I blink awake. A pillow slams into my face.

"I still love you, you git," Fred says.

I sit upright. There he sits on the edge of the bed, opposite me. He crosses his arms and gestures for me.

"Morning," I blink, adjusting to the light streaming through the blinds. "Or, afternoon?"

It doesn't feel like I've slept at all.

"Come on, George is downstairs," he says. "He's fucking hungry too."

Fred is already standing and heading toward the door. I barely get a look at his face, older than I've ever seen it. I didn't expect six months to make such a difference. His shoulders are broader, more muscular. In school, he was a beater, but I never thought of him as thick. Next to George, I'm sure people could tell them apart just from the muscles alone.

"I'm showering first!" I shout back after him.

"Should do," Fred shouts back. "Although your food might be cold when you're done."

There's a towel, folded at the foot of the bed, and the bag of supplies lying next to it. Obviously, that hasn't been here for the past several months. I open the bag. Only my clothes and toiletries are inside of it. I bring the whole thing with me to the bathroom.

There's a cup there which holds a toothbrush. The shower has soap and shampoo inside of it, with Spanish labels. The plastic packaging is unlike anything I've ever seen, all glossy but without any sparkling parts.

This time, when I shower, I don't fall asleep. I scrub my skin, my hair, and I find that I miraculously haven't sweat. If anything, I'm dusty. I feel it in my eyelashes more than anything. No hair has grown on my legs. I've been perfectly frozen in time.

When I'm finally ready, with blow-dried hair and jeans that have a crisp pleat in the knee from where they sat folded for half a year, I head downstairs. I find George and Fred in the dining room, sitting adjacent to each other, Fred at the head of the table. There's a new centrepiece, flowers that are sienna and marigold. A new shelf has been screwed into the wall, with a little red porcelain house atop it in one corner and a bottle of wine on the other. I take the seat opposite George, where a plate of food waits covered in a warming charm.

"It's paella," Fred smiles. "There's a muggle cooking class in one of the nearby towns. I'm absolutely shite in the kitchen still, especially since the chef's English is terrible and my Spanish is still awful but you know. It gives me something to do."

I take a bite nervously. He's right, it is pretty shit. The shrimp is chewy, and it's terribly over seasoned, but it's food. However, it's been months since I've eaten, and even though I'm not ravenous I'm consciously aware I need to eat. Maybe it's a side effect or maybe it's his skill level, but I feel like I'm swallowing rocks.

"Morning," George nods his head to me.

"The sun's already set," Fred corrects. "But yes, morning to you both."

I start to chew, and the food begins to become more palatable.

"The last six months of my life have been fine, thanks," Fred rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, I'm still trying to catch up with what's happening," I say.

Fred scoffs, "I suppose now you understand what it felt like when you lot showed up and kidnapped me from Hogwarts."

"What's that Freddie? Was that a thank you?"

"Yeah, cheers," Fred shakes his head at his brother and then he turns to me. His eyes flicker over my face, down to my hand that holds a fork. He straightens his back, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table.

"You've been... busy," I peer around the room, trying to see if he has managed to change anything else.

"Course I have," Fred scoffs. "I wasn't going to sleep the next two years away, and I meant it. Mostly I've been spending time with muggles, in the city centre a few miles away. There's a ton of British tourists there all the time. And I think I've figured out how to make sure no one found out you lot used time magic, since apparently you never planned that far ahead.

He digs down into his pocket and retrieves his wand. With a soft incantation, he summons out a giant poster board. It floats up into the air and hovers behind Fred. At the top, in big letters reads Plan to Abscond Azkaban.

"And look it has a rhyming scheme," George laughs.

Fred grins, "should've turned it into a limerick, but there is only so much one can do in six months."

Well, so he says, but he's turned this place into his. I wonder if I keep exploring, if I will see the painting of the Burke house above the mantle. Merlin's beard, I hope not. It would probably be ruinous to his plan, but I hope he's sold every last thing in this place and has been living off the money.

"So, I've spent a while thinking about the cover story," Fred starts. "You know, where have I been? And I've decided that during the battle, I was kidnapped by an eccentric Spanish wizard who kept me house bound and used me as a domestic slave. Without a wand, mind you, so I had little chance to escape. Only upon his death from old age was I able to finally take his wand and make a portkey that would take me back to you lot."

I blink. Of course, George and I were so busy saving Fred, we hadn't put much stalk into creating a believable story to explain his absence that didn't involve our illegal creation of a time turner. What we've done carries a seven-year sentence, if you only consider the time turner's creation. Technically, Ron could be charged with treason or espionage. I could be sentenced to five years per body that I experimented on. So like, the rest of my life.

