window. The darkness was retreating slowly.
Then George stood up, "Well, thanks for telling me, mate. Can't have been easy. Better late than never."
Fred replied, "I could say the same about the Muggle girls."
George smiled slightly and said, "You know, some of them, they bleach their teeth."
The face Fred pulled echoed George's earlier look of disgust.
Lee took his N.E.W.T.s and left school not long after the twins did. He got a traineeship at W.W.N, who were based in Cardiff. He was George's best friend, so Fred couldn't avoid Lee completely. But they could go months without seeing each other. They weren't sleeping in adjacent beds any more.
It was a relief. He relaxed.
And anyway, the twins were busy with the shop and the Order and the fear. There was no time to sit around thinking of a treacherous lover. The shop had to be tidied and the shelves restocked before nine o'clock. Then one of them would open up while the other took the previous day's takings into Gringott's. There were customers to serve all day. They had a break of, at most, half an hour, usually nowhere near lunchtime. When the shop shut at six, they had to start making the product, ordering ingredients, doing accounts and organising owl orders.
Meanwhile, Voldemort was gaining power so the Order of the Phoenix needed them. Also, Molly was getting anxious and organised excuses to gather her brood about her as often as possible.
So, of course there was no time to think about Lee.
Except that's a lie. Fred found that Lee was on his mind surprisingly often. There were obvious things to avoid: Quidditch commentary, reggae, pillowcases, tarantulas. But sometimes the unexpected suddenly smacked him with a memory - a customer wearing a Weird Sisters badge, the raisin eyes of a gingerbread man that looked like Lee's nipples. And other times there was no trigger, just Lee, just in his thoughts. Often he woke up with a mental image of naked, black skin.
One evening the twins were mixing up batches of Belching Bonbons when a patronus appeared. The silver vapour formed a wobbly shape that might have been a rooster. Lee had never completely mastered Expecto Patronum. Then Lee's voice gave them a time, a radio frequency and a password.
It took a few seconds before Fred could hear George asking him what that was all about. Fred's stomach had twisted with mixed nausea and thrill.
And after that they had had Lee's voice for company every evening. There was no doubt, Potterwatch was a great show, a public service and a brave, dangerous undertaking. But it did Fred's head in, made it impossible, instead of just really difficult, to pretend Lee didn't exist.
Lee must have left his job at W.W.N because he said he was moving around the country. It wasn't safe to broadcast from the same place two nights running. He always had a guest on, usually someone from the Order. And he knew everything about the resistance. Except for where Harry Potter was and what he was doing, of course. And who he was with. No news of Ron. But plenty of other stuff that would have got Lee killed if Voldemort had found him. So he was on the run. Pretty scary and exciting and cool.
Naturally, Lee's voice made its way into Fred's dreams, his body following. Most of the dreams were set in the Gryffindor linen closet. In the dreams nobody ran away. He dreamed of licking Lee's chest, running his tongue through brown skin and black hair. In dreams they pressed against each other unself-consciously.
So Fred was caught off-guard one six o'clock when the real, flesh, fully dressed Lee walked into Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He was aware of the last few customers, of the impossibility of just staring.
George ran forward and thumped Lee on the shoulder. Fred fled to the back office. There he took some deep breaths, steadied himself, putting on his once-habitual carapace. He emerged jovially onto the shop floor, saying, "Here we go, three Butterbeers. I take it you'll join us Mr DJ? Got rid of all our lovely customers, George?"
"Yeah, locked and shuttered the shop," George confirmed, "I was just saying how much we love Potterwatch!"
Lee said, "You're doing well. This is the only shop on the Alley that still has some life in it. I shouldn't really drink, I'm broadcasting this evening. Found myself near here so I thought I'd stroll round." He pulled a large chocolate bar out of his pocket, saying, "I hope you don't mind, I haven't eaten. We had Tonks on the other night ..."
George told him they'd heard it.
