Fred had taken up a residence on the couch that he'd collapsed on when Roger had brought him. He wasn't quite sure where Roger had gone - maybe he'd headed home, since he hadn't really been hurt just scratched up. Fred remembered how bloody long it had taken his dad to recover after that damn snake had bit him, though, and his arm was wrapped and bound to his side, and he was really sodding annoyed that somehow he hadn't been immune to giant git snake bites.
He opened an eye at the door opening, then sat up when he knew it was his brother. "It was Roger's fault," Fred said first, "Actually, no, it was the floo. I was showing him how to work it off system, and then we both fell in. Grabbed the wrong sodding grate, that was for fucking sure. You look like death, by the way. You slept in a bottle, didn't you?"