Harry could smell burning, and struggled awake.

"What's that?" he slurred. He was so tired – he'd barely slept. "Fire …"

"You've gone and upset the birthday boy," said one voice accusingly.

"I didn't mean to," said another, very like the first. "One of the candles is melting. It's your dodgy recipe, anyway."

"Harry." That was Hermione's voice.

He opened his eyes. Fred and George were sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, holding a very lop-sided cake on a serving tray. It had seventeen candles stuck in it – the eighteenth Fred had plucked out and was holding so it wouldn't drip wax on the floor. Hermione was kneeling at the end of his mattress. Ron was standing behind her. Ginny was nowhere to be seen.

"We tried to wake her up," Ron said apologetically, watching him scan the room. "But she – uh, she's a heavy sleeper."

"Who, Ginny? No she's not," protested Fred blankly. "She's a light sleeper."

"Well she was heavy this morning," Ron grated.

Hermione quickly interceded. "Happy eighteenth, Harry," she said, and leant forward to kiss him on the cheek as she handed him a present.

Harry was still trying to understand what was happening. What were they doing here? Why a cake? Then it clicked. His birthday. For the first time in his life, he'd forgotten about his birthday – twice.

"Oh. Thanks, guys," he said weakly.

"Open it," Hermione urged.

He forced himself upright and did so. It was a book, Defensive Magic In All Its Forms by someone called Major T. Totalus. He flipped it open. Inside was – well, a guide to defensive magic in all its forms. With pictures.

"Thanks Hermione," he said.

"It's from both of us," said Ron. "I helped pick."

"Look at the front," added Hermione.

There was a message written on the inside cover.

To Harry, on your 18th Birthday. Here's hoping you won't have to use it, but we thought you'd be interested. We hope you're OK. We love you. Ron and Hermione.

"Er – Hermione put in the 'We love you' bit," Ron said hastily. "I tried to stop her."

Harry managed a bit of a grin. "Thanks," he said.

The Weasley twins presented their cake.

"Look," George said proudly. "We made a cake."

"I found the spell."

"Right, he found the spell. And I iced it."

"And we both put the candles in."

"It's our first proper go at household spells. What do you think?"

"Wow," said Harry, a bit overwhelmed. The cake was higher on one side than the other, the icing was a grey-pink, and in another colour – lime green – they'd tried to write Happy Birthday Potter and ended up with Happy Birth P.

"Oh, that," George said breezily, seeing him looking at it. "We aimed a little too high. There wasn't enough room."

"Right," said Harry. "Well, this is great."

"Wait," said Fred, surprised. He put the cake down on Harry's lap. "The cake isn't the present, you daft bugger." From behind his back he pulled a medium-sized bottle, corked and label-less.

"Is that –" Ron said, as George produced shot glasses.

"I don't know," Hermione worried.

"'Mione," George said. "It's his eighteenth birthday. He's legal. He's having a shot of firewhiskey to –"

"Be initiated into the next phase of his life," finished Fred.

Hermione muttered something, and Fred and George ignored her. Ron put a hand on her shoulder.

Harry moved the cake from his lap and onto the floor. He didn't really want firewhiskey – he didn't really want presents – but it seemed like everyone had gone to so much trouble that he just went along. Fred poured him a shot, and then one for himself and George.

"Ron?" he asked.

Ron looked down at Hermione, who was frowning out the window.

"No thanks," he said, albeit a tad reluctantly.

Ever-so-slightly, Hermione smiled.

Harry quickly threw back his shot. It burnt (very surprising, that) all the way down his throat and into his stomach. He coughed twice.

"Wow," he said hoarsely. "That was – hot."

Fred and George nodded mutely. They'd just swallowed their own.

"Well, Harry," Hermione said impatiently. "If you're done being initiated, we can plan what we'll do today. We're going to do whatever you want. Fred and George are heading in to London, so if you like we can –"

"Actually," Harry interrupted, looking at the twins, "I need to talk to you about that."

"About what?" George asked, regaining his voice.

"About – London. When are you going back to your apartment?"

"Tomorrow, hopefully," said Fred, beaming. "Lee owled us to say it's nearly ready. Why do you ask?"

Harry swallowed before answering, already anticipating Ron and Hermione's reactions. "I want to go with you," he said.

