Doors

A birthday conspiracy for the homme among the femmes by Hecate, Minerva McTabby, Domina, Abby, Vulgarweed, Mona, Catherine, Anna, Jan Dark, Juliane, Frances, Lillith Janvier, A. L. de Sauveterre, Yolanda, and Lev (of course). Anything you don't recognize from the work of JKR stems either from the www.witchfics.org archives or from our collective unconscious, dangerous place that it is.

Or not.

Enjoy!

It had been ages.

He didn't often get to London, and when he did, he didn't spend much time hanging around the Leaky Cauldron, as it was too close to work for him to ever be able to relax. Not that a goblin would ever darken the pub's door, not at this point in the evening, but still. It was close enough. But there was a feel about the place he just couldn't resist today. It was so . . . liminal, so close to the Muggle world without actually being a part of it. Knowing he could step out the door and slip into an alternate reality was far more intoxicating than the glass of Old Ogden's at his elbow.

Bill almost jumped as a bottle floated into his field of vision from the left.

The barkeep chuckled.

"Earth to Weasley!" Tom called, smiling. "I can see you're not here for the libations."

Bill glanced down at his glass on the point of overflowing from the stream of whiskey falling from the floating bottle. Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he sent the bottle back towards the end of the bar. Then he waved it over the brimming glass, transforming the golden liquid into a chunk of amber. Upending the glass, he palmed the warm, vibrant stone for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

"No, not really," said Bill, smiling. "I'm just passing time deciding on a door."

Tom nodded, knowingly. He'd not been the Keeper of the Portals for all these years without knowing the signs. A certain restlessness, the occasional tap of strong, freckled fingers on the bar, a glance toward the low black door behind him that led out to the Muggle street.

"Deciding?" Tom laughed again. "You've decided, my lad. Go on with you. Remember, books to the right, music to the left, but I can't tell you which would be the better place to look for a date."

Bill stared at the barkeep. Damn, he must be getting obvious.

"Of course, I don't go out, myself," Tom concluded, "not anymore."

Stowing his wand back in its sheath and running his fingers through his ponytail, Bill rose from the barstool and fished a sickle from his pocket, which he slid across the bar.

"Thanks for the drink, Tom."

"Anytime, lad. Don't stay out too late or yer mum will be asking after you again."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Tom-"

"I know, Bill, don't fret. She'll hear nothing from me but that you've been walking out steady with that apothecary she likes, the one with the little goatee."

Um, right. Bill thought. As if.

"G'night, Tom," he waved, heading for the front door. "Don't wait up."

As if, Tom thought, polishing Weasley's empty glass.

He'd banished his robes as he walked through the door, and now wore Muggle clothing. Faded blue jeans, black leather jacket. White T-shirt, with the inscription on the front of it spelling out a most intriguing invitation indeed - to anyone who could read 18th dynasty hieroglyphics. Bill thought he looked presentable enough.

Books to the right, music to the left... It felt like a night for words – not curses, nor counter-curses, but something else - something he could almost hear. Promises, perhaps?

Bill turned to the right.

A mild June evening, and it was still early. No rush. No pressure. He could take a little time to settle into the feeling of being out in the Muggle world... Browsing the shelves of the book shop next door to the Leaky Cauldron would do nicely.

The shop was large, yet welcoming; its vast assortment of books, both new and second-hand, arranged with a logic which discreetly refrained from ruling out serendipity. It had been years - but the history shelves were exactly as he remembered them. A quick glance at the 20th century - a lingering look at the Middle Ages - brushing past Rome with his fingertips, opening two or three books on the Cretans, the Greeks - and then he was where he wished to be. Sighing happily, Bill set about working his way through the entire shelf on Ancient Egypt.

Muggle scholarship certainly left out a great deal, but some of these titles were truly fascinating... Which Egyptian Deity Are You? for example, or Mummies for Dummies. Delectably lost in some scandalous revelations about cat-worship, Bill was off his guard. A trained curse-breaker shouldn't have taken so long to become aware of being watched.

But when he looked up, the feeling vanished. No obvious source of threat, either; only one person nearby, a tall man in black jeans earnestly browsing the fantasy and science fiction shelves next to the history section.

His imagination, most likely. Old habits - or simply nerves? Bill shrugged, returning his attention to the book he held.

Then he felt it again... the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Taking a deep breath, he returned the book to its shelf.

And this time, when he looked up, the man caught his eye. And smiled.

Oh. He wasn't even trying to evade detection. Not an attack, then. Only... what?

Bill's wand was in its sheath, inside the left sleeve of his jacket; easily drawn, if necessary. The man turned, moving with an arrogant grace, closing the short distance between them. Now Bill's scalp prickled, as well as his neck. Something about this one... was almost familiar.

Tall, yes, and slim, with wavy black hair and skin that had surely never seen the sun. High cheekbones, and a mouth which looked as if it could be both stubborn and cruel, although now it still curved in that smile. He wore a light silk shirt of deepest blue, a shade matching his glittering eyes. And his long, pale fingers held a book Bill recognized at once.

"Good, isn't it?" said the stranger lightly, following Bill's gaze. "If a little inclined to understatement at times... Ah well, the better part of valour and all that, wouldn't you agree?"

