Disclaimer: all of the characters and storylines here belong to the world of Harry Potter and JK Rowling

Apologies in advance!

"Is it going to hurt?" Fred asked, his face pale and just a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

"Nah," George assured him with easy confidence, "I didn't feel a thing. And it was that greasy git Snape doing to it to me so I don't think he was trying to be gentle."

"Ok, do it. No wait!" Fred squeezed his eyes tightly shut and clenched his fists his shoulders high and tense around his neck, "go on then."

"All done," George said brightly.

Fred cracked an eye open, "Really? Huh, I didn't feel a thing!"

He had just started to relax when George grinned, "No, not really. Ear we go!" and raised his wand to the side of Fred's head.

"Aowowow! You absolute bastard!" Fred was laughing and groaning in pain all at the same time, managing to let go of his head long enough to punch George in the arm.

The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air and there was a hole in the side of Fred's head, identical to George's, like his ear had been scooped clean out.

"We're identical!" they exclaimed in delight. Although they had come up with this plan for mischievous reasons, neither of them had wanted to admit how unsettled being different had made them feel. They were meant to be a matched pair and people being able to tell them apart easily didn't feel right.

George held out his hand gingerly, "Eughhh!"

They examined the remains of Fred's ear with disgusted relish. Fred poked it the tip of his index finger and sniggered childishly. Then together they reparoed the ear and placed several powerful stasis charms on it. Finally they were satisfied.

"That thing will probably outlive the pair of us now," Fred rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, "Now you try it on!"

oOoOoOo

Over the next few months, they developed a complicated system of bartering and gambling over who would wear 'the ear'. Over that time, they became closer than ever – the notion of Fred and George blurring into something new. When George spilled his coffee all over Fred's robes, he had to go to Fred's appointment with their tax accountant. And when Fred took a shine to that pretty blonde witch who kept coming into the shop and had a notion that George was some kind of war hero because of his injury, Fred shoved the ear at George and promised him he'd do the early starts at the shop for a week if he put it on and talked about how brave George had been.

And the pranks they had been able to pull on their mother! She had grown complacent that she was able to tell them apart and seeing that confused look in her eyes when George was somehow behind her in the kitchen, then upstairs when she went to put the washing away was just divine. Although they did have to be careful. If she found out that they'd hexed Fred's ear off just for funsies, she'd shout so loudly and shrilly and for so long that their other ears would be in danger of dropping off too. Especially while ickle Ronniekins was off being brave on his secret mission and Percy was still being such a pillock. But really, this was a gift that they couldn't see themselves ever tiring of. And as long as they were careful, what could go wrong?

oOoOoOo

Fred sank to his knees next to the body. No. No. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. This was an impossibility. Because George couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. No one that vital, and vibrant and full of fucking sunshine could be lying cold and still on a stone floor.

"George!" wailed Molly, half falling, half running towards them, scrabbling over the floor in desperation. Fred made to move aside to let her get to George but she threw her arms around his neck sobbing, dragging every desperate, retching note over her tortured vocal cords, "George, George, thank Merlin you're ok," she whispered over and over again as she patted his cheek.

Fred's hand flew to his ear and felt the absence, before glancing down at his twin. George had been wearing the ear when Ginny had arrived at the shop, breathless and wild eyed, to tell them that Harry was back at Hogwarts. Lee had played a muggle magic trick on Fred the week before and said he was going to try it on George and he'd wanted another chance to get the better of him so he'd swapped with George that morning. Lee had just been about to turn the cards over to see if he had managed to make the queen disappear, although Fred was pretty sure he had rumbled it this time when the door had jingled and there had been Ginny, telling them they needed to leave right then that minute.

Molly threw herself over the body, moaning lowly, keening out Fred's name over and over again. Fred longed to reach out to her, to tell her that he was Fred but that would mean having to say that George was dead and he couldn't, he just couldn't. His throat froze up, making talking impossible. Even breathing was difficult – he could almost feel every atom ebbing and flowing through his lungs – every breath he took was one more than George would.

So he didn't say anything. How could he? When would have been the right time? When his father had been hugging him tightly, his eyes rimmed with red? When Molly had got drunk and belligerent about how him and Fred had always taken too many risks, done stupid unnecessary things, and that was why he died? When Percy had fallen at his feet, begging for his forgiveness because he had been with him at the end not George? At the funeral, when he had had to stand up and give a speech about his brother?

Other than the sheer effort of having to get up and live every day, that damned speech had been the hardest thing he'd had to do in his life, and there was a tiny, hysterical part of him that had wanted to shout the truth out to the whole crowd. The ear had been buried with George of course. That had been a tiny comfort to Fred – that a part of him would stay with George forever. So even though every time someone called out 'George' and for just a split second he would look for him before he remembered and it made his heart break all over again, another fresh cut to the sinew and muscle, he didn't tell them. Because how could he look his mother in the eye and tell her that another one of her sons had died? That she had mourned for Fred and now she had to start mourning anew for George? Better he keep the secret than deal with the explosion and chaos that would come with the truth.

oOoOoOo

And time passed, and it got easier. Not easier to bear the loss. That never got easier. It evolved from something sharp and burning hot, to something heavy and dull and suffocating but always equally painful. But pretending got easier. Being George. It was easier to forget himself than to accept that George could be gone. And when Angelina came to him, sad and lonely, missing the man that so nearly was her lover so many times but somehow they had kept on missing each other, Fred just listened and felt sick to his stomach as her grief drew her closer to him. And when they got drunk on firewhisky and finally did the deed, and she whispered 'Fred', through the tears that poured down her face and he felt like he was betraying himself and her and George all over again, he just turned his deaf ear to her and pretended not to hear.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He built a business for him and fathered children and he loved and cared for his family in his name. He lived a life that George could have been proud of.