"Er – OK."

"I want to stay with you, I mean. Just for a couple days, until I find my feet. If that's alright."

Fred and George looked at each other. The other two looked at Harry.

"What do you mean, stay with them?" Ron said after a brief silence. His voice was admirably even.

"I mean," Harry said, eyes fixed on his cake (it seemed a safe point), "move to their place. If they've got room. Otherwise, I can go to The Leaky Cauldron, but I sort of want to be with people I know for a couple days. Then I'll find a spot for myself –"

"Harry!" Hermione said shrilly. "Why on earth do you want to leave?"

Now Harry shifted his gaze, and met her eye. Her raised eyebrows fell, and she looked a little helpless.

"Harry, that's no reason to –" she began quietly.

He cut in. "It is," he said. Not angrily, just firmly. "And I want to leave."

"Something wrong with our house?" Ron said, a bit stiffly.

"No. It's not that."

"What's going on here?" Fred asked to the room in general. "I'm feeling a bit out of the loop."

"Join the club, I'm president," added George.

"Nothing's going on," Harry said quickly. "Only that I think it's time I – got out of your hair here at the Burrow …"

"And came into our hair in London?" Fred finished, clearly still puzzled.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Fred and George looked at one another again, and then George shrugged. "Well," he said, "we're happy to have you if you need a place, Harry. You can sleep on the couch."

"But we're not breaking the news to Mum," Fred said immediately.

George shook his head. "No. That's your job."
I don't think I'll tell her at all, Harry thought, but didn't say.

"Right. Thanks. When are you leaving?"

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, but he ignored her. Ron's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Couple of hours," said George. "We'll Floo ourselves there."

"OK. I'll be ready."

"Good-oh." George rubbed his hands together. "I love starting the day with unexpected news."
Fred grinned. "Oi, pass me our cake, will you Harry? We'll go cut it downstairs."
Harry did so, and Fred and George left, carrying their creation between them with all the tenderness of new parents.

"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "I guess I'd better pack."

Hermione stood up and literally stamped a foot. "This is ridiculous," she fumed.

"'Mione, just leave it …" Ron tried to say, but she waved a hand at him and eyed Harry furiously.

"You're both being idiots," she said. "You just need to stop trying to fix things before she's ready, and she just needs to step back and see that things aren't as bad as she imagines. It's easy. It's simple. So do it!"

"Yeah, real simple," Harry retorted, his anger flaring. "Just like we always said you and Ron should just tell each other how you felt and go for a snog. That was simple too, wasn't it?"

"Well – that's not the point – I don't – " Hermione sputtered, uncharacteristically inarticulate. Then she groaned in frustration and stormed out.

"You know," Ron said after a while, "if you don't like it up in London – well, there's always a mattress on my floor for you."
Harry half-smiled. "Thanks, mate."
Ron nodded and made to leave. He stopped and turned in the doorway.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."
Then he was gone, and Harry was left feeling like scum – but determined scum. The Weasleys had been very good to him, and it looked like they were going to continue being good to him. If he was going to bow out of their hospitality, he was going to do it with a bit of dignity, and not like a thief in the night.

Which meant – he swallowed – he'd have to tell Mrs Weasley.

~

After ten minutes of shrieking, five of threats to kill Fred and George for 'putting the idea in his head' (he had to protest that), and then, finally, five of tears, Mrs Weasley wrapped him in a tight bear-hug.

"Oh Harry," she sobbed, "if you want to go out into the world, then you – you –"

"It's OK, Mrs Weasley," he said, patting her back and wishing this wasn't so hard.

"– then you go!" she finished. She took hold of his shoulders and held him away a little to examine his face. "But don't go too far," she added sternly.

"I won't."

She looked into the distance thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should owl Professor McGonagall …"

"No!" Harry almost shouted. "No, it's alright. It's – well, it's really none of her business."

It wasn't, at all. But Harry was scared that McGonagall, with her iron will, would simply make it her business if she felt the need.

"I suppose you're right. Look at you, you're so big! I remember when you were" (she began to cry again) "knee-high to a grasshopper."

Harry hugged her in what he hoped was a reassuring kind of way. He was going in half an hour. He loved Mrs Weasley, but he hoped she'd wrap up her reminiscing soon, because he had a feeling Fred and George wouldn't wait long for him.