He was a wizard. Bill tensed, glancing down again at that copy of The Mists of Avalon - one of the most successful experiments in Muggle-focused marketing. When Marion Zimmer Bradley converted her fortune to Galleons, even the goblins had whispered in admiration. And this stranger who spoke of it so casually in his languid, well-bred drawl - Bill was willing to bet this was –

"A Slytherin, of course!" The man's smile widened at Bill's start of surprise. "And tell me, William Weasley - " He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "Is that a chunk of amber in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

Involuntarily, Bill's eyes flew to the front of his own jeans - before he belatedly remembered that he was a professional, a Gringotts security expert, and the coolest member of the Weasley family. Not a man to be trifled with.

"Look, who are you, and what do you want?" he snapped, tapping the floor with one black dragon-hide boot and deploying his most formidable frown.

The stranger only grinned back at him, quite unfazed. "Ah, merely a messenger, this night. You are expected, Mr. Weasley. Anticipated! Awaited most eagerly..."

When he held out a scrap of parchment, Bill was feeling so confused that he took it without another word.

"Splendid!" Wicked blue eyes looked Bill up and down; the mystery man undoubtedly seemed pleased with what he saw. "All you have to do is make your way to that address - by midnight - and all will be revealed. My thanks for your attention, Mr. Weasley, and fair fortune to you!"

Even as Bill made to speak again, the man was disappearing - not Disapparating, but melting away as if he'd been no more than an illusion. Oddly enough, that dangerous smile lingered for some time after the rest of him had gone.

The book vanished with him - but the parchment remained in Bill's hand.

Midnight - not all that far off now, and Bill stared at the address in his hand. The writing was strong and even, a consistency that spoke of an education in design.

Questions tumbled through his mind, mixing together in a jumble that was decidedly uncharacteristic of him - most of Bill's success had to do with an uncanny ability to sort through the junk that was sensory input and make sense of it. That and pure luck.

Right now, though, it was all sensory input. The Cheshire Cat smile, the black denim and the blue eyes. The scent of paper and glue in the books around him and the crisp parchment in his hand.

Bill suddenly realised he was still staring at the parchment, looking at the address without seeing it. With an effort, he dragged himself from free falling into sensation and concentrated on the more concrete questions - the less metaphysical and hopefully more soluble questions.

The first of which was: where the hell was this place? The address in his hand simply said 'Trellick Tower'. He cast around, searching through any memories of a castle - or perhaps a manor - with that title. Nothing came to mind, either here in England or overseas.

All the same, he was in a bookshop, it really should not be that hard to find something that would tell him where to find Trellick Tower - and to hopefully find it by midnight. Leaving the history section, and skirting fantasy and science fiction with an uncharacteristic nervousness, Bill headed over towards the travel and maps section.

Midnight. He had to be there by midnight and he was in a Muggle store; the place had to be close by. Apparating was not an option, since he didn't know the location. Bill picked a London guide book, turning to the index and flipping through the entries. Nothing.

The next few books were no more help, and he became aware again that he was being watched. Head snapping up, Bill found the shop assistant standing close by; a small, slim girl with hair of an indeterminate colour pulled back from her face. Jeans again, black - it was clearly the evening for black jeans - and a black t-shirt with a large pink triangle on it. Very retro.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked, then rushed on, as though aware that she had produced a rather pointless question, "or just browsing? If you're looking for something in particular, I might be able to help."

Bill tucked the book he was holding back onto the shelves.

"I'm looking for information on a place called Trellick Tower," he said. "Have you heard of it?"

"Yes, of course I have. I live there."

That was not an answer he had been expecting; was it coincidence, or had the Slytherin in black jeans known and anticipated that he would ask ... or was she connected to whoever was behind this?

Bill had never thought it best to proceed cautiously; the direct method usually took you to where you wanted to be with the least fuss, although perhaps not always the least danger.

"Could you tell me how to get there?"

"I can do better than that, I can take you there. We're closing up here now - I'll be ready to go in five minutes. Wait there and I'll be right back."

Five minutes passed to the accompaniment of the sound of the shop being closed, the clink of metal keys in metal locks and the cascade of change into a bank bag. Bill browsed on through the London guide books, looking for some mention of Trellick Tower and finding none. The feeling that the assistant was somehow connected with all of this escalated, and he surreptitiously checked his wand in his sleeve, and the knife tucked into his boot.

"All done," he heard finally. "Let's go."

Transportation turned out to be a large black motorcycle with no identifying marks beyond the statutory license plate; Bill thought that it felt like a Ducati, though, and it certainly sounded like one. London passed in a sodium-lit blur of night as they weaved through the streets, wrapped in the thrum of the engine.

Silence - or as near to silence as London could manage - pressed down when they stopped and the engine was stilled; Bill took off his helmet and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it back to something nearer order. He looked around, seeing only Muggle housing - a collection of concrete and glass.

"Where are we?" He was puzzled, uncertain why she had brought him to this corner of London's urban sprawl. A train rumbled past on the tracks nearby, a shaft of light moving slowly enough to see the people rising and collecting coats and bags as they neared Paddington station.

"Trellick Tower, mate. It's where you wanted to go, isn't it?" The girl stared at him for a moment as he continued to look puzzled, then added, pointing "look up - it's not called a tower for nothing. London's finest council housing. As long as you haven't got vertigo."

Bill followed the direction of her finger. Above him, rising from the two storey houses that lined the roads, was more concrete and glass - but this time, it soared into the black sky.

Trellick Tower was a skyscraper.

He blinked, squinting as he tried to distinguish the point where building ended and sky began.

Do Muggles really live in these, he wondered in bemused disbelief. He turned to his companion and guide to ask her, and blinked again when he realised that she was nowhere to be seen. The only thing that told him that she had even been there was the black Ducati, parked at the kerb, still warm from their trip across London.