Lee continued, "Well, she told me that someone's been keeping a log of the possible movements of a certainly Wizard Not of the Light."
Fred had started collecting rumours about Voldemort's whereabouts. He kept hearing whispers in the Leaky Cauldron, the queue at Gringotts, around Knockturn Alley. He'd tried to collate them, to let people know. But who could you trust? And how much was true? Some days The Dark Lord was supposed to have been in at least three places at once.
Lee took a bite from the end of the chocolate bar. Fred tried not to watch his lips.
"It's inaccurate. And it's different every day," Fred said.
Lee started to seperate the layers of the candy, pulling some of the soft top layer away from the biscuit base. He licked his fingers a little too knowingly before looking Fred straight in the eye and saying, "You should come on the show."
He rolled some soft sweetie stuff into a ball, then pinched limbs and a head out. With a grin, Lee put the candy glob onto the shop counter and it cart-wheeled. He laughed at the stunned looks on his friends' faces.
"How do you do that?" George asked.
Lee just made another confectionary gymnastic homunculus and dropped it onto a shelf.
"We have to have these for the shop!" George laughed.
Lee picked up one of his sugar people and formed wings from its back. It flew over to the Canary Cream display.
"How's it work?" George demanded.
Instead of answering him, Lee handed over the rest of the bar, saying, "I'm sure you can work it out."
George's face fell, "You won't tell us?"
Lee nodded. "Eventually. But it's more fun this way."
George ran upstairs to the lab in the flat.
Fred and Lee were left in the locked shop, alone apart from the sugar people. Fred tried to watch the one on the counter, which was doing hand-springs now.
He was too aware of Lee's body.
Fred picked up the candy gymnast and gave it wings, too, letting it flutter off to find its companion.
He turned away from it to find that Lee was staring at him with a serious expression.
Lee said, "I keep thinking about you."
Fred raised an eyebrow, then answered, "That's perfectly understandable."
"I'm sorry," Lee added.
Fred just shook his head.
"Please come on the show. And then stay on for a drink. We can just talk if you want. I know I don't deserve another chance," Lee insisted, "But there's a war on, people keep dying. We might not have another opportunity."
"I'll give George my notes," Fred answered, "He can do it."
"Won't he think that's suspicious?" Lee asked, slyly.
There was silence; they stared at each other.
Finally Fred sighed. "No running away this time," he said.
"I promise," Lee agreed, "Just do the show, stay for a drink and ..."
But that was when George bounded down the stairs. He was triumphant. He held up two pieces of his mother's home-made fudge.
"I've got it!" He yelled, "Look!"
He stuck them together and pinched arms and legs out of the bottom piece. When he put it down it leant forward and crawled off the counter.
"You've got it," Lee said, grinning, "I knew you would."
The next night, wearing his dragon-skin suit, Fred apparated to the address he'd been given. He arrived into a pitch blackness that smelled of pine and amonia. Saying "Lumos", he found himself inside a Gent's. But it was one with the lowest urinals and tiniest toilets he'd ever seen.
Through the door, he found himself in a large room full of tubs of toys and scaled-down tables. There were brightly-coloured pictures on the walls - the Muggle sort that don't move. He nearly tripped over a knee-high climbing frame and slide set. In one corner, Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt sat on bean bags. They greeted him.
Fred was walking over when they stood up and went into the Wendy House. Lee's decks were laid out on the toy worktops. He was moving his lips but Fred couldn't hear him so there must have been a sound-proofing spell on.
After Lupin and Shacklebolt had apparated away, it was Fred's turn. He told the world what he knew about Voldemort. Well, he told a pink plastic teapot, but trusted that some wizards and witches heard him through their radios.
Lee finished the broadcast and pressed some buttons.
"Right," he said, "now I've got to get out of here as quickly as possible."
"You're good at that," Fred answered, bitterly.
"Give me a hand?" Lee asked.
