Ch 1 - Bankruptcy, Rent Boys, and New Beginnings

So maybe he was being evicted. Maybe he still had no job. Maybe his I.O.U.s weren't worth anything, and were no longer accepted at most respectable (and indeed, not-so-respectable ) establishments. Fred didn't really care. He was out, living his life the way he wanted. Besides, all the ads in the Daily Prophet for loans and financial help always seemed to list "stressed out" next to "in debt" and "annoying creditors" and "imminent bankruptcy". As Fred was not stressed, he reasoned he just didn't meet the requirements. Anyway, he had a plan.

"Hey, love. I'm getting evicted. D'you think I could stay here for a while? You know, just 'til I find my feet again," Fred said with just the right amount of humility through the cracked door. He lowered his eyes the right number of degrees, chewed his bottom lip at the right time, and shuffled his feet the just the right amount.

"Aw, hell, Freddie," said Jonathan. "You know I can't say no to you."

Fred flashed him a brilliant smile. "You're the best, Johnny boy," he gushed as Jonathan closed the door and opened the latch.

"I know," Jonathan said smugly as he opened the door wide to let Fred and his luggage through. Fred couldn't help but blush a little when he realized Jonathan was shirtless. Which was silly, really. He'd seen Jonathan shirtless before. "Just put your stuff in the bedroom. You know where it is."

Fred grinned impishly, brushing Jonathan's shoulder as he passed. "Don't I, now."

Jonathan swung the door closed. "I hope you know I expect payment for this," he shouted at the retreating back.

After a moment Fred's voice came from the bedroom. "You know I can't afford rent." He sauntered back out of the bedroom and pushed Jonathan backwards onto the sofa and straddled his waist. "But I suppose I can be your own personal rent boy."

Fred's fingers skimmed lightly over Jonathan's chest, causing his breath to hitch like Fred knew it would.

"J-just m-make sure you're not l-late."

"I'm sure you'll remind me. Now hush." He silenced Jonathan's mouth with his own.

Fred grimaced into his pint of firewhiskey. Today had not been a good day. He'd gotten into a fight with Jonathan. A fight which encompassed a lot of things being thrown, at him and at Roberto (who, poor dear, hadn't managed to find his pants before being literally thrown out of the flat by use of a levitating spell), and ended with Jonathan dumping all of Fred's stuff out the window. And now it was four in the afternoon (What was Johnny doing home before six anyway? Fred thought crossly) and he was already tipsy.

He wasn't all that worried, though. He could bum around until the clubs opened, then find someone to spend the night with. If he played his cards right, he could get a few days, maybe a week before questions started being asked. And perhaps if he told his story convincingly enough - that is, if he came up with a suitable story - he could milk more, maybe even a couple months.

He really messed up something good this time. Fred smiled as he remembered how he always nervous when Jonathan was bare-chested, no matter the situation, and how he would tremble when Fred ran his fingers across his skin. But Roberto had been so... Italian. He wondered idly what he would do if he couldn't find a place. He thought about going home. Then decided that sleeping on a park bench would be better than going back there. He promised himself that he could make it on his own and he would.

Fred was feeling very warm in the club. He'd had more than enough to drink and had been dancing for over an hour. He had met three possible candidates, but he didn't really like them and was hoping that there was at least one more single gay man in the vicinity. There didn't seem like many, and he'd already been swung at for being too forward with someone's partner.

His head snapped to the left. He thought he recognized someone... yes! Dark brown messy hair, about five nine. It was Jonathan. Brimming with liquid courage, Fred made his way over to apologize. Maybe he wouldn't have to go home with any of those cretins after all. He reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder.

"Fred?" the man, who was most decidedly not Jonathan, said.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" Fred blinked. It was. He had lost the glasses, but there was the lightning scar.

"Fred!" Harry shouted. It seemed he had decided to stop being surprised and started being excited. "Come dance with me!"

Fred let himself be pulled back to the dance floor, where Harry started grinding on him in such a way that would have been quite good if Harry hadn't been so drunk. "Harry, what are you doing in a gay bar?" Fred shouted, but either Harry didn't hear him or just didn't answer. He was rather fit. He supposed there would be time for questions later.

Fred didn't get around to asking questions until much later, in fact not until the next day. He woke around eleven in a bed he had never seen before, in a room he had never seen before, and next to a man he didn't remember falling asleep next to.

He yawned and went to take a piss.

When he returned, Harry was still asleep. Fred smiled softly. He was really quite pretty. Then he frowned. He had just slept with Harry Potter, beloved world-wide celebrity and adored family friend, whom he hadn't seen in months and didn't even know was gay. He could imagine the fallout he would get from this one. His mother might rescind her silent treatment in favor of a Howler. The papers would proclaim, "The Boy Who Lived Deflowered By A Boy".

He stretched and went to make some tea.

He wondered if Harry would be happy about this. He hoped so. He hated those pesky morning-after regrets. He brought two cups back to the bedroom. Harry was awake. He offered him one. Harry gulped it down, despite its high temperature. Fred leaned against the wall and sipped his pensively.

"Harry?"

"Hm."

"D'you think they'll call me "The Boy Who Deflowered"?

As it turned out, Fred hadn't deflowered Harry Potter at all. That prestigious honor had gone to Draco Malfoy, of all people. Apparently, they had just broken up and Harry had decided now that Voldemort was dead, there was no reason to hide.

"I'm going to live my life the way I see fit," Harry said determinedly. Fred looked at him. He fidgeted self-consciously. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just... I know where you're coming from," he said softly.

Harry looked down. "Actually, you were sort of my inspiration."

Fred laughed. "How so?"

"You broke out. You're doing what you want, no matter what people think. You're family, everyone, they all thought you were one way, they never tried to find out who you are." Harry's eyes shown as he talked. Fred was both flattered and disturbed. Mostly flattered. "I admit, I assumed you and George were pretty much the same, but when Ron told me about what you did I realized that I couldn't live to please other people. I told Draco I wanted to come out. You know, to the public. But he wouldn't listen. So we, erm, parted ways."

Fred shifted uncomfortably. That he had just slept with a very drunken Harry after he had broken up with his long-term significant other over something that he had, however inadvertently, caused was slightly awkward. But apparently not for Harry. Fred furrowed his brows. He didn't want to take advantage of Harry in yet another way, but he did need a place to stay...

"And it's great, isn't it? Doing what you want all the time? I just feel so... free. You know?" Harry hopped out of the bed and pulled on some jeans and plain shirt. "I'm going to go get a paper. Just... make yourself at home, yeah?" And with that, Harry was out the door.

Perhaps Fred would ask him later. But then, he already said to make himself at home. So he did.