Which left the time at twenty minutes short of midnight, and him with little or no idea of what he was doing here.

The only way into the edifice appeared to be a pair of double doors at the base. He walked up to them and examined them carefully. Thick glass - impossible to see through thanks to some form of translucent coating and, given the area of London, he was also rather surprised to note the lack of customary graffiti. He laid a hand on one of the heavy metal handles and was faintly unnerved to find it warm to the touch and emitting a featherlight vibration.

He pushed the door and, falling back into old habits, surveyed the interior, before actually going in. A blank corridor; white tiled from floor to ceiling, with a single black line about 9 inches from the ceiling. Black and white chequerboard floor, all pristinely clean. An air of expectation hung over it, but no sense of overt danger. At the end of the hallway was a metal wall.

Nobody could accuse Mrs. Weasley's eldest boy of backing away from a challenge.

He walked inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. His boot heels struck sounds off the floor, which bounced around and back at him. He paused at the end, waiting as the echoes died away. To his right was a small metal panel with a single button on it. There was something etched under it.

LIFT CALL

He stifled a sudden urge to laugh.

He knew about lifts. His father had books on them in his Muggle collection. Upwardly Mobile: A history of Muggle lifting devices was one that he particularly remembered. He pressed the button. The metal face in front of him split in two revealing a room beyond. He stepped inside.

The inside of the lift was metallic greyspace, relieved only by another panel. But this one had only three buttons on it; an oddity given the obvious number of floors in the building. And, instead of numbers, beside each button was a different geometric figure.

The bottom one was a narrow ellipse, coloured a vivid blue.

Eyes, he thought, and black wavy hair and a smile that lingered in the air.

The top one was a pink triangle.

Indeterminate hair and jeans and a Ducati invaded his mind.

And the middle one -- this was a rectangle in a shade that was somewhere between orange and gold.

He moved, trying to place the colour, and the lump of amber shifted in his pocket against his thigh. Slowly, he reached in and pulled it out, turning it in his hand, holding it so that perspective was lost and the amber cylinder resolved itself into a two dimensional figure.

A rectangle, of a shade between orange and gold.

It was the change in air pressure, rather than any noise, that told Bill that the doors had shut behind him. He rather doubted that any of the symbols on the panel meant "exit".

Which still left him with the choice of which button to press.

He was going to have to make a choice based on very little information. Typical. Too often that was how the damn curses worked: touch the left stream, or the right? The black key, or the red? One meant entry, the other death. Obviously you had to trust your instincts. The question was, did the trap-setter anticipate your instinct or not, since obviously if you, you had to do the opposite of what you felt. Sussing that was the reason why there was such a high turnover rate in his job - and why a wizard who was good at it, as he was, could name his own price.

Yet he knew he was already thinking along the wrong lines - it was his conscious mind telling him to be suspicious, not his inner mind. His inner mind knew there were no curses involved and none of the choices would be harmful. There was only harmless and accurate.

He scanned the images with his eyes half-closed.

No. He didn't want to pick the messengers. He wanted the message.

He pressed the amber rectangle, and felt the sensation of lift in his legs and belly as the lift shot upward, bearing his gift.

At the very top, the doors parted and admitted him into a room full of voices, and dark light effects, and night air.

All this hocus-pocus to invite me to a party, he thought wryly to calm down his unseemly excitement.

As he stepped out into the room and scanned about for the bar, usually the mostly brightly-lit point at such functions, a hand plucked at his leather sleeve. "Oh, lose the Muggle rags, darling," sneered the bitchiest male voice he'd heard since the resort where that rumoured Malfoy nephew had lost the amateur stripping contest to that distant Snape cousin. "You people never get it right."

Bill sneered, "Oh, and you've gotten any closer?" he said, taking in the blond man's atrocious idea of New Romanticism.

"I am a Muggle, honey, what's your excuse?"

"That's plain as day, isn't it?" Bill sighed, and sauntered off to the bar dressed exactly as he was, goddamnit. I've heard of these . . . , he thought. Open mixing parties, where everybody *knows.* Would be cause for an Inquiry if the Ministry knew, but to them it's just a walk on the wild side. Write it all off as coke delusions in the morning at that.

He asked for a drink politely from the tattooed girl behind the blue lights, and she gave him a knowing smile while the men gathered round all studied him from behind well-practiced gazes that were too cool to move. It was always flattering to be cruised, but he figured his chances of finding someone he would be interested in here were slim.

With drink in hand, he began to make his way toward the windows at the far side of the room. Bill had found that the best place to be in a room full of strangers was near a window. Useful as either a means of escape if things got out of hand (though at this height, that would be a pretty trick) or as a distraction if conversation fell flat ("Oh, hey, what's that over there?), the location of the windows in this place also afforded him the opportunity to do some scoping of his own while in transit.

He sauntered with the casual, uninterested air of one who did this kind of thing every day, though truth be told, work had kept him so busy lately that his legendary social skills were a bit rusty. Still, it was like riding a bike. Some eye contact here, a little nod and smile there . . . it was all coming back. He was just starting to settle in to see and be seen mode when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Bill Weasley, what a surprise to find you here." He turned around to find himself face to face with a pleasant-looking man whose face looked vaguely familiar.

Shit, he thought, as he struggled to come up with a name and failed miserably.

The man grinned at him. "Don't worry, I'll let you off the hook this time. Aaron Roth. We met on assigment in Tel Aviv a couple of years ago. The Goldschmidt repo."