Fred shrugged. Lee pulled a flimsy supermarket carrier bag out of his jeans pocket and started to push the headphones into it.
"Get the mics," he said.
There was no way the microphones were going to fit in the bag, too. Yet they did. Lee quickly unplugged and dismantled all the equipment. Fred kept stuffing it into the plastic bag.
"Cool!" he said eventually. He couldn't help himself.
"Oh yeah. Andromeda Tonks did me an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. It is pretty neat. I'm used to it. Nice threads."
"Cheers. Dragon skin. Why did you make my code-name Rodent?"
"Sorry Rapier!" Lee smirked.
"But you called me Rodent!"
Sweeping his wand in practised movements which picked up tiny screws and pieces of paper, Lee answered casually, "Because you're a love rat."
"I'm a what?" Fred was astounded. He was used to thinking of himself as the victim in their relationship.
"Bill's wedding," Lee answered, "you even looked back at me while you walked off with that Veela type."
Fred laughed. "Just keeping up appearances, mate. You know how it is. You were dancing with my sister!"
"Whatever," Lee muttered. "That's all clear. I've got to chip."
He was right. The Nursery staff would never know they'd had squatters overnight.
"Running away again?" Fred asked.
"Come with me. Have a drink." Lee opened his leather jacket to display a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in the inside pocket. "Remus brought me this."
"Where are you going?"
"The next location," Lee answered. "Top secret."
"Yeah, all right then." Fred spoke before he'd allowed himself to think.
Lee held out his hand. Fred hesitated.
"Side-Along," Lee explained.
So Fred had to take Lee's soft, strong hand and hold it tight. Picking up the plastic bag in his other hand, Lee turned on the spot.
The smell of institutional disinfectant was replaced by the warm odours of old wood, dust and something that reminded Fred of school. They were in a train carriage with wooden floor, walls and ceiling. The bench seats were varnished wood. It smelled like the Hogwarts Express.
Lee dropped Fred's hand and immediately pointed his wand at each window so that the blinds dropped.
"Do me a Lumos, mate?" he asked Fred.
Complying, Fred asked, "Where's this then?"
"It's a Muggle train," Lee answered. He shoved the carrier bag under a seat. Then, lying on his stomach on the dusty floor, he pointed his wand at it and it faded in front of their eyes.
"Cool!" Fred said, in spite of himself. "Invisibility Charms are really tricky."
Lee shrugged. "That's not mine either. Mrs Tonks put that on with the Undetectable Extension. I just activate it. Means I can leave the equipment here all day and Apparate back when the Muggles have gone tomorrow night. I'll do the show here and then disappear to the next venue."
"Which is?"
"Could tell you. Would have to kill you."
"This isn't a Muggle train, you know," Fred said belligerently, "Dad used to take us to look round their trains after we dropped Bill, Charlie and Percy at Nine and Three Quarters." He walked the length of the carriage, looking at everything except Lee.
"Your Dad's priceless," Lee said with a smile. "This is an old train. It runs on steam like the Hogwarts Express. It's a tourist thing now, running between a few stations in North Yorkshire."
Lee took the Firewhisky out of his pocket and walked down to join Fred. Fred sat down on the long bench which ran across the back of the carriage. The only light came from his wand, which he put down beside him. Lee handed him the bottle and took a seat diagonally opposite him. They drank in awkward silence for a while, passing the bottle between them. They both knew why they were there, but neither was prepared to make the first move.
"What you're doing is dangerous, isn't it?" Fred asked eventually.
"What isn't these days? I take precautions," Lee answered.
There was another pause. Fred could feel the alcohol reddening his cheeks. "So," he asked, "you've been thinking about me?"
Lee nodded, then asked, "You ever think about me?"
'Only all the time', Fred thought. But he just nodded, too.
After another pause and another, long drink, Lee took a deep breath as he handed over the Firewhisky, and said, "I just get scared, that's all. I want to be with you and then when I am I get scared. I was brought up to think ... it's ... I'm not supposed to ...". He broke off. Fred didn't help him out.
