True to their words, I work without Fred or Angelina stopping by most days. Lee is contracted for five hours weekly, and he is in the office more frequently than anyone except for me. Consequently, I spend most days aware that I haven't opened my mouth in hours, drinking water by the gallon just to ensure throat still works. When I finish editing out Angelina's crimes from documents, I read the text out loud in case I've forgotten how to form words.

It only takes three full days to get the books seeming passably legal. It certainly would have gone faster had I known Fred wasn't volunteering here. I stay late my second day, not buried in notes but waiting for Fred to return from Spain. By the time I give up, I only have lanterns and starlight to guide me back to Robbie's.

Then he finally comes the next day. So, I allow myself to leave the office and buy food. It's the first time I take a lunchbreak since I started.

Over the next three weeks, Fred appears sporadically. He meets with Angelina the single time she shows up in the office, and then with Lee on a Thursday afternoon. Whenever he is in, I can't work. I'm too busy listening to the low hum of his voice through the walls.

He winks the two times he passes by my doorway.

Every time I hear the bell chime at the front, I press my heels into my shoes and ready to jump up and check if it's him. It's only ever Lee or a parcel delivery. The patterns of their arrival become routine, and I stop reaching for him.

So, when the door opens today and I'm not expecting anyone, I try to tuck my chair in under me to keep myself steady. The numbers on the parchment before me swim. My door is only open a crack.

"Hello?"

It's not Fred. Or Lee, but it is a man's voice. I shove the parchment in a drawer on the off chance it is a ministry auditor and not a courier.

"She might be out to lunch," he says. Someone else is here surely.

I don't quite place him, but I recognize his voice.

My office door whips open and Ginny stands in the doorway staring at me. Behind her, Harry Potter waits.

"You are coming to Victoire's Naissance," she says.

I blink. This is news to me, since I've got no idea what a naissance is. Victoire's the newest Weasley, so I assume it's since celebration of life. It's coming a bit late, I think, since a month has passed since Victoire was born.

"Well, I don't know what Fred's told you, but-"

"What Ron's told me is that you illegally created a time turner and risked your life to save Fred," Ginny crosses her arms. "What George has told me is that you have broken up with Fred and you're not going to come crawling back anytime soon. And Fleur seems to think you're in Spain next weekend for Angelina which will explain your absence. I'm assuming she got that idea from Fred, who hasn't told us anything about you."

"Well, Fred has said that you are still together," Harry says. "You're just in a shock."

"Which is ridiculous," Ginny crosses her arms over her chest. "Because you're not in a shock. You orchestrated the entire thing!"

I feel heat crawling up to my cheeks. They know. Well, obviously George and Fred let Ron in on our clandestine operation, but now Ginny and Harry know as well. Harry Potter, who is an auror, and who I collaborated greatly on the War Trials up to a few months ago. He just stares at me blanky, as he always has. I suppose it's better than Ginny, who I expect to leave scorch marks on the wooden floor beneath her. Her glare is so hot it's going to burn my eyes.

"Well, I'm not with Fred," I swallow. "I'm not going to be with him either. I'd listen to George."

"Would you?" Ginny sneers. Harry puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes him off. "Because you are going to listen to me. This Saturday, you're going to come to the Naissance. You don't have to pretend to be Fred's girlfriend, but unfortunately you are going to have to debase yourself joining us Weasleys for an afternoon."

My eyes narrow, "debase?"

"As if I don't know what the Travers think of my family," Ginny snorts.

My stomach twists. I lay a hand down flat against the base of my sternum. After these years, I've come to understand that Ginny never approves of her sibling's partners, with the sole exception of Hermione Granger. She loathes that Angelina once kissed Fred and then dated George. Never has she ever come around on Fleur, assuming her to be stuck up, and I would be an idiot to assume she didn't despise me because I'm a Travers. I just hate the reminder anyway, would rather it be something that feels more justifiable.

"I'm not like them," I say.

"I know," Ginny exhales. She runs a hand through her hair. "You hate Death Eaters more than Harry, for fuck's sake. But you're still posh, even if you can't help it. But now that I know you've pissed away your entire fortune to save my brother's life, I'm hoping maybe you can tolerate welcoming our niece into the world despite your problems with Fred. I'd also like you to debase yourself further by accepting my apology for how I've treated you and made assumptions about you. Is that fine?"

There it is again, that word debase. I rise from my chair, pressing my skirt down against my sides, "yes."

"Then show up at the Burrow at eleven next Saturday, in formalwear," Ginny eyes me up and down. "But not too fancy. And do not accept a proposal at the party. It's in poor taste."

