"Of all the noises known to man, opera is the most expensive."

―Molière

Roy dashed up the steps of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. He was late. He wasn't supposed to attend Don Giovanni. Opera didn't interest him in the least. His schoolmate Louis offered him box seats. The Duke had made plans to attend with his latest conquest, a Harrow boy he met at the same theatre a few months prior, but, true to form, Louis was distracted by yet another boy, a Spaniard he'd met en route to London. Louis never could resist a boy with dark curly hair.

Normally, he wouldn't ask Roy to take his place but this Harrow boy, the Viscount Greindl, had the tendency to get into trouble and he wanted the Earl to keep an eye on him.

It took a small fleet of footmen to dress Roy for the occasion. He was sixteen and growing at the rate of knots. He sprung up another three inches that year alone. Both his trousers and tailcoat had to be altered mere hours before the overture. His broad shoulders threatened to burst through the seams at any moment.

An usher guided him to his seat. The theatre, a round structure adorned in red velvet and gold mouldings was as crowded as it was ornamental and made him feel as though he was crammed inside a pill box. The sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments reminded him of all the boring nights his mother and father took him to the playhouse in Pembroke. He couldn't recall a single performance where he didn't fall asleep.

The Harrow boy was already seated in Louis' private box, pale lips moving as he carefully read the program. Roy examined him before he sat down. He was fifteen but looked about twelve, with golden hair tucked behind his ears and skin as fresh as cream. He lifted his blue eyes and met Roy's gaze.

Roy immediately removed his hat and smoothed his dark hair. "Good evening."

"Where's the Duke?" he asked, his serene expression transformed into a tiny scowl.

"He is unable to attend, I'm afraid. He asked that I escort you instead. I'm Roy—"

"—Frederick," the boy extended a limp hand with a large sapphire ring. "You're late."

Warily, Roy shook his hand and sat down beside him. That's when Frederick noticed his pin.

"Eton!" he gasped. "My reputation will never recover."

"Louis also attends Eton," Roy reminded him.

"Louis is Duke, he can attend a fucking orphanage for all I care."

What a delight this boy was.

Though this was the Duke of Warwick's private box, he often offered the seats to other nobles, dignitaries and close friends. Behind them sat imperialist Lord Dalmeny and his soon-to-be wife wearing a choker with so many strands of pearls it looked like she might asphyxiate.

They were flirting openly and rather than sit in silence, Roy thought it prudent to make conversation with Frederick.

"So, what is Don Giovanni about exactly?"

Frederick glared at him. "You mean you've never seen it?"

He shook his head. "Is it a comedy?"

Frederick looked behind them to make sure Dalmeny and his fiancée hadn't heard.

"DON'T embarrass me," he hissed.

This was going to be a long evening.

Frederick opened the program and entertained a more nuanced discussion about the production. "Luisa Cappiani is playing the role of Donna Elvira tonight. She trained with Josephine Fröhlich in Vienna. They say if you listen closely you can hear Fröhlich's bel canto in Cappiani's aria."

An usher came around with opera glasses. Roy tested them out. "Drat, I can't see a thing."

Frederick slapped his forehead. "You're holding them the wrong way."

"Oh."

Roy peered through the opera glasses and noticed people staring at them from the audience down below, the gallery above and the box seats across the auditorium. They were staring at Frederick. The petit beauty caught the eye of men and women alike. Unsurprised, the Viscount crossed his slender legs and rolled his ankle, the gold buckle on his shoe glinting in the lamplight.

The opera was not just about the performances onstage, the real performance was among the patrons who came to socialize and discuss politics. Roy spotted Louis' unpleasant cousin, Sir Clarence chatting with William Gladstone. A working-class hero and a chancellor under Lord Russell, Gladstone was tapped to become the next Prime Minister. As the orchestra started, Clarence retreated to his seat at the back of the gallery. He was too proud to ask Louis for his box seats.

The velvet curtains parted and hand-painted sets slowly rolled out from the wings like a lady opening her fan. Roy yawned. This was so dull. What he wouldn't give to be hunting that very moment. He pinched himself to stay awake.

Onstage, a woman sang of being abandoned by her lover. She was seeking revenge. "Ah, chi mi dice mai!" Don Giovanni then swept across the stage and seduced her. Suddenly the woman realized that he was the former lover who betrayed her.

Frederick was on the edge of his seat, eyes wild with excitement. This was as mystifying to Roy as it was endearing. He watched the boy mouth along to the song in Italian. He knew the entire opera by heart.

During intermission, Frederick turned to him and smiled. To win this cruel boy's smile felt like no small victory. Perhaps the night wasn't lost after all.

"Well, what did you think of Donna Elvira?" the Viscount asked eagerly.

"Who?"

Frederick's smile vanished and he disappeared into the lobby.