Lee tried again: "I promise not to run away this time."
"You said that last time," Fred pointed out.
"Did I? I'm sorry. Look, you can leave whenever you want to, Fred, but I am staying in this room - this carriage I mean - all night."
"It's still only one night, Lee. I don't know if that's enough. It might be better if I just go now."
Fred stood up, holding his wand.
"Don't you fucking dare!" Lee shouted, leaping to his feet and grabbing Fred's wrists. The wand fell to the floor. It went dark.
Fred tried to pull his arms free, but Lee held on tight. It was a long time since Fred had played any Quidditch and Lee had been manouevring heavy equipment every night. For the first time in their lives, Lee was stronger than Fred.
As soon as Fred realised this, he had an urge to rip off Lee's jacket and T-shirt, to see for himself just how developed those muscles had got. Instead he relaxed and allowed Lee to push him onto the seat. Breathing raggedly, Lee leant over him, lowering his face into Fred's copper-coloured hair. Fred's face was pushed against Lee's chest. He turned his head and listened to Lee's heartbeat, felt the reverberations of Lee's moan.
Lee was still gripping Fred's wrists, so Fred grabbed at Lee's T-shirt with his teeth. Lee let go to shrug off his jacket and Fred pushed up the T-shirt, tasting skin, touching the new firm muscle of Lee's stomach. Fred knew he was lost to his passion, couldn't stop now, had no way of protecting his heart any more. Both men tore away the layers of clothes which separated them and fell to the floor. Fred finally let himself do the thing he had spent all evening holding back from: he pressed his mouth onto Lee's full, deep, dark lips.
Their bodies rubbed against each other, Fred slid one hand down Lee'schest, down his stomach, down ...
Suddenly Lee jumped up and sprinted down the carriage.
Fred felt very cold. 'Not again', he thought. He sat up as Lee started scrabbling around on the floor, telling himself that he should have known better than to trust Lee. He helped himself to the bottle of Old Ogden's. Lee swore loudly and ran back towards Fred. But it was his wand he'd come for. He aimed it vaguely, shouting, "Accio Bag! "
Then he hopped about swearing, rubbing his foot. Fred couldn't work out what was going on. But he could see that Lee was still there. He grabbed Lee's ankle, unbalancing him. One of the toes was bleeding; on a whim, Fred put it in his mouth and Lee fell over on top of him.
Fred pushed at Lee's shoulders and pinned him to the floor. "What the fuck?" he asked calmly.
Lee wriggled and struggled, rubbing against Fred's bare skin. He had to repeat himself three times: "I've got to get something out of the bag! Doing this properly. Get off a sec'."
Fred let go, asking, "Wouldn't it be easier if you made it visible?"
"But that takes concentration and I haven't got any."
So Fred rolled off Lee and let him get on with it. Lee patted the floor until he found the bag and then started pulling random objects as though from thin air. Finally he extracted the sleeping bag and laid that down on the floor between two sets of facing seats and shoved radio equipment, clothes and old Daily Prophets back into the bag.
"Now, where were we?" Lee asked, gently pulling Fred onto the sleeping bag as he kissed him on the lips. Then he kissed his ears and neck and stroked his biceps and buttocks. Fred ran his hands over Lee's new muscles.
"I think I owe you something," Lee mumbled as he laid Fred flat on his back and worked his way down the pale, freckled body. After that his mouth was too busy to say anything.
Everything in the world was perfect.
Afterwards, as he emerged from sated drowsiness, Fred asked "What can I do for you in return? We've got all night. And now we know what we're doing."
"Just because you've got nowhere to go doesn't mean you can clutter up my kitchen. You must be able to find something useful to do. When I was your age ..." Auntie Muriel had decided to have one of those days.