And I'd do it all again. But this story?

"Why wouldn't he just get a house elf?" I ask.

"He's crazy," Fred shrugs. "Could say he experimented on me as well, since my magic is different than house elf magic."

"Surely they are going to run tests at St. Mungo's if you claim you've been experimented on," George scoffs, before looking at me. "Would they check his memories?"

I shake my head. Ministry doesn't go prying into victim's heads for memory without good reason. Besides, Fred would have to consent to something like that if they even wanted to.

"You know, this isn't history of magic, Georgie," Fred puts the paper in front of him. "Maybe actually read the textbook before trying to jump into the class discussion, yeah?"

Truth be told, I can't read much of anything on the board at this distance. The words are crammed in so small.

So, I get up. Having stomached only a few bites of paella, I'm happy for the excuse.

And so, I read it.

The plan is grounded in some reality. He's found a Spanish case, where starting in the 1980s a wizard would up and vanish every couple years. After every new wizard taken, the previous wizard would appear dead, which is the only reason people thought they were connected. It stopped five years ago, the last body turning up before anyone new was taken. The Spanish papers according to Fred suspect the culprit died or was otherwise is incapacitated. The bodies that were found all showed no signs of abuse, but of working hard physical labour. While most Spanish wizards believe a nefarious dark wizard was responsible, lots of others think it was some other magical curse or dark creature. For the family's peace, Fred writes that he's not necessarily going to make it seem like the exact same wizard took him as the others, but he's open to suggesting it was the same bloke.

But the plan is actually meticulous.

That's why he's been working out, and learning Spanish, and specifically improving his muggle cooking skills. All to fit this story. He'll say he was warded into the house, trapped inside. Whenever his master was home, Fred will say he would be forced into the basement. Then one night, he awoke and the wards had dropped. The man lay in the bed, face down. Fred made a portkey immediately and took it to the Burrow, hoping it still stood. He'd have no idea if we'd won the war or not.

He's created layouts of the house, all the things in it. He's going to source the wand from an illegal wand dealer near Madrid, one that is made so its spells cannot be traced. We don't have the magical know-how to trace the source of a portkey cast between warded countries. Fred knows how to lie, knows how to set up a trick like anyone better than I've ever known. And it sounds insane, but no more insane than our four-month plan to save his life.

"Do you reckon you can trick the Spanish ministry too?" George asks, grinning as he leans forward in his seat. "I mean, they're going to be involved."

"Tensions with Spain are really high, actually," Fred sighs. "There's a pretty strong rise in anti-muggleborn sentiment here, and I don't know if Shacklebolt will want to get involved with them."

"I doubt Spain'll meddle with British affairs," I say. "They're a bit preoccupied with the coup-"

"The what?" Fred looks at me, eyebrows raised.

George also looks a bit perplexed. I'm not surprised. When he was seeing Angelina, we would talk about stories in The Daily Prophet. She had a sick fascination with them and had to read what was going on in the rest of the world as they followed the British down into war. The Eastern Republics have been forcibly reunified under another evil wizard who thinks women ought not to attend Durmstrang. The Polish death squads for muggle-borns are all but officially confirmed. Marriage with muggles has been banned by MACUSA and there's a growing movement to eliminate inter-blood marriage as well. The Spanish coup is one list in a long line of things breaking down. It empowered Angelina, prompted her to form Dumbledore International, which campaigns against blood purity politics domestically and abroad. Since I'm busy at the joke shop, I couldn't join, even though my inaction felt like it was folding me in two. I should have done something.

George never read the news. As I understand, it was a recurring disagreement between him and Angelina.

"We'll be fine here," I reassure them. "It's not for another year, and this area is largely unaffected. Especially if you're keeping to muggle areas anyway."

My gaze flicks to Fred, but he's sharing a look with George. A silent conversation, one I can barely read. Shared incredulity. It's not like I hid it. Actually, I had every reason to believe George would know, since it's been on the front page of The Daily Prophet semi-frequently, and it's the reason I haven't been able to sell off this very villa. But I don't fight with either of them about it.

"I don't think the plan is bad at all, actually," I decide. "If it doesn't work-"

"It'll work," they both say in unison, and smiles break out on both of their faces at the same time.

I swear I can feel my heart inside my chest. Hearing them speak simultaneously has the same effect as Robbie's ability to pump blood through a corpse. George's eyes are bright. He's missed his brother for so long.

And then I look at Fred, who is physically different from the way he was six months ago. I suppose he's missed his brother for a long time too.

~~~~~

Things are starting to be a little bit smoother and softer and I just love them! I love them loads, like so damn much. Urgh! Larkin and George and Fred together again!