Naturally Roy would ruin his only chance to impress the boy. Idiot! He wanted to defend himself but what could he say? "Sorry, I don't remember Donna Elvira because I was too busy staring at you the entire time."

In the lobby, Frederick completely ignored him and flitted among the nobles like a hummingbird. Little social climber, Roy thought bitterly. What an insufferable snob!

Roy spun around and bumped into an older gentleman with dark curly hair and green eyes. The man was startled by his close proximity and covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief before stumbling backward.

"The Duke of Somerset," Dalemeny whispered beside him.

"I don't know him."

"I should hope not. He's a Catholic. He opened a hospital here in London last week. A charitable fellow but pathological. They say he has a son."

Waiters skated by with glasses of sherry on silver trays. When no one was looking, Roy nicked a bottle from behind the bar. He tucked it inside his waistcoat and searched for a broom closet. It was dark inside, so he plucked a candle from the wall sconce.

The young Earl needed a lot more than a glass of sherry if he was going to get through this evening with Frederick.

He slid down the wall, uncorked the bottle with his teeth and took a long swig. The sweet liquor bloomed in his veins and made his head rush. Now this is more like it, he thought! He tucked a cigarette between his lips and used the candle flame to light it.

Just then the closet door opened. Frederick was standing there with a smirk. "The real party is in here, I suppose." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. 

Stupidly, Roy thought perhaps he was the party but Frederick cured him of this notion when he snatched the bottle from his hands and took a dainty sip.

"How did you find me?"

"The smoke." He plucked the cigarette from Roy's lips and took a puff. "Only an Eton boy is beastly enough to smoke in a broom closet."

"Yet here you are!"

"They won't serve me out there. They think I'm a child."

"You are a child."

"I'm only a year younger than you!" he growled. "Besides, if you're so grown up why are you hiding in here with a stolen bottle of Oloroso?"

Roy snatched the bottle back. "If you must know, I hate the theatre. My parents drag me to the playhouse in Pembroke every season. It's an awful bore."

Frederick's features were hollowed by shadow as he spoke. "I wish my parents would take me to the theatre. My father is a General. East India Company. He sent for my mother but not me. Last I heard from my parents they were riding elephants in Bombay."

"I'm sorry."

Frederick took a final sip of sherry and crushed the cigarette beneath his heel. "Don't be. I make my own adventures."

And with that, he was off again.

A bell chimed and the lamplights flickered. Intermission was nearly over. Before Roy took his seat, he saw Frederick with the Marquess of Abergavenny. He stroked the old man's cravat and whispered something in his ear. Roy heard the Marquess ask Frederick to meet him by his carriage when the curtain fell.

The Viscount teetered back to his seat as the orchestra's string section screamed to life.

"Do you even know that man?"

"I know a Marquess ranks above an Earl."

"And below a Duke. Louis would be displeased."

"Louis isn't here. The Marquess of Abergavenny is."

"More like the Marquis de Sade. He's old enough to be your grandfather. It's revolting."

"Shut. Up."

The Marquess stared at Frederick in his box across the auditorium. Roy peered at the lecher through his opera glasses. Roy understood Frederick's nature. He himself had been with many boys. But what was going on between Frederick and Abergavenny was not the harmless mucking around of schoolboys. It was something sinister.

"He's taking advantage of you."

Frederick lifted his chin. "Men don't take advantage of me, I take advantage of men."

A lamb who thinks he's a lion, Roy mused. "You're not as grown up as you think you are," he warned.

Frederick twirled the sapphire ring on his finger. No doubt a gift from one of his many older admirers. 

Onstage, Don Giovanni was offered the chance to repent but adamantly refused. He was then surrounded by a chorus of demons, who carried him down to Hell as he cried out in pain.

A tear rolled down Frederick's cheek and he brushed it away quickly before anyone could see.

The opera ended and the audience jumped to their feet to applaud the performers. Frederick didn't wait for the curtain to fall. He was gone.

Roy wrestled through the audience filing into the corridors and descended the staircase. He scanned the crowd below but Frederick blended in seamlessly among the taffeta dresses and blonde chignons. Louis told him to keep an eye on the boy but he never said how difficult it would be. He was nowhere to be found.

Outside, the grey cobblestone was black and slick with rain. Roy absentmindedly stepped into a puddle calling Frederick's name over and over.

And then he saw it, a flash of sapphire like a star in the night sky. The Viscount was climbing into the old man's carriage. Roy's stomach dropped. He was too late. Frederick had made his choice, however misguided. He watched his face, framed by the carriage window, as still and inscrutable as a portrait.

Shoulders slumped, Roy headed to his own carriage where his coachman stood outside with an umbrella waiting. As he stepped onto the footplate, he noticed that the seams of his tailcoat had indeed come undone. He couldn't be fussed to hide it. 

Then he heard it. Frederick's unmistakable growl.

The Marquess had invited two friends to join them and Frederick protested. He opened the carriage door but the old man held his wrist.