Ginny and the twins had been trying to develop a new three-way, suicide version of Wizard Chess. They were completely bored with the conventional way of playing it. It would have been a reasonably quiet pass-time, too, if the pieces hadn't objected to being given new rules and taken to stamping on the players' fingers whenever they got the chance.
"Is that Dad?" Ginny asked, interupting Muriel's flow of criticism and dashing out of the room.
Fred and George hurredly swept the pieces into the box as Muriel prepared to give them her full focus:
"You two could do worse than spend this time studying. You'll have to finish your education at some point. Three O.W.Ls each and no N.E.W.Ts? And then going into trade? And what happens when people get tired of your puerile sense of humour and decide to spend their knuts on something worthwhile? Where will you be then ...?"
"We'll get these out of your way, then, Auntie," George managed to interject, grabbing the chess set and making a dash for the stairs. Fred followed.
In the attic, George threw himself onto his bed, yelling, "I'm so bored!"
Fred sat on his own bed and started to charm the paper aeroplanes they had littered the floor with the day before. He was tempted to aim them at George's head. But that really wasn't funny any more, and anyway George kept winning their mid-air battles.
"Things must be really bad at Hogwarts, now," George said. "That's three days without an order."
"And nothing from the rest of the country, either," Fred added.
"Will you leave the fucking planes alone?" George snapped, casting Incendio at one in mid-air.
Fred used Aguamenti to douse the flaming plane, saying scornfully, "Yeah, burn the house down, that'll releive the boredom!"
"Great idea!" George replied, "I dare you to set fire to the curtains!"
"'Cos that'll improve Muriel's mood?" Fred asked.
"You wimping out on a dare?"
"Yeah."
"Poof!"
"I'm not a ..." Fred stopped himself. "Yes I am! So that means you'll have to commit your own arson 'cos everyone knows heterosexuals are braver than homosexuals," he said, sarcastically.
George was pleased. Fred's sexuality had become a comfortable part of their usual banter, albeit only when nobody else could hear them. He sat up and addressed his twin: "Are you saying that you're going to try and get out of all mischeif-making now just 'cos you're a shit stabber?"
"To be strictly accurrate," Fred replied, "it wasn't actually me doing the ..."
George put his hand over his ear, squawking, "No! T.M.I! The mental images!"
Fred picked up an aeroplane and tried to re-fold it into a boat, a smug smile on his face. He had a new weapon with which to torment his twin.
After a pause, George asked, "Really? I suppose I thought, not that I do think about it ... . But you're a Beater, I mean ... . I would have thought Lee would have ..." He trailed off, flustered, as Fred stared at him. Then he saw the twinkle in Fred's eye. His brother was enjoying watching him squirm.
To retaliate George said, "I thought Lee would have been the girl."
"Oh thanks! That's nice. Actually, the whole point, in case you missed it, is that neither of us is a girl!"
"I just don't get what you two ..." George started. "No and really I don't want to know."
"Make your mind up. 'Cos it'll be no fun telling you what we got up to unless you don't want to know."
"So if I say I don't want to know the gorey details then I get them?" George asked.
"That's right."
"OK, then I want you to tell me exactly what you and Lee got up to."
"Well, I sucked ..."
George covered his ear again. "Eeww!" he said. "That wasn't the deal!"
When George was listening again, Fred said, "See! I knew you were grossed out."
To change the subject, George asked, "So, how many other people do you reckon were at it at school?"
"One snog and a fumble hardly counts as 'at it'," Fred muttered. Then he added, "Probably loads of us."
"I wasn't," said George resentfully.
"You were."
"Not secretly."
"No." Fred agreed, "No Muggle girls there. What is it with you and Muggle girls?"
"They're just different. Not as wholesome as witches. Some Muggle girls have acrylic fingernails in bizarre colours and other peoples' hair soldered onto their own. It's interesting."
"It's disgusting," Fred replied.
"Coming from a man who's had sperm in his mouth?"
Fred levitated his paper boat over the carpet, bobbing it up and down.
