Darkness. Darkness was all he was aware of.

He was afraid. He was more scared than he could ever remember being.

He stood. He could see nothing around him. He couldn't even feel his own body- not even the rustle of fabric as he moved. Nothing. Just dark, dank blackness. He sucked in a deep, rattling breath.

Slowly, the darkness began to clear, and he turned around in wonder. Thick fog fluttered along the floor, so deep it threaded its way up past his knees to his waist. He couldn't see the floor or his legs. He looked up from the thick winding fog and realised that the darkness was lightening to a dark indigo- it almost looked beautiful. In fact, if it wasn't for the fog, his general confusion, and the panic that had frozen his insides, he would say it was almost pretty. Despite the fog, the dark and the confusion, he knew that this place meant something to him. He'd been here before… he was sure. He turned again in wonder, trying to remember… anything.

Was he dead?

He patted himself, but felt no injury. He opened the palms of his hands out in front of him, turning them over. He was suddenly conscious of what he was wearing, and he pushed up the sleeve of the loose cotton shirt he was wearing to reveal… nothing. His wand holster was absent. He hadn't gone anywhere without that in years. He looked down at the loose linen trousers and his confusion grew. He didn't own these clothes. He didn't have his wand. Something was wrong.

He took a cautious step forward and stopped: he didn't know why exactly, but he wasn't supposed to be able to do that. He didn't feel scared anymore. He felt comfortable, and he knew that he was safe here. He knew this place, and the terror that had gripped him was gone. Nothing bad would happen to him here.

The sky was slowly lightening, as if a new day was dawning, and he could see the fuzzy outlines of trees in the distance.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" a sudden voice cried out from behind him.

Ron's heart jumped into his throat and he froze for a second. He closed his eyes. He counted to ten. He summoned his courage and turned.

Fred. Fred. Fred in his dragon skin jacket and jeans. Fred, who was most certainly dead, was walking purposefully through the fog towards him with an expression of utter fury on his face. "You should not be here!" he said furiously, looking him up and down. Ron blinked too dumb-struck to talk. "What the bloody hell are you playing at?"

"Sorry, I… what?" Ron said faintly.

Fred threw up his hands in exasperation and stalked through the mist to a small patch of grass that appeared as suddenly as the man himself. Ron followed him with wide-eyes and a sinking heart. He sat heavily beside his dead brother. Fred crossed his arms.

"Am I dead?" Ron asked. He closed his eyes. He could remember; there was a man, a curse, and Harry…

"How in Merlin's pants am I supposed to know?" Fred said kicking at a tuft of grass. There was a curse they couldn't cure- he'd been in hospital. It was coming back to him with a frightening suddenness.

"You don't know?" Ron asked. Fred rolled his eyes.

"I know I'm dead, but I've still got better things to do than watch your ridiculously heroic life."

Ron snorted, a snarky retort on his lips before he stopped- suddenly knowing. "I was hit by a curse, on a mission," he said shakily. He could remember it all, Harry's heartbroken face, the tears of George, of Charlie… Hermione, Rosie… tiny little Hugo. He remembered it all.

"Can't really say anything about that one," Fred said moodily, "Exactly what happened to me."

They fell into an uneasy silence watching the day grow lighter and the shadows grow smaller.

"It's good to see you," Ron said eventually.

Fred quirked an eyebrow at him, his lips twitching, and, despite himself, Ron could also feel a laugh bubbling, "Wish I could say the same Ronnikins."

They fell into silence again, although this time it felt comfortable. Ron found his voice, "I've been unconscious, for weeks I think. I haven't been able to talk, or move…" Ron shuddered flexing his fingers constantly afraid they would suddenly go still again..

"Sounds like fun," Fred said, with a tight smile.

"Yeah," Ron said. He looked at Fred again, unable to fight the urge to speak. "I'm, well, glad to be talking to someone actually. Even if, you know, you are dead."

"As eloquent as ever, little brother. It's a wonder you finally got your act together with Hermione."

"I thought you had better things to do than watch my life?" Ron laughed easily, taking in the sunlit clearing they were now sat in. He knew this place, but he couldn't place it. Still, its familiarity didn't bring comfort but a sense of anxiousness. It reminded him most though of the orchard just outside The Burrow they used to play Quidditch in when they were younger. A place he was sure they would one day be watching their children learn to play. He smiled at the thought. He could imagine his mum and dad in deck chairs as they sat heads turned up towards the sky. He could imagine Hermione wringing her hands as she watched the children in the sky above her. He could imagine a fed up George, who had sold his broom and refused to fly since the battle, tugging her into a seat and shoving (a probably spiked) pumpkin juice into her hand. Fleur would probably be fussing over all the children and carrying out sun-blocking spells. Harry, Harry would be in the air, like a kid himself, tumbling with the children. He entertained himself wondering what position Rosie would play. Would she play at all? Or would she be on the ground like her mother wringing her hands, or with her nose stuck in a good book. Hugo, who had been born looking like a bowling ball with legs, would probably be a beater. Harry and Ginny's children, there was no doubt, would play. It was in their blood- if he believed in that sort of thing. He could imagine his godson, Jimmy, darting through the players howling with laughter. Ron smiled at the thought of what was to come. To those days that were yet to dawn.