"Let me go!"

"Now, now settle down."

"No!" Frederick cried.

"It's too late. You've already said yes. Don't make a spectacle of yourself. Someone might see us."

For once in Roy's life being taller than everyone else wasn't a nuisance but a weapon. He loomed over the old man and grabbed his arm, the brittle bones bent within his grip.

"Release him or I'll snap your arm in half."

"How dare you!"

Roy tightened his grip.

Fearful, The Marquess tried to smooth the situation over and explained, "I say! It was a quarrel. Nothing more. He's my acquaintance. We're both guests at The Langham."

Roy twisted his arm. "He is not your acquaintance nor is he staying at a hotel. He's staying at Harrow because he's a schoolboy."

His words shamed the man and Frederick both.

Roy took Frederick's small hand in his and dragged him back to the Earl's carriage. Frederick skipped behind him on the cobblestone trying to keep up.

"I can't believe you did that! Wait, you're not seriously bringing me back to school, are you?"

"Oh, yes I am!"

In the quiet of the carriage Frederick hung his head and folded his hands in his lap sheepishly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this. Please. Tell them I stayed out all night entertaining dozens of older lovers."

Roy frowned. "What's wrong with boys our age?"

"Louis rarely has time for me and there are no boys like me at school."

"At Harrow?" Roy found that hard to believe.

"Perhaps there are, but they don't care for me," he sniffed. "They're jealous. Obviously."

Again, Roy knew he wasn't getting the whole story. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Well, if you must know, I sang a solo in the school choir last Christmas and the headmaster fell in love with me. Now I get preferential treatment and everyone loathes me. As if I chose to be born with the voice of nightingale!"

"Frederick."

"Fine, I seduced the headmaster and made him punish the boys I don't like. Now they're all cross with me. It's a mutiny. Can you believe that?"

Roy laughed in spite of himself and ruffled Frederick's hair. "You really are trouble."

"Says the boy who gets drunk in broom closets and attacks his social betters." The Viscount examined his reflection in the window, vainly smoothing his blonde locks behind his ears.

The coachman's lamplights lit their path northwest as they headed through the rain toward Harrow. He would deliver the boy back to school and then rest at an inn before travelling to Eton in the morning.

The carriage rocked back and forth. Raindrops pattered lightly on its leather top. Frederick's pale lips parted and he let out a kittenish yawn. Blonde lashes swept his cheeks, which were still flushed from the sherry. He was a vicious little thing but undeniably pretty.

Lulled to sleep by the rocking carriage, his head fell on Roy's shoulder. The gesture was innocent enough but Roy soon felt his heart begin to thud and his palms sweat. Yes, this boy was indeed trouble. Roy had to remind himself that Frederick was Louis' conquest not his.

He sat stiffly in his seat and conjured chaste thoughts: the Church of England, hunting, maths.

In order to get more comfortable, or perhaps to torment him, Frederick moved his head onto Roy's lap.

Roy's thoughts were no longer chaste.

He prayed Frederick wouldn't notice and remain asleep but his eyes fluttered opened and he rolled onto his back, drawing a slim leg up on the seat.

"Thank you for saving me from the Marquess," he said sweetly, caressing the brass buttons on Roy's waistcoat. 

"It was nothing. Louis would have done the same."

"Yes, I imagine you two have much in common."

Roy was suddenly reminded of all those long sweaty nights in Louis' sleeping quarters at school, exploring every inch of his friend's body. He was the Duke's first lover and taught him everything he knew about pleasing another boy. When Louis was inside Frederick, could the Viscount feel Roy's presence the same way he heard the echo of Fröhlich in Cappiani's aria?

The thought roused him and he couldn't resist sliding his fingers through Frederick's golden locks, feel them spill over his wrist.

He waited for the Viscount to haughtily brush his hand aside and fix his hair but he simply looked up at Roy in the dimness of the carriage, daring the Earl to kiss him.

"Do you know what the saddest part of Don Giovanni is?" Frederick asked.

"Eternal damnation?"

"No. It's that he goes to hell all by himself. If I go to hell, I hope I have a companion down there."

Roy laughed. No one made him laugh the way Frederick did. "Any boy would gladly follow you into hell."

Frederick licked his lips, poised to ask the question on both of their minds: Would you follow me into hell?

But before he could pose the question, the carriage stopped. They had arrived outside Harrow's gates. He was saved by his coachman, who opened the door and held out an umbrella for the Viscount.

Roy breathed a sigh of relief, for his answer would most certainly have been yes.     

A/N: Baby Frederick on the prowl! 

I hope you liked this tiny glimpse of F&R's younger years.

Do you think F&R's first time was with Louis in chapter VII or did they give into temptation sooner and not tell Louis?   

Next up: H&L's rendezvous on the riverbank. It takes place during Harry's first summer at Warwick.