We travelled forward in time. Not in the most obvious sense of the word, since we would be dead if we tried to force ourselves into the future, but Spain is a time zone ahead. It is well into the deepest hours of the morning.

"Lumos," I whisper, stepping off the book and onto the villa grounds.

It's smaller than I remember. Course, it was always smaller than the Manor, but I was so small I hadn't noticed it at the time. I shine the light around, illuminating our surroundings. The grass is overgrown, up to my knees as I brush through it toward our summer home.

Cream walls and terracotta trim, the villa stands above us. From here, I can't see into the windows. That is how it always was, since we didn't want muggles happening upon us casting magic. I hurry around the building, to the back where the pool sits.

"Larkin!" I hear Fred call, trailing after me.

Long and thin, the pool stretches around the back of the property. Water still sits in it, and when I shine my light down it is still clear as crystal. I head toward the house, slipping between one of the curved entryways to tuck beneath the overhang. The exterior back door, leading to the lounge awaits.

To get in, I have to extinguish the light.

"Alohamora," I whisper. And when the lock clicks, I flick my wrist again. "Lumos."

Then, I open the door. I don't make it more than three steps inside before I stop.

All of the furniture has tarps draped across it. My shoes have already left tracks, mud from near the Black Lake, dust and ash from running through explosions. I'm too filthy to be in here.

Really, I've always been too filthy for my family. With the shoes still on, I trudge inside.

"It's not..." I trail off, staring around. I flick my wand again and cast a charm to ignite the candles in the chandelier. Moving to the room beyond, the entrance foyer, I do the same. To my left are the stairs that lead up to the rooms. Four rooms, two baths, one just off the masters. In front of me through another archway lies the dining room, and winding through there, the kitchen. One so small I would squeeze into it during hide in seek.

We never needed big kitchens. Bathsheba cooked all our meals. She also must have been responsible for preparing the property in advance of our arrival. My shoes aren't really staining the place; everything is already covered in dust.

"This is mental," Fred lets out a low whistle.

He walks past me, moving into the dining room.

"It keeps going!" Fred laughs, moving deeper and deeper into the villa. His voice echoes as he shouts back to me. "Why do you have two lounges in a vacation home?"

"That's a drawing room, actually!" I correct. "And before you ask, that's a powder room. The showers are upstairs."

"Excuse me, mistress!" Fred shouts back.

"I think this actually might be a posh holiday!" George yells, from his corner of the villa. I think he's probably found the study.

Ignoring them both, I head upstairs.

Turning on more lights as I go only reveals the sorry state of the villa. Water doesn't immediately come out of the taps upstairs, and it takes me a minute to remember the spell which fixes the pipes. I have to go back downstairs and into the kitchen to find the hidden linen closet. Even in my years living with Robbie, I never bothered to figure out more than the most basic cleaning charms, since our flats were always so small. I have no idea how to clean something of this size so quickly.

Halfway up the stairs, with several stacks of sheet floating ahead of me, I stop.

I don't think I actually need to clean it.

"Larkin?" Fred calls from upstairs

I hurry up, where I find the twins standing in the upstairs corridor.

"Which rooms?" George asks, pointing around them.

In my head, I hadn't gotten this far. Well, at every step I hadn't ever gotten as far as the last. When I returned to the manor after my mother's death, I longed for Fred without ever imagining us together. The last four months, even knowing he might exist, were quite the same. Just like that return, I know what is supposed to happen. We are supposed to lie in the same bed together, share the same pleasure in sleep, and we are supposed to go at it again. Like we've done a thousand times before.

"Is there one with two beds?" George asks, before elbowing Fred. "Like old times, Freddie?"

"Like last night, you mean," Fred's nose twitches into a scrunch for a second, not taking his eyes off me.

"I need to shower," I say, dropping the sheets on the ground. "There's another shower in the ensuite off the master's room. You two sort it out."

It's terrible behaviour for a host, but I have two days' worth of grime on me. I go into the bathroom just next to me and lock the door behind me. From there, I turn the shower on.

The home belonged to my mother originally. It was a Burke property, one her mother had gotten in marriage. So was the tradition. One day, when I was married, it would have been gifted to me.