The light went on. Well who knew? "Of course. Aaron, nice to see you again." Bill remembered the job well. It had taken three curse-breakers (Bill and Aaron had been joined by a pistol of an American witch named Stephanie) and a whole lot of luck to get through that one. After it was over, the three had gotten shit-faced together and ended up sleeping it off puppy-piled on the floor of Bill's apartment.

After a few minutes of small talk about their latest jobs and near-misses, Aaron threw back his drink and gave Bill a long look.

"Enough with the shop talk. I'm like to introduce you to a good friend of mine who's in visiting from the States. He's here doing research on a historical piece he's writing about one of Hogwarts' founders. And I think you two just might hit it off." He searched the room and then smiled as he saw the man he was looking for approaching.

"Here he is now. Lev, I'd like you to meet Bill Weasley, expert breaker of hearts and curses. Bill, this is Lev Stone, my friend and Muggle writer extraordinaire."

Bill looked and saw a toned, fit dark-haired man, who looked nearly as uncomfortable as Bill had felt on first entering the room. He was wearing jeans -- blue, Bill was oddly relieved to see -- and a white crew-necked cotton knit jumper.

"Sorry about this," he said, shaking Bill's outstretched hand with a shy, sweet smile on his face. "Aaron keeps trying to be my own personal yenta."

Bill laughed. "I think he must be my mum in drag. She's always on me to 'find some nice boy and adopt some grandchildren'."

"You sure we don't have the same mom?" Lev shot back.

"Who knows?" chuckled Bill. He was beginning to like Lev already, and not just because he was one of the few persons in the room who didn't dress like a refugee from the road version of La Cage aux Folles. The one thing that had kept Bill from acknowledging his own gayness earlier than he did was that he had grown up with the mistaken belief that being a lover of men meant having to wear clothing Dedalus Diggle wouldn't touch.

He has such wonderfully warm eyes, Bill thought. Mum probably WOULD like him....

Aaron by this time had quietly sidled away, but the other two men never noticed.

"So," Lev asked, jerking his head toward the howling, gyrating mass of humanity on the dance floor. "Do you know a lot of these people?"

They had been talking for what seemed like half an hour, but was probably twice that. Bill, who had hoisted himself up to sit on the windowsill, surveyed the room dispassionately and shook his head.

"Not really," he said. "There's a familiar face here and there, but this isn't really my scene." He raised one eyebrow as a group of young wizards sauntered past, robes open in front to reveal bare chests and low-slung leather chaps, cowboy hats with black dragonhide hat bands slid to a precarious angle on the backs of their heads. One of them wore a studded dog collar; another was trailed by what appeared to be a miniature buffalo, its horns and hooves sheathed in shiny black latex.

The late-night crowd had arrived.

"How about you?" he asked Lev. Lev rolled his eyes.

"Just Aaron. I'm visiting from out of town."

"Ah. Right." Bill leaned closer to Lev's ear; a couple of club-kid types were dirty-dancing in the centre of the dance floor, and the shrieks and catcalls of encouragement from their rapidly gathering audience grew ever more raucous. "Want to see if we can find a quieter corner? With maybe a bit less smoke?"

Lev grimaced.

"I'd love to," he said, "but good luck. That's the non-smoking section, right over there."

Following Lev's pointing finger, Bill looked up -- and began to laugh. Nailed to the wall in the corner, just below the ceiling, was a single ladderbacked chair. A placard beside it read, Thank You For Not Smoking In This Section.

"That," Bill said fervently, "is just perfect." Lev studied him quizzically, a faint look of perplexity on his cute college-boy face.

"I thought it was funny, too," he said politely. Bill, still snorting, shook his head.

"No, what I mean is that it's the last straw." He slid off the windowsill and, on impulse, grabbed Lev's hand. "Come on -- neither of us wants to be here, right? Let's leave this freak show to the freaks."

Lev hesitated.

"Aaron ..." he began, but broke off as a small crowd of Patsy-and-Edina impersonators teetered past in loud vocal pursuit of the cocaine bar. "Well," he said slowly, "I suppose it would be hard to find him in all ... this."

Bill grinned.

"That's the spirit," he said, and with a heave sent the window flying open. Lev stared at him as he eased out onto the skyscraper's windowsill.

"Um ... what exactly ... ?"

"You want to get out of here, don't you?" Bill said, and pointed his wand out into the night. "Accio Harley!"

"Harley?" Lev queried. Bill nodded.

"Keeping it for a friend of a friend. He's riding a hippogriff these days." As if on cue, a big black beast of a motorcycle screeched to a halt outside the window. Bill threw a leg over, then held out a hand to Lev. "Hop on."

Lev hesitated, then -- seeming to gather his nerve -- slid out of the window and onto the bike behind Bill.

The motor gunned. The leather cowboys rushed to the window, gnashing their capped teeth with wistful envy. Shutting his eyes, Lev hooked his arms around Bill's waist and felt the Harley roar beneath him, an orgasm on two wheels, as Bill let out the throttle and revved the accelerator again.

They were off into the night. And they had at least six hours until dawn.

It might have been the sudden draught of fresh air or it might have been something more subtle, but a euphoric burst of wildness gripped Bill and he leaned over to bring the Harley round in a steep banking curve. Trellick Tower swung into view again and both men gasped. The tower was in fact two towers - one a vast rectilinear slab (the window they had escaped through already lost amongst hundreds just like it), the other an impossibly slender campanile. Walkways connected the two at every third floor and framed patches of night sky.

Bill eased off the throttle until they were standing on the air. The wildness hadn't evaporated.

