Fred invites me round to his flat. I've never been inside, even though we've known each other for quite some time now. Whenever we hang out, it's been in public. However, with Moody having confirmed I have no chance of a restraint charm, at least, not with You-Know-Who milling about, Fred is getting antsier.

He won't admit it though.

I don't bother to bring it up with him, because I know what he will say. He'll tell me that he isn't afraid of my brother, he's afraid for me. I'll respond that he ought to be afraid of my brother because neither he nor I really know what my brother is capable of doing. After all, he could have killed me that night, and I don't imagine he didn't of his own volition.

I knock on Fred's front door. His place is above the joke shop, so I'm standing in the cold of a back alley. He opens the door, as if he was already there, standing on the other side, waiting for me.

"Travers," he says, "fancy seeing you here."

"Hello," I smile, I try to look around him into the flat. "Can I come in?"

He nods and I enter.

We walk up a set of rickety black metal stairs. They, thankfully, don't sway with each step, but they look like they ought to be doing it. Rather than swell on it, we end up walking upstairs. He reaches backwards for my hand, and I take it.

"Do they scare you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Very little scares me. You ought to know that."

"Every day, it still feels like I'm finding out something new about you. For example, what's your favourite colour?" he asks.

I smile. "Green. Yours?"

"Red," he says, "What's your Patronus?"

"A raven," I answer as we pull up to the door.

He fiddles with the lock, before finally opening it. He's grinning widely. "Mine's a magpie. So's George."

When he finally opens the door, I get a look inside his flat. It is quite homey. There is a fireplace, with two chairs placed in front of it, and a couch. A bookshelf filled with knickknacks, and maybe five books on inventing charms, fireworks, and other simple things. Past the living room is the kitchen, which seems to shine. The place is a bit larger than where Robbie and I live, but I imagine so, since Fred and George are successful entrepreneurs.

I take my shoes off in the doorway and step across the shag carpet of the living room. It feels so soft. The place smells like Fred. The fireplace is going after all. It feels like the place I longed for in my sixth year. A place that could, in theory, be my home. At least, a place that feels like home.

"It's not much, but it's more than we have at the Burrow," he says.

"The Burrow?" I cock an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"It's where my Mum and Dad live," he answers. "Along with Ron and Ginny. My older brothers all moved out."

I don't think I've heard of many of his older brothers. Except for Percy Weasley. I see him at the Ministry sometimes, and he always looks like he's doing something important.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask.

He looks over me. He bites his lip, and then he shakes his head. "What was your boggart? All those years ago. It's been bothering me."

I look at him, and I want to connect with him, I really do, but it's practically impossible. He's standing right there, but it feels like a thin pane of glass between us. It so thin it could shatter if I breathed upon it, but I don't dare let myself get any closer to him.

"The little things do seem to bother you, don't they?" I ask, trying to be coy. I raise my eyebrow and then wink at him, all too rapidly. I'm not used to being like this.

Fred comes up to me and wraps his arms around my waist. He leans down at me, since he towers above me, and looks me in the eye. "Of course they do. Everything that I don't know about you bothers me."

The only thing I can do is gulp. He pulls away, and I feel all his warmth leave me, and suddenly I'm in the cold of the astronomy tower alone.

"It was me married to Marcus," I tell him. "And my brother threatening me. It was the idea that I was pregnant with Marcus' baby."

Fred looks at me. He shakes his head and goes over to the kitchen. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah," I agree. "I'm my own corpse. Your fear is admirable."

Mine is visceral. Nothing about me is as easy as the Weasley twins. They come without baggage, without fear. There are very few secrets they have from me. There are some though.

"How come nobody told me about Dumbledore's Army?" I ask.

He smiles at me and shakes his head. "Slytherins weren't allowed to join. Nobody wanted to pit you against your family."

Then, I pick up steam. "Where did you go when you disappeared over Christmas break? What changed?"

His whole body tenses. He clenches his jaw and he turns around. His fists grip the cabinet tightly until his knuckles turn white.

"My Dad was attacked," he answers. "By a snake, while guarding something at the ministry. We were... it wasn't pleasant. That's the risk when you do great things."

I swallow. "And you're willing to take such a risk?"

He glances back at me. "Aren't you?"

The question has never crossed my mind. Surely I stand for my principles, but I don't know that I have many of my own yet. I'm of age, I should have it all figured out. Yet I don't. There are few things of which I'm certain. First and foremost, muggle-borns aren't who I was told they were. They are some of the most pleasant people that I have had the pleasure of meeting, and what matters more? Greatness or kindness? I should think kindness does. The only issue is that I'm not a particularly kind person.

"Larkin?" he asks, taking a step closer to me.

"I'd rather just not die at all," I tell him.

"Oh," he answers. "If I'm going to die, I want to die in a blaze of glory. I want to die fighting for something I believe in."

"I'd rather you not die at all," I feel like an echo, trapped in a small room. Homes shouldn't have echoes. My manor does, and that place has never brought me warmth.

"I mean, I'm not afraid of death," he says. "I'm not afraid of anything."

Even though I'm certain that it's not true (I've seen his boggart, I know what he fears), I let him live in the lie. After all, we all could do with being less afraid.

"I'm sorry to say that I have many fears," I tell him.

"Like what?" he asks me.

Every time that he speaks, I can feel myself melting. His voice is low and melodic. I bet he can sing very well, and I like to imagine him twirling me around the kitchen, laughing to the rhythm of a song playing on some muggle contraption.

"Guess," I decide to play his game, to push and to pull.

Fred likes games. "You afraid of spiders?"

I laugh. They are so tiny. How could something so small harm me more than my brother has?

"Ever heard of Aragog?" I ask.

"My brother met the thing," Fred laughs. He turns back to the cupboard and begins to pull out baking soda, flour, and a whole host of ingredients.

"Really?" I ask, the funny joke that I had planned evaporated from my lips.

"Yes," he says. He turns to me and winks, before pulling out a fistful of flour and throwing it at me.

I try to duck out of the way, but flour sprays across me, covering my hair. I run my hands through my hair and make a mad dash for the flour.

Fred holds it above my head, teasing me with it. "Not likely, Travers."

I duck around him, running into the fridge. I grab a carton of eggs and chuck one at him. He dodges it, but the second one hits him square in the chest.

Fred runs up to me and continues to throw flour on me while I pelt him with eggs. He grabs me around my waist and pins me to the ground, preventing me from throwing anything else at him. I'm laughing hysterically, and he's laughing too, and we are trying to kiss each other but we both can't stop smiling.

The door opens, and I look over Fred's shoulder to see George, having walked straight into the room. He looks at both of us, puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

"You too have made quite the mess," he chuckles.

He's smiling, like actually smiling. I don't know what I have done, but I've made progress.

"Did you ask her?" George asks.

Ask me what?

"Right," Fred nods. "I figured you might be lonely on Christmas. I wanted to know if you had any interest in coming to the Burrow."

When I look at George, and he cocksan eyebrow, I nod. "I'd love to go."

~~~~~

My Christmas gift to you is a Christmas gift to Larkin as well. And also, holy cow, this has exploded like over night. I'm talking like, five hundred new reads in three days. It's crazy.

Hello to everyone who is new. And happy holidays. What do you think of the conversation between Larkin and Fred? Pretty meta.