~

"Come on, Potter!" Fred was shouting from downstairs. Harry quickly threw his new birthday presents – the book and the whiskey, he didn't know where the twins had put their cake – into his trunk, grabbed Hedwig's cage (she wasn't in it – she rarely came home these days, unless he needed her; she liked the countryside too much), and proceeded to lug these downstairs.

"No time like the present," George said loudly. He was in the living room and his voice echoed through the house. "Oh, present! Fred, get the cake."

"Right."

Harry was halfway down the stairs when Fred passed him. "Just going into the kitchen," he said cheerfully. Harry sighed. Ron came out of the living room too, saw him struggling, and ran up to take Hedwig's cage.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"No problem."

Everyone was gathered around the fireplace, looking quite grim – everyone but Ginny. He didn't know why he was still hoping she'd be there. George was wearing the famed dragon-skin jacket and beaming. Mrs Weasley looked like she might burst into tears again when she saw him, but controlled herself.

"She was exactly the same when Charlie, Bill and Percy left," Fred said from behind him. Harry started, and Fred swung the cake away so he wouldn't knock it over.

"Ready?" said George briskly, already scooping Floo powder out of the family pot. Fred pushed past Harry and Ron to the fire and did the same.

"See you soon, Mum," he said. "And don't worry. We'll look after Harry."

He winked, leapt into the flames and threw down his powder as he cried: "Fred and George's pad!"

Mrs Weasley looked more anxious than previously. "George," she said, touching his elbow. "You will, won't you?"

"Course, Mum. Thanks for the snacks, Lee'll love them." He shouldered his bag, and then followed Fred.

Harry immediately wished he had his Invisibility Cloak on, because everybody turned to look at him. He walked in front of the fireplace and put down his trunk, while Ron set Hedwig's cage beside him.

"Well," he said clumsily, "I guess – goodbye."
Hermione launched herself forwards and nearly knocked him over. He made an 'oof' sound as she hit him, but then hugged her back.

"Bye, Harry. Be good. Look after yourself."

"I will."

She titled her mouth to his ear and spoke softly. "You know, running away's not going to make it better."

He nodded, not wanting her to say anymore, and she backed up, smiling wanly at him. Ron came forward – this is like a film, Harry thought – and looked at him.

"Well, goodbye," he said gruffly, and held out a hand.

Harry took it and they shook, before hugging quickly.

"Don't go crazy," said Ron, releasing him.

"I won't."

Ron moved to put his arm around Hermione's waist.

"Oh, Harry!" said Mrs Weasley, with another flood of tears. She hugged him again, then broke off and dusted his shirt down briskly. "Now, don't go into Knockturn Alley, and don't take money from strangers because they're probably drug dealers, and for heaven's sake don't go into bars with Fred and George, or you'll never make it home again."

"OK," Harry agreed, unable to really absorb these rushed instructions. "Thanks Mrs Weasley. Thanks for having me."

"Our pleasure, dear," she said tearily, sincerely. "Anytime you like."

"Well, here goes, then," said Harry.

"Owl us," Hermione added.

"I will."

He took a handful of Floo powder, stepped into the fire, pulled his trunk and cage in after him, and was just about to leave when Mrs Weasley shouted something.

"What?" he said, trying to hear above the roaring of the fire.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed. "She hasn't said goodbye."

"Ah – it's OK," Harry said hastily, but Mrs Weasley was adamant.

"No, no, she should say goodbye. It's only polite. I'll get her …" She was just about to go marching out and up the stairs, but stopped in surprise. Harry followed her line of view. Ginny was, in fact, hovering in the living room doorway. Her expression was tormented, like she didn't know if she should run in, or run back upstairs.

She met Harry's eye and he could only look at her. It seemed like such a little thing now, what they'd said to each other, and he wanted so badly to step back out of the fireplace and hold her.

"Ginny," Mrs Weasley said briskly. "Come and say goodbye."

Ginny jumped when her mother spoke, and looked flummoxed. "I –" she began, and then stopped. With a final glance at Harry, she ran out of the doorway and upstairs again.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, turning back to him. "She must be upset."

Harry nodded and, not wanting to stand there a moment longer, threw down his powder.

"Fred and George's pad!"