"Looks to me, Sport" he said as he turned to look over his shoulder at his new companion, "that what we have here is a profusion of portals, leading to as many worlds as we could want. Which is it going to be?"

Then instantly, he wondered whether he'd gone over the top. Lev was a Muggle after all and might think he was speaking the literal truth. He needn't have worried though, a shy smile of complicity was already spreading across Lev's face. "Well, it's my first time in London, not to mention my first time astride a flying motorcycle, so maybe you should make the recommendations."

"Well, Lev, I never feel that I'm properly back in London until I've visited Soho."

"Soho it is then. But I get to pick the portal, and I think we should go through ... that one!" said Lev, as he lifted one hand to point to the highest gap of all.

Bill felt the same secret thrill of concordance as he had when he'd noticed Lev was wearing blue jeans. He angled the bike steeply upwards and gunned it, and then they were arcing through the topmost gap and all of London was stretched out before them.

***

Bill brought the Harley down for a perfect landing on the roof of Old Compton Street's premier fetish boutique. As he explained to Lev, it was a vantage point that offered the best views of the most exciting bits of Soho, and it meant that the merchandise was underfoot and out of sight. Both of them had seen enough PVC and latex for one night. The building was an old townhouse and its roofscape of gables and dormers and chimneys was neatly coralled by a parapet that was just the right height to lean on. Elbows touching, Bill and Lev both gazed downward. Though it was well after two, delicious scents from the Chinatown restaurants lingered on a warm Southerly breeze and crowds still thronged the streets - crowds which featured lots of pairs of men walking hand in hand.

"It reminds me of Diagon Alley, somehow," said Lev, unexpectedly, and then added in the lengthening pause "Aaron took me there. He thought I might find some of the sources I need at Flourish & Blotts." Bill tore his gaze from a lone man who was standing in the street below (swivelling wildly as he tried to look at everything at once) and turned to stare at Lev.

"That's uncanny," he whispered. "That's more or less what I thought the first time I came here."

"I was standing just about where that guy is right now," he continued, pointing downwards to the man he'd been watching, "and realising for the first time that I really, truly wasn't the only one - that there was this whole, unsuspected world I belonged to, and suddenly I remembered watching the Muggle-born kids in Diagon Alley - getting their first-year supplies for Hogwarts and in the magical world for the first time. The way they looked - that combination of awe and a sense of coming home in their expressions was the way I felt."

"I think I can imagine the way they must have looked," said Lev with a quiet smile. "I'd like to think that I looked the same way . . . ." He trailed off into silence, and Bill, knowing how often a retreat into anonymity can follow a rush into intimacy, was suddenly desperate not to have Lev reveal anything he might regret. He was casting around for a way to turn the conversation back to smoother channels when out of the warm Soho night, a soaring contralto rose to belt out the last few bars of My Baby Just Cares For Me, accompanied by a syncopated piano riff that Bill would have recognised anywhere. "Maxie!" he said delightedly. "Maxie and her boys - they must be playing Ronnie Scott's."

"Is she a witch?" asked Lev eagerly, "Is that how she manages to sound almost exactly like Nina Simone?"

"Why don't we get down from here, and you can go ask her yourself," replied Bill (rapidly regaining his urbanity as he realised that he'd got the conversation back under control without even trying). "I don't recommend heading into the club at this hour; Maxie always saves Baby for her last encore. But I'll bet my wand the whole lot of them will be in Bar Italia twenty minutes from now, and if we get there ahead of them and get in a round of espressos with grappa, the lady will be inclined to be generous with her time."

Lev nodded in agreement. "Let's go - should we take the bike, or-"

Bill grinned at him. "I think this roof is as good a spot as any to leave it. Has Aaron introduced you to the joys of Apparating?"

"Er, no," Lev said. "Isn't it kind of dangerous - you can get squinched-"

"Splinched. Yeah, it can happen, but I've been doing it for years with nary a splinch. Matter of fact, I'm become such an expert that I can easily take you along, if you'll trust me." Bill began to feel unaccountably nervous about Lev's answer and balled his hands into fists in the pockets of his jacket.

In the glow of blue-white light from the nearby hotel sign, Bill saw Lev's eyes take on a wicked sparkle that made him catch his breath. "I'd love to experience Apparation. How does it work?"

Bill took his hands out of his pockets.

"We need to be close together, touching actually, er, like this." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he slide his arms around Lev's waist, shivering just a little as chest brushed chest. Lev tentatively rested his hands on Bill's back and they both stood, eyes closed, red hair mingling with brown, for a few seconds. Finally, Bill brushed Lev's ear with his lips, so warm, Bill thought, not daring to do more, and said "Hold tight - here we go."

They landed in an alley next to the Bar Italia and bumped up hard against the damp bricks of a wall. "Ooof, sorry about that, Lev. It's harder to land with two- uh, people..." His voice trailed off as he realized Lev, still dizzy from the experience, was holding him very tightly, and damn, it felt wonderful. As a matter of fact, this entire evening has been improving minute by minute, decided Bill, and with that sense of wildness and concordance sweeping back into him, he dared to give Lev a gentle kiss. "Are you all right? Shall we go in?"

"Sure," whispered Lev, as he unwound his arms from Bill's waist.

Was that a hint of reluctance I sensed? I hope so, thought Bill. The notion was reinforced by Lev's hand enfolding his as they walked to the entrance of the bar.

