Takeshi opened his eyes to blinding white. He immediately shut them.

Hesitantly, he opened them again. The white slowly faded out and vaguely recognizable colors appeared.

There was a slash of red, most prominent among the washed out grays and blues and greens. Two reds, actually, both humongous and towering over him.

Sound came from the one on the left, babbling that rang his ears. The red on the right seemed to laugh, and Takeshi realized with a start that he could feel the vibrations. Was it...holding him?

Squirming about, Takeshi caught sight of a fist. It was small and pudgy, and Takeshi's first thought was that it was Reborn. His second thought was that Reborn was going to destroy the giant for holding him.

Then the fist moved when he attempted to reach for it.

Trying again, and again, Takeshi realized that the tiny fist was his. The baby was him.

He did what he usually did when confronted with something unexplainable and uncomfortable and horrifying—

The man and woman watched in wonder as their baby, who had been dead to the world since yesterday (b-but his brother woke up, why isn't he—!?) curled his lips up into an imitation of a smile, letting laughter burble out.

-{}-

"Freddie!" George yelled, skidding to a stop in the doorway. "Come on then, it's time to go!"

"Coming, coming." Fred responded, shoving the last of the prank supplies— er, educational tools—into the trunk, all presents from George. Stamping a foot on the trunk lid to get it shut, he pulled it down the stairs, careful not to bump it too noisily or Mum would throw a fit.

"Fred! George!" said dear mother screeched. "Get down here!"

"Coming, mum!" the twins chorused in perfect sync despite being nowhere near each other. Once Fred got to the bottom floor, he shoved his trunk in the direction of his father, who was already swamped with shrinking all of Percy's and Charlie's stuff. Considering the studious nature of Fred's older siblings (though Charlie did have a mind of adventure), they were probably stuffed to the brim with books.

Fred joined his twin in speeding to the kitchen, catching their mother by surprise as they each grabbed a sandwich to stuff into their mouths.

"Fred!" she exclaimed when one of them accidentally knocked over a plate. Sh quickly caught it with a wave of her wand, simultaneously checking the temperature on the oven.

"He's not Fred, I am," George said instinctively.

"Sorry, George," their mother responded distractedly.

"Kidding," the twins chorused. They finished their food as Mrs. Weasley sighed in frustration. Their younger siblings sat at the table nearby, watching the chaos enviously.

"I wish I could go," their brother, Ron, whined. Fred— the real one— kneeled down in front of Ron.

"Don't worry." Fred gave a smile. "You'll get to go soon enough."

"Yeah, in a whole two years," Ron said mulishly.

"I wish I could stay." George commented, taking a cue from his twin. "Who wants to go to school?"

"And at least you two will have the whole house to yourself!" Fred added, winking at their younger sister, Ginny.

"I guess…" Ron mumbled, still unconvinced, while Ginny lit up nearby at the thought. Fred smiled. Their sister had a mischievous spirit.

"Come on, dears, it's off we go!" Their mother said, twirling her wand to cast a Feather-Light charm on her husbands load. "Fred, George, you first!"

Fred grabbed a handful of powder from the pewter vase nearby and stepped into the fireplace. "Diagon Alley!" he cried, always the first of the twins.

The flames never ceased to bring stinging tears of nostalgia to his eyes, and he wouldn't want George to worry, would he?