A/N: Fred picks oranges for George's cold.

Submission for:

Fanfiction Perfumers Competition (and Challenge): Armani Code Luna - orange - Fred Weasley


Fred sat under the trees at the back of the Burrow, his back against the truck as he made notes about a new invention in one of his notebooks. It seemed he was out here by himself today since George had come down with a wicked cold and was quarantined in their room for the next few days.

Fred took a deep breath before making a face, the rancid smell of an over-ripe orange assaulting his nostrils. How he hated oranges. They reminded him off the times he would get sick and his mother would force him to eat the sour things.

He stood up and looked into the tree above. There were many oranges on the tree this time of year, many of them ripening without anyone to eat them and thereby soon to litter the floor and make the orchard a horrible place to sit.

Fred sighed before he placed his book down on the roots of the tree and began to climb. It would be good for someone to benefit from these things even if he hated the buggers.

Ten minutes later, he knocked on his room door. "Special delivery for the prat in room three," Fred announced.

"He's currently out doing Merlin knows what. Can I take a message?" was the cheeky answer George supplied.

Fred chuckled as he pushed the door open. George really did look like a right mess. There was a rag draped across his forehead and his blanket was pulled up to his neck. He greeted Fred with a sneeze and Fred instinctively pulled his arm over his nose before dropping the bowl of orange halves on his brother's lap.

"Oranges?" George asked he took up one.

"Mum always gives me these when I'm sick, remember," Fred said.

"So you climbed the tree and braved the smell you hate so much just for me?" George asked.

Fred said nothing and George watched his brother playing with the ends of the blanket on his legs. "Thanks," George said.

"Now eat them all for I won't be picking more and they're close to over-ripening," Fred said as he rose from the bed and moved towards the door.

George mock-saluted at his brother's retreating back, "Yes, Mum."