From the dark quiet of the night, they were plunged into the fluorescent-lit hive of activity that was London's most famous coffee joint. The crowd pressing around the bar was doubled by the mirror behind it. Reflecting briefly on whether it would warrant an official citation from the Improper Use of Magic Office then deciding that Mafalda would forgive him in this instance, Bill cast a silent spell across the room that sent two people out into the night, leaving their empty demitasse cups behind. He followed that up with a short-term protection spell to prevent any other patrons from noticing the free bar stools and pulled Lev across the room to the prized spot.

When they had settled into their seats, the barista came by and swept up the cups, following with a swipe from the rag that hung from her apron.

"Get you lads anything?" She asked.

Bill glanced to Lev. "A macchiato?" the American said and Bill smiled. Not one of those triple-berry-decaf-mocha-with-soy-hold-the-whipped-cream types. A good sign. "I'll have the same," Bill told the woman. When she returned with the drinks, he put in the request for a round for Maxie and the band when they arrived

Then Bill watched Lev watch the crowd. Night couriers in for a quick cuppa rubbed shoulders with over-dressed suburbanites trying to be seen while demi-celebrities held court at the small tables near the front. A cross-section of nocturnal London, it was the kind of crowd that was perfect to be alone in.

Bill leaned in so as not to shout, "So, tell me about this Founders project you're working on."

He was instantly rewarded with the look of passion that swept over Lev's face. And in the next five minutes, he learned more about the Founding of Hogwarts than he ever had from Professor Binns. And the thing was, unlike his History of Magic class, he wasn't on the verge of sleep; he was actually interested. That's what a masterful storyteller could do.

He began to think about the connections he had through Gringotts, wizards who could show Lev some of the sites, known and obscure, connected with the Founding and wizarding history in the British Isles. Bill had always been more curious about Ancient Egypt than Ancient Britain, but he was finding a new interest blossoming. He had some free time from the bank coming up soon. Perhaps Lev and he....

At that moment, there was a small commotion at the door and a serene ebon beauty swept into the room, trailed by three men in rumpled suits. The crowd at the other end of the bar parted as the barista shooed them away and set out a row of demitasse cups and small straight-sided glass cylinders. The band took their place at the bar and Maxie leaned in to hear something from the barista. Her face broke into a wide smile as she looked around the room.

When she spied Bill, she whispered something to the man next to her and made her way through the crowd to where Bill and Lev sat.

"You old scamp," she laughed, pulling Bill to her, kissing his cheek. "What are you doing in London?"

"I heard you were here," he replied with a wink.

Maxie laughed again.

"Maxine, I'd like you to meet my friend, Lev Stone."

Maxie turned to Lev.

"Ooh," she squealed. "You’re cute, what’re you doing hanging around with this one?" She jerked her thumb at Bill.

"Now, now," said Bill, jokingly. "No telling tales."

"Honey, you know that’s all I do." Maxie picked up her cup, took a drink and winked at Lev. "So, Bill, Honey, what’cha doing back in England? I know it’s not to see lil’ol me." Maxie pouted a bit.

"You know," said Bill, "I’d much rather spend time with you, Sweetie, but alas, no. I got called back for the Gringott’s yearly board meeting."

"Oh, you poor dear," Maxie commiserated. "So, Lev, do you work for Gringott’s also?"

"Actually," said Lev. "I’m between jobs right now. Bill just sort of . . . ran into me."

"It wasn’t on that deathtrap of a motorcycle, was it?" Maxie shook her finger at Bill. "Bill Weasley, shame on you, I thought you got rid of that thing."

"Well," Lev jumped into to save Bill from what looked to be a scolding. "I wasn’t watching where I was going."

"And, he wasn’t either, no doubt." Maxie laughed. "Bill’s bike is famous, or rather infamous. I don’t think his mom ever forgave Sirius Black for giving him one."

"Yeah," Bill broke into the conversation. "She’s still mad at him."

"You still haven’t said what a cute American is doing here with this scamp." Maxie turned her attention back to Lev.

Bill also realized he and Lev hadn’t really talked much about what Lev was doing here in England. Bill knew he was doing research on the Hogwarts Founders, but beyond that, he didn’t really know anything about Lev. He was curious to find out all about the American. Bill knew that if anyone could get the story from Lev, Maxie could. She had a way of asking probing questions without being too intrusive. Bill settled back for an interesting conversation.

He was not disappointed. In between answering Lev’s questions about her singing, Maxie got the whole story. Lev was in England on holiday before moving to Boston to start a teaching job with something called AmeriCorps. Bill thought he remembered that Gringott’s had a branch in Boston. Whoa, he had just met Lev and he was already making plans to get to Boston. Well, Lev was good looking and had a good sense of humor. And boy, he looked good in those jeans.

"So Bill," Maxie turned towards him. "How’s curses?"

The conversation turned towards Bill’s work. Before the group knew it, the barista was chasing them out. They reached the street.

"Well, boys," Maxie said and yawned. "It’s been fun, but I need my beauty sleep." She kissed each in turn, walked a few steps and apparated with a wave. Bill and Lev stood on the now quiet street staring at the empty spot where Maxie had stood.

"So," Bill said.

"So," Lev repeated.

Lev’s eyes met Bill’s. They stared at each other for a long moment. Electricity crackled in the shared gaze. Bill started to move closer to Lev. A taxi honked on the block up, braking the moment.

"Where are you staying?" Bill asked.

"The International Student’s House over by Regent’s Park," Lev said.

"Listen," said Bill. "I’ve got a real decent flat in Diagon Alley. It’s got a guest room, why don’t we collect your stuff and you can use the extra bed."