"Incendio!" George set fire to the boat.
"George!" Fred sat up quickly and used Aguamenti again to put out the boat and the aeroplanes it had landed on.
"Well, I'm bored!" George answered, making no move to help Fred.
"And now the carpet's wet. Haven't you got a complementary medicine mag to drool over?"
"They're not medical!" George said defensively.
"They're full of descriptions of Muggle operations. Remember what Mum was like when Dad tried it?" Fred goaded.
"Of course I do. She went atomic. What's that got to do with anything?" George demanded.
"Personally, I think it's a great idea, mate. I can 'come out' without anyone noticing while Mum goes mental at you."
"Whatever you think you're talking about ..."
But George was interrupted by a tapping at the window. He leapt enthusiastically from the bed and let the owl in.
"Great! Some business at last! That should keep you occupied," Fred said.
"Actually, mate, it's for you."
George handed over the parchment. He watched his twin unroll it and watched his face crumple as he read. Within seconds Fred was crying. That was something George couldn't remember seeing since Playgroup.
Unable to speak, Fred handed George the letter:
Fred,
Your shop's all shut up. Where are you? Been trying to find you for weeks.
The Floo network's not safe. This is the third owl I've sent.
Thinking about you all the time. Miss you so much. Keep thinking how much time I wasted.
Could have been with you. Forgive me?
When this war is over - one way or the other - I want us to be together all the time.
All my love,
Lee
George handed the parchment back and, sobbing uncontrollably, Fred pressed it to his face. He lay curled round himself on the bed, shaking.
George didn't know what to do or say. Eventually, he heard the dinner gong sound at the bottom of the stairs.
"You'd better miss lunch," he said, not sure if Fred could even hear him, "I'll cover for you."
Just to be sure, George locked the door on the way out. He was part of the secret now and he would make sure nobody else knew. He went down to the dining room, where Arthur and Ginny were already setting the table.
"Fred's not coming down," he stated. "We've been trying out some new, er, Sunburn Sherbert and it looks like we haven't got the antidote right yet. Might need different strengths for different skin types ..."
"On a scale from black to Weasley?" Ginny laughed. "He can't get out of setting the table just 'cos he's embarressed."
"No, it's burning. And his tongue. Won't be able to eat for hours." He had to remember all the the details of this lie, make sure Fred kept to the same story.
"Poor old Fred!" said Arthur, but he was laughing. "He's not missing much, though. It's left-overs soup again."
"I'll do bread, then," said George, summoning the bread knife and making it circle his head twice. "Oops! Nearly had the other ear off!"
Molly, who was levitating the soup in, joined in with the laughter.
'It doesn't matter what we do or how we feel,' thought George, 'everyone laughs at the Weasley Twins'. But he hitched his face into a grin and spent the rest of lunch entertaining everyone by pretending to decide which vegetable could best replace his ear:
"Should I stick this cauliflower on, like this, do you think, Mum? Just to cover the scar?" He waggled it at the side of his head. "No? Carrot then? Where's the fruit bowl? Everyone loves a banana!"
At the end of the meal, Ginny smeared cheese on the side of George's head and stuck a cracker in it.
Helping to clear plates, George caught sight of himself in the mirror over the fireplace. When this war was over he was going to get himself an ear. Magic couldn't fix it. But the Muggles had prosthetics and anaesthetics and stitches. Fred was right, their mother would hate it. But it couldn't be helped. If he had to live without magic to get into a Muggle hospital then he would do it. He wouldn't live with only one ear.
Then he'd get a Muggle girlfriend - one with make-up and dyed hair, false nails, a fake tan, bleached teeth and maybe breast implants too. And Fred and Lee would be together and happy. All would be well.
And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.2
1 Dialogue from chapter 29, Careers Advice, J.K. Rowling: Harry Potter and The Order Of The Phoenix.
2 The end of Chapter 31, The Battle of Hogwarts, J.K. Rowling:Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.