Rent

When Ron and Harry made their way down the sidewalk they found Neville standing on the sidewalk yelling at a people who were loitering on the sidewalk. He was still tall, yet slimmer than he had been when Harry knew him in school. His face wasn’t as round and rosy anymore. In fact, he looked drawn and tired as he scowled at a dirty disheveled man. “Get your ass off that Range Rover!”

“That attitude toward the homeless is just what Hermione is protesting.” Ron said, coming up behind him with his camera filming away. “Close up on Neville H. Longbottom, our ex-roommate, who married Pansy-the-snob-Parkinson, then bought the building and the lot next door from his father-in-law in hopes of starting a cyber-studio. Neville shook his head as he tightened his coat around his newly trimmed down frame.

“Hermione is protesting losing her performance space, not my attitude.” He said snottily with a less-than-honest grin on his face. Harry shook his head sadly, while jumping up to sit on the Range Rover just as the bum Neville shooed away had.

“What happened to Neville? What happened to his heart, and the ideals he once pursued?” Neville raised his hand, pointing to the lot abandoned across the street.

“And the owner of that lot next door has the right to do with it as he pleases.” Neville said diplomatically.

“Happy Birthday Jesus…” Neville turned to look at Harry.

“The rent?!” Neville said he was all business again. Ron spoke up.

“You’re wasting you time. We’re broke. And, you broke your word.”

“This is absurd!” Harry called. Neville held up a calming hand.

“There is one way you won’t have to pay…” Ron threw his hand up in the air, and Harry scowled, “I knew it!” Neville resumed speaking, his words like honey, poisoned.

“Next door, the home of Cyberarts, you see and now that the block is re-zoned, our dream can become a reality. You’ll see boys. You’ll see boys.” Neville’s hand grazed the sky as if to paint a picture. “A state of the art, digital, virtual interactive studio. I’ll forego your rent, and on paper guarantee that you can stay here for free, if you do me one small favor.”

“What?” Ron said loosing his patience.

“Convince Hermione to cancel her protest.” Ron frowned. He was not looking forward to confronting Hermione any time soon.

“Why not just get an injunction, or call the cops?” He asked. Neville looked unmoved as he stood his ground with the type of confidence Ron didn’t remember him having when they lived together years back.

“I did,” Neville said patiently. “And, they’re on standby. But, my investors would rather I handled this quietly—,” Harry jumped down from where he was sitting on Neville’s truck.

“You can’t quietly wipe out an entire tent city, and then watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ on TV!” Harry said, while shaking his head sadly at Neville, who had changed so much.” Neville, still unmoved, had something prepared to say in return.

“You want to produce films and write songs? You need somewhere to do it! It’s what we used to dream about. Think twice before you pooh-pooh it.” Ron glared at him. Neville sounded like a advertisement.

“You’ll see boys,” Neville continued. “You’ll see, or you’ll pack.” He, quickly got into his car and left, as Harry and Ron glanced at each other.

“He’s changed a lot.” Harry said as he turned and went upstairs. Ron nodded, and though Harry was already gone he said, “He’s not the only one.”



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Dean heard someone drumming a beat from the sidewalk, and the sounds were seeping into the alley where he lay moaning. Suddenly, the drumming stopped and he heard footsteps coming his way until in front of him stood a man who looked to be about six feet tall. He had striking long blond hair and perceptive blue-gray eyes. As he leaned down beside Dean, he put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay, honey?” His voice was like bells. Dean found that his throat was dry. As he took a deep breath, he winced when he felt a stabbing pain. Then he grumbled.

“I’m afraid so…” The beautiful man beside him smiled beautifully at his sarcasm.

“Did they get any money?”

“No! Urg…” Dean cringed another pain shot though him. “Had none to give. Thank you…” The blond man helped him up.

“I’m Angel.” The stranger said with a kind smile. Dean smiled back.

“Angel, indeed. I’m Dean Thomas. Listen you don’t have to help me--” Dean started, but Angel stopped him.

“It’s Christmas Eve! Now, let’s get a band-aid for your knee…I’ll change, there’s a Life Support meeting at 9:30.” Dean looked up at Angel, surprised. Angel nodded.

“Yes, this body provides a comfortable home, for the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.” I should tell you. Dean paused.

“So does mine.” Angel smiled as he spoke gracefully leading Dean out of the alley and down the sidewalk to his apartment.

“Ah, well we’ll get along fine. We can grab some dinner make it a night…I’m flushed.” Dean nodded. He could use a decent meal. And with this gorgeous man, it was a win-win. Then he remembered Harry and Ron.

“My friends are waiting...” Angel smiled a glorious smile that would fade.

“You’re cute when you blush. The more the merri-ho ho ho.” He laughed, then moved closer to Dean. “And I don’t take no.”

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Back at the apartment, Harry was plucking away at his guitar. He turned and watched Ron put on his hat and grabbed his camera which was placed on the table for a short time.

“Where are you off to?”

“Hermione calls…” Ron walked over to the table looking for his wallet, then he remembered that he gave it to Dean. ‘Where is he?’ Harry scoffed as he watched Ron look for his scarf in the ashes that were made from their earlier events. Burned paper littered the floor, and used matches scraped around as Ron walked around the floor.

“You’re such a sucker. She’s got you wrapped around—,”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come to the show tonight?” Harry shrugged as Ron continued, not waiting for a reply. “Or dinner for that matter?” Harry stood up and gestured theatrically to his pocket.

“Zoom in on my empty pocket.” Ron looked at him though his camera.

“Touché. Take your AZT. Close up on Harry. His girlfriend, Cho, left him a note saying, ‘We got AIDS,’ before slitting her wrist in the bathroom…” Ron lifted his head. “I’ll check up on you later. Change your mind. You’ve got to get out of the house, mate.”



The door shut and Harry was left alone. There was silence, save for the dripping of the faucet and the cars outside window. “I’m writing one great song before I…” Harry closed his eyes fighting off the ache in his chest. He his voice was broken with rasp as he begin to sing.

“One song, glory…one song, before I go. Glory…one song to leave behind.” He closed his eyes, strumming from memory. The music from his guitar echoed in the clod apartment. “Find one song, one last refrain. Glory, from the pretty boy front man…who wasted opportunity.”

When Harry opened his eyes he was back at the “Black Cat.” It was the usual Friday night and he was playing one of his old gigs. It was perfectly remembered in his mind, the way it was, before…

The bar was alive as people danced hips swinging and jolting to the sound of the newest rock band. The group “The Flames” was just playing their last song as Harry readied himself to go onstage. He straightened his jacket and brushed his hands through his messy hair one more time as he walked out. As soon as he was out onstage, his new girlfriend, Cho caught his attention, her sparkling eyes smiling up at him. He winked and smiled at her, and then he looked around at his fellow band members. When they all seemed ready, he walked up to the mic.

“This song goes out to one special person, you know who you are.” He said looking down at Cho, who was smiling shyly. He started to sing, but he felt a jolt in his heart that felt as cold as the outside as he stood on the roof of his apartment building looking up at the sky, and thinking of Cho.

"One song he had the world at his feet. Glory, in the eyes of a young girl. A young girl."

TBC

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Next Chapter: Harry gets the shock of his life. Ginny makes an entrance. Thanks for your reviews! Constructive feedback is very much appreciated.