I nod.

Ginny crosses into the room and reaches her hand forward. The desk digs into my hipbones as I lean in toward her. She shakes my hand firmly, before turning back and heading out of the room. In her wake, Harry offers me a tense smile and then leaves.

Alone in the office, I wait for Fred. Naturally, he doesn't come. I don't get a chance to ask him if he knows I'm invited, if he put her up to this (though I cannot imagine any man could convince Ginny to do something she already hadn't set her mind on), or if he can maybe tell his family that we are broken up before the party. I wait the next day, and then the next only he never comes into the office.

And it grates on me.

On Friday evening, against my better judgement, I walk into the joke shop.

George is behind the till. He catches me out of the corner of his eye and then his head swings over, staring at me in the doorway. No alarm goes off, but I almost see my vision flash red anyway. He stares at me.

Then, I head deeper into the shop. I pass the WonderWitch line, sneak through the candy section, until I'm grasping the storeroom door and swinging it open.

Fred looks up from the work desk. He puts down the package and stares at me as the door shuts behind us.

"Fiantro and Focaccia is open," Fred grins.

I swallow. So, he's found out my favourite place to eat, "George or Robbie?"

"Went there myself, actually," Fred's smile only widens. "Figured you'd like their steak pies."

And he knows my favourite dish too. I choose to distract myself by digging into my purse. It's easier to approach him that way, when my eyes aren't on him. I grab the shampoo bottle and place it on the work bench. He grabs it before I've managed to completely pull my hand back. His knuckles graze mine and fire lights up my spine. Holy fucking shit, I need to get it together.

Fred grabs it and takes off the cap. When he sniffs the contents, his shoulders rise and fall.

"Smells just like you," he caps the bottle, placing it back on his desk.

"And firecrackers and firewhiskey," I finish.

Fred's head swivels toward me. I tuck my hands behind me, back where they are safe. Then I swallow and it feels so loud I'm sure George can hear it out in the shop.

"George, I presume?" Fred asks.

I nod. I'd wander the WonderWitch line and wish I could know what Fred smelled. He'd once said it was something entirely and distinctly me, but he couldn't figure it out the specific components. I don't wear any perfume, so I don't really know what he smelled. I tried to create a version of Amortentia that would hold the favourite scents of one person, but I only managed to create one for the brewer. I could never smell what Fred did, never actually understand what he loved.

George told me the other two scents.

Firecrackers, firewhiskey, and Larkin Travers. Fred figured it spelled out our fate, smelled me far earlier than I ever smelled him. His amortentia never changed, unlike mine.

All the more proof he's always been in 100% and I have one foot out of the door.

Fred grabs the bottle again, uncapping it. He sniffs it once more, eyes staring at the desk. His eyes become unfocused.

"I've got the formula," I dig into my bag and pull out a roll of parchment. They are fine enough brewers that they can replicate the shampoo without needing me to guide them through it in person. Not the Amortentia is particularly dangerous, but I made especially careful to substitute any ingredients that might explode. "But I won't be wearing it to Victoire's naissance."

Fred stiffens and twists back toward me. His eyes crinkle from his smile, "what colour is your dress? Just so I can match my tie."

"You're going stag and you're going to tell your mother that we aren't together," I look at him.

Fred's eyes glimmer, "I'll just charm my tie when you get there."

"Fred-"

"Do you still love me?" Fred quirks his head to the side. "Because I still love you."

"You won't for much longer," I roll my eyes, pinching back my smile. There's no way I can convince him, but I can't find myself moving toward the door. "Not after I embarrass you by telling Molly in front of the whole family that we've broken up."

"We always get back together," he smirks. "But if you really don't want me as a plus one, you can always see if Stuart Bitterwood is free."

"Very funny."

"Do you really think?" Fred asks. "Because I've been considering running a joke shop."

"Not that funny."

"You love it."

I do. Of course I do. Likely, I will never stop. But, I'm not going to have this argument now, and certainly not before I'm due to show up to Victorie's Naissance. So finally, I make my retreat. I think I should wear heels less often, because each step hurts my feet.

"Goodbye, Fred," I say. "And don't propose, or Ginny will kill you."

I open the door and step outside.

"Don't need to propose while you're still wearing my ring," he calls after me.

And I shut the door after the smile breaks onto my face. 

~~~~~

Oof, the push. The PULL. It's them, your honour.

Honestly, we know how Larkin's doing because we've got her internal monologue, but how do we think Fred and George are doing? What about Robbie (who isn't in this chapter, but is always in my heart)?