Lev looked at Bill in surprise. "You don’t have to do that," he said.

"It’s no problem," said Bill. "I can understand if you don’t feel comfortable, I mean, I could be an ax murderer or something."

"I don’t want to put you out," Lev said as he stared at the darkened storefronts across the street.

"You won’t," Bill said. "We can go over to Flourish & Blots in the morning and find a guide book to historical sites. Let’s get the bike and your stuff."

Lev was silent for a moment. Then he said, "If you’re sure, the hostel is rather seedy."

"Great, said Bill. He then put his arm around Lev’s waist in preparation for apparating to where the bike was parked. This time he made sure to brush his lips across Lev’s forehead. "I make a mean breakfast," he said just before they disappeared.

The familiar pull threaded through Bill’s waist as he tightened his grip around Lev. The din of the crowds of Frith Street melted away into a pleasant chaotic blur. Certainly not for the first time in the past few hours, Bill blushed as his mind strayed to the chiaroscuro of sensations he had been experiencing all evening, due to the heady proximity of his companion.

"Are you all right?" Lev’s voice was a little breathless, as he blinked unsteadily for a moment at Bill—Bill who knew he was blushing ten shades of Weasley red as Lev’s grip on him tightened instinctively. Apparating in tandem always caught him a little off-balance, but, he had to admit, not quite like this. Judging from the burning in his cheeks, that telltale flush was still there. He thanked Merlin for the dearth of street lighting on the rooftop. Unfortunately, the same meant that he, equally, could not gauge Lev’s reaction. Or . . . could he? Lev’s eyelids flickered up for an instant, meeting his, and then down again. He was fighting with himself over the urge to brush his lips over them when a beam of light flashed across the roof and the brick wall behind.

"Who’s there? Show yerself!"

Squinting, Bill could just make out the bow-legged silhouette of a security guard hobbling his way across the roof, brandishing an electric torch. The man, camouflaged in darkness, remained featureless, but the raspy voice sounded remarkably like Argus Filch, caretaker at Hogwarts. Of course, it couldn’t be, thought Bill. But he wasn’t one to stick around and find out—he grinned—especially when there were others more worthy of … exploration.

"Hold on!" he whispered to Lev, pulling him back into his arms and grasping onto the bike handle before Disapparating to the International Students’ House.

***

Bill realised that he must have miscalculated the Apparition speed. They collided against one another upon Reapparition, Lev pitching forward in the darkness, tumbling on top of Bill. They were lying on the grassy embankment of what he recognised as Regent’s Park. Lev’s eyes widened in surprise and his lips were parted as he struggled to catch his breath. Unfortunately his panting only served to make Bill more aware of the nature of their respective positions. He couldn’t suppress a grin, which he was glad to see immediately returned. For a moment, neither moved. Bill was scarcely aware of having drawn breath.

A diminuendo of distant engines from Baker Street served to remind them of their immediate task. Lev stood first, offering him a hand. As they brushed the blades off each other’s jeans, Bill realised that he was perhaps being a little too meticulous, but Lev didn’t seem to mind.

"I’ll be right back," he said. Bill felt the feather-light brush of his lips before Lev shyly turned and crossed the street to the house.

A few taxis rolled by, but the tree-lined street was otherwise quiet. Only minutes later, Bill spied Lev sprinting back, carrying a small suitcase and… something oddly-shaped in his hand.

"’Found this on the desk in my room," said Lev. Opening his palm, he held the object out to Bill. It was a stone, no larger than his palm, glinting golden brown in the lamplight. "It wasn’t there when I left. Do you have any idea what it could be?"

Bill’s hand immediately reached for the rough-hewn chunk of amber he’d taken from the Leaky Cauldron earlier in the evening.

They were identical.

Bill reached out to touch the gleaming piece of amber, brushing his fingers lightly across Lev’s palm. Even the mystery of the two identical stones was not enough to divert his attention completely from the engaging young man standing before him. Get hold of yourself, Weasley. Think! I know how I got mine, but how about his?

"Do you know who could have left it there, Lev?" Bill asked him.

"No one’s been in the room today but me. I met Aaron in the lobby this evening before the party. And he hardly wanted to meet me there as it was."

Bill frowned. All night, he had been conscious of the presence of the stone in his pocket. He had instinctively chosen the amber rectangle in the lift. Was there something more to this meeting than the heady thrill of the attraction he felt for this charming man or was there a reason that they had been brought together? Bill looked over at Lev, who looked somewhat concerned.

"Look, we should get to my place and get some rest. I can do a few tests on your bit of amber in the morning. Mine is actually Fire Whiskey in solid form. I transformed it just before I received the invitation to the party. It’s as if someone wanted me at that party and . . ."

"And maybe someone wanted us . . ." Lev trailed off and Bill could almost see him blushing. Maybe someone? Do I count?

Bill mounted the motorcycle and Lev climbed on behind him. There had to be answers for this little mystery, but for now, it was late. They arrived at his flat in Diagon Alley. It was a bit awkward and Bill sensed that Lev was a touch shy. He decided not to push things too fast and led him straight to the guest room. They made the folding bed together. Bill retrieved a quilt from the closet and just as he started to spread it out on the bed, Lev reached out and their hands brushed for just an instant. They looked up, both a little nervous and held each other's gaze for a few wonderful seconds. Bill spoke first.

"The bathroom is through there," he said pointing out the door and to the left. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. I really do appreciate this, Bill."

"It's the least I can do for someone who knows so much about wizard history. Good night."