Stripping off in the mirror, I stare at my face. I see her, the girl I saw staring down her brother. The girl who thought Fred was dead. The last pepper-up potion I took was twelve hours ago, and I think at the kitchen table I only dozed off for twenty minutes, and I look just as exhausted as I should be. Beneath the thick layer of dirt, anyway. While the shower heats, I try to scrub some of the soot off my face with just my bare hands. It smears around, staining me grey.

I stare down at my reflection in the glass. Certainly, I've put on more weight since I was in school. It wasn't until adulthood, particularly after the war, that I could control what I ate. The girl I saw earlier tonight thought she was much bigger than she ever was, and I am terrified to think about what I looked like after my mother's death. Even right now, staring at myself. I look normal. I look like an adult woman, with the curves of an adult woman.

Finally, I get into the shower. My legs can barely hold me upright, and so I sit on the floor. My soap is in my bag but I've got no idea where Fred put it. So, I sit on the tiles in the shower, scrubbing my head with my fingers and then my nails, waiting for the water to run clean. The dirty water gets in my eyes and mouth, and I shut them both. It's been such a long day, or series of days, or year or series of years. My eyes won't open even though I try to keep them open.

It suddenly goes cold. The light is too bright for me to even peek out. Something fuzzy is being thrown around me. When I finally manage to creak my eyes wide, I'm in Fred's arms. With the towel wrapped around me tightly, he pulls me out of the shower and onto his lap on the bathroom floor.

"Lark," he holds my chin gently, twisting my face towards his. I blink, trying to see him.

"Georgie!" Fred shouts, staring down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" I murmur, trying to stretch my back. It aches. "I'm still dirty."

"You've been in there for over an hour," Fred tells me. "George!"

I fell asleep. I untuck my hand from inside the towel and cling it to me, slowly pulling myself off Fred. I lie next to him, resting my head against the cabinet.

"I'm so tired," I whisper.

"You've been sleeping in the shower," Fred stares at me. "Is this... Bloody Hell. George!"

There is no answer. Fred looks over at me, and then down the hall.

"Where is he?" I ask.

Fred pulls himself up, sticking his head out and down.

"He showered after me," Fred says, then looks back. "He's probably fallen asleep too. Are you... are you okay?"

I hold up a thumb, my head resting against the cabinet as he runs from the room. With only the towel wrapped around me, I step into the hallway. Fred's not wearing the clothes he died in, so he's changed too. I follow after him to the master bedroom. The bag is there on the floor.

Fred rushes into the bathroom, "shit. George!"

I stumble closer. My brain thumps against my skull.

"Is he okay?"

"George, wake up!" Fred shouts.

Since I'm no help in only a towel, or really this tired at all, I bend over and grab a jumper out of the bag. It was meant for the twins, but I throw it over me rather than dig for another. I grab a pair of trousers too, ones that are far too long for me and throw them on. Peering in the doorway, I see Fred patting George's face while he lies unconscious on the shower floor. A towel is thrown haphazardly over his crotch, the white almost the same colour as his skin.

Fred points his wand at his brother, "rennervate."

George jolts upright, slamming his head back into the shower wall. I cringe.

"What the fuck, Freds?" George groans.

"Why is this happening?" Fred asks, looking back at me and then at his brother.

"Too many Pepper-Up potions," I say. "We've been awake for nearly two straight days now. We need to sleep."

"Sleep, please!" George moans.

"In a bed, not in a shower where you can drown!" Fred snaps.

He hurries through the doorway past me, then bends down at the bag. Then, he looks at me.

"Are those my trousers?" Fred asks. He goes back into the bag, digging through it. "Why did you pack so many things?"

"We needed them," I shrug.

He tosses me back a pair of silk pajamas that I brought, and shoos me out of the room. Fine by me, since I'm not exactly keen on seeing George in the nude. Carrying the silk pajamas with me, I make my way over to the room with the bed I slept in as a child, and I lie down on the sheets. Face first, with the silk pajamas sprawled out next to me, I close my eyes and let sleep carry me away.

~~~~~

Reading this back, I worry it feels like filler, but it is actually dreadfully important. Oh well. I'm still excited for some little action here and there. Already I feel like people are seeing where I'm heading with this and that makes me so so excited! See you next week!