Bill sat on his bed reviewing everything that had happened that night. He had a great feeling about this new person in his life. Somehow, it didn't feel like this was going to be a casual fling.

The next morning, Bill was up early making coffee, when Lev came into the kitchen. The stray coffee beans and grounds peppering the counter gave away the fact that he didn’t make coffee very often. He poured Lev a cup and sat down. He must think I’m a total fool not being able to use my own coffee grinder . . .

"Thank you, Bill," said Lev taking a sip and sitting down. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in a while." Lev took another sip and looked across the table at him, raising an eyebrow. "This ought to get my pulse going again," he said. And you ought to get mine going as well, thought Bill in response.

They had toast and Bill made a lovely mushroom omelet, but they both had their minds on something other than breakfast. It was time to start figuring out exactly what Lev's chunk of amber was all about.

Bill aimed his wand at his stone and muttered a spell under his breath. The amber remained unchanged. He put it in a glass and transfigured it back into whiskey. He tried the same thing with the stone Lev had found in his room, but instead of being transfigured into whiskey, the amber began to pulse and glow. They continued watching it, until they each thought they saw a small representation of a shield in the center.

Bill decided that they should go to his family's home and see if his father could help him find out what this image meant. Bill realised that his father might not know, but perhaps could put him in touch with someone who did.

Lev was becoming accustomed to Apparating in tandem, but it seemed that no matter what they did, they couldn't control the landing. They appeared at the Burrow, tumbling onto the lawn and getting up quickly. Bill watched as Lev took in the ramshackle house he loved and missed so much. Lev had a smile on his face and looked over at Bill. "This is exactly how I thought a wizard's home should look!"

"Let's go in and find my father."

As they walked in, Bill could see Lev looking around at the many objects he was sure no Muggle home contained. His youngest brother, Ron, and his friends, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, were sitting around the table in the parlor, playing chess. At least Ron and Harry were playing and Hermione was sitting and reading a book.

"Hi, Ron, is Dad in?"

"No, he had to go into work for a bit. What’s up?"

"Well, I’d like for all of you to meet my friend, Lev Stone. Lev, this is my brother Ron and his friends, Harry and Hermione. Lev, is from the U.S. and he’s here to do research on the Founders of Hogwarts."

Bill could almost see Hermione’s ears prick up like a dog’s ears. He knew she was rather bookish from Ron and he admired her for her depth of knowledge, especially considering that she was raised in a Muggle home. They exchanged pleasantries and then told the trio about the amber and the shield that had appeared in the center.

"Wait a minute, Ron and Harry, didn’t Professor Binns tell us that pieces of amber were used during the war against the Dark Horde?"

"Dunno, you’re the only one who listens to his lectures," said Ron somewhat sheepishly. Harry nodded in silent agreement.

"As I recall, Rowena and Helga of the Glen had to use these bits of resin in order to get word to their allies. Binns said that things got so bad before the main Horde Armada came that even the owls refused to carry messages. These chunks of amber were used to convey a message to get ready to do battle. Each clan had its own piece of amber. When the amber began to glow, the head of the clan knew that it was time to get ready for battle. The shield of the advancing horde, for there were many groups of evil wizards united against the wizards of the Isles, would appear in the center of the piece of amber."

Lev sighed in exasperation. "I should have come across information about the use of amber, but so far, I never have. I’m really glad for the opportunity to learn these kinds of details!"

Bill noticed that Ron and Harry were staring at Hermione with their mouths open, looking like pond carp. "Hermione," Ron exclaimed. "How do you remember all this?" She just shook her head and smiled just the slightest bit.

"Hermione, you’ve given us a great start on finding out the origins of this piece of amber. Thank you," Bill said, taking her hand for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Lev straighten at the word "us."

"Oh, I’m glad to have been of help, Bill," Hermione said blushing slightly.

"Look you three, we’d better get going and find some books on the subject. Tell Mum and Dad that we’ll come by later."

"Bye!" They called after Bill and Lev, who were already out the door. Bill looked over at Lev, who had a huge smile on his face.

"So this is our project now?" Lev asked somewhat coyly.

"You bet it is, Lev," Bill squeezed his hand as they got ready to Apparate. Indeed, this was just what Bill needed in his life at the moment.

A couple nights later Bill and Lev were leaving dinner at the Burrow, when Bill put his hand on Lev's shoulder.

"Stop just a moment," said Bill.

Lev smiled. "What?" he asked.

"Dance with me," said Bill.

Lev looked around. "Here? With no DJ? No smoke filled club? No loud blaring cheesy dance music?"

"No, not that rubbish," said Bill, "I want you to dance with me."

He took out his wand and waved it. Out of nowhere a disco ball appeared in the sky and spun slowly. And then a voice started to sing...

"Mama Cass?" said Lev in a dry voice, but smiling.

"She's got a beautiful voice," said Bill. He took Lev by the hand. "Now c'mon dance with me."

Stars shining bright above you.
Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you."

Lev put his hands on Bill's waist. Bill put his arms around Lev and pulled him close. In the Burrow, the entire Weasley clan, Hermione, and Harry came to watch. Ginny grinned broadly. Mrs. Weasley smiled to herself, shook her head and herded everyone back inside.

"Do you like?" Bill asked.

"It's all so magical," said Lev.

"So it's good then?" said Bill.

"Perfect!"

"Yeah?"

Lev leaned in and put his head on Bill's shoulder. "Yeah," he whispered.

Sweet dreams 'till sunbeams find you.
Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you.
But in your dreams whatever they be,
Dream a little dream of me.