A stone settled in his chest when he realised he would never experience it for himself.

He wanted to scream. To break things. To cry at the unfairness of the world. Why had he got so short a time with his children? Why was he being ripped away from them when they needed him.

He looked over to Fred and guilt fell upon him. He thought of Colin Creevey. He thought of Teddy Lupin, and, most of all, he thought of Harry. His children were loved fiercely by so many. They had their beautiful, caring, brave and wonderful mother. They'd be fine. How could he complain when he knew his children had so much more than Harry had been given?

Life wasn't fair. It wasn't.

It never is.

"I don't think you're dead," Fred said conversationally.

Ron blinked heavily. He caged the hope that was trying to flutter into him. He could accept his death, he was just accepting his death. "You don't?" he half-whispered, staring at Fred. Fred, who was staring over the clearing thoughtfully, shook his head.

"I think, if you were dead, we'd know."

"So I'm alive?"

Fred tilted his head, "No, I don't think do."

His hope, in its gilded cage, died. "Right." They were silent for a while. "I've missed you," Ron said thickly.

"I don't doubt it," laughed Fred, "I'm the life and soul of any party."

"And-" he said in a rush, "I love you." He felt his cheeks staining, and he looked down at his linen clad knees.

Fred made a strangled noise, and Ron's head shot up. "I never doubted that either," Fred said. Ron was memorised by the wetness he found in Fred's eyes. Fred smiled, painfully, at him and placed a heavy hand on his neck pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you too, you idiot."

They fell silent with Ron crushed into his brother's chest. "I'm sorry," Ron muttered into Fred's chest. "That you-"

"If you are going to apologise, I'm going to-"

"We didn't see a lot of each other, in that last year," the words, words he'd thought but never really said, tumbled out. Ron wondered whether Fred could feel his shaking.

"Yeah," Fred said almost fondly, "because you were fighting You-Know-Poo." Ron chuckled through his tears.

"I know."

"Saving the world."

"I know," Ron said.

They paused, and Ron pulled himself upright, keeping his hand tightly wound into Fred's jacket as if he was afraid he'd disappear. With his other hand, he wiped his eyes. "Would you change anything," Fred asked.

Ron thought hard. Of course, he knew what he'd have changed, but that had nothing to do with Fred and everything to do with him, and with Harry. He looked around the clearing they were in. The shadows reformed. A river bubbled. He knew where he was now. "Yes," he breathed. There was no tent, but this place featured so heavily in his nightmares that he could no longer mistake it. It was the clearing they had learnt about the Sword of Gryffindor. The clearing where Harry and Hermione had realised that the sword could destroy the horcruxes. The clearing in which they'd argued. The clearing where he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.

The clearing where he'd walked away.

"You wouldn't have changed going with them," Fred said looking at him sadly. Ron couldn't help but wonder whether he knew what this place represented to him.

"No."

Fred nodded proudly. "Then don't apologise," he said simply. Fred stood and walked over to where Ron knew the tent had once been. He could almost hear the whispers of that argument. Ron wrapped his arms around himself and followed. "It's funny isn't it?" Fred asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I'm minding my own business- meeting some tasty witches in the afterlife- and yet I still end up being cock-blocked by my brother."

Ron choked on a laugh and Fred smiled widely. "So have we decided then? Whether I'm dead or alive?" Ron asked worrying his lip.

Fred suddenly looked serious again- and wasn't that scary. "I think you get to decide that one."

"What?"

"I think you are in the in-between. You aren't dead, you aren't alive."

"Are you making this up?" Ron asked, certain that Fred was playing one last cruel joke on him.

"Maybe a little," Fred grinned, "But I'm the only dead source you've got- unless you are expecting Dumbledore."

"So what do I do?" Ron asked desperately. Fred said nothing but simply gazed at him expectantly. Ron sighed and thought for a second. "I can leave here with you, or go back."

"I imagine so."

"I hate that you are enjoying this," Ron said faintly. "If I go back, will I be okay?" He thought of those weeks locked in his own body. He thought of the healers saying that he may never walk again.

"I don't know," Fred sighed.

"But how can I make a decision if I don't know all the facts?"

"You've obviously been married to Hermione too long, Ron," Fred said wryly.

"But-"

"Ron, life- and death- is more than just knowing. I don't know what will happen if you chose to go back. Neither do you, but, unlike me, unlike so many others, you have the choice- the chance," Fred said, grasping him by the shoulders.

"But-"

"I can't tell you what to do, Ron. I wish I could. I wish I could tell you what would happen, but I don't know that either. None of us do."

"I'm scared," Ron croaked looking around him. He understood truly now why he had been brought to this place.

"I know."

Ron wanted to run, but he steeled himself. "Hermione and the kids need me," he said firmly. He thought of being locked back into his body and shuddered. "And Harry, Harry won't rest until he knows what I was cursed with- I trust him to fix me." Fred nodded with pride shining in his eyes. "And, even if I can't walk, even if I'm never healed fully, I don't care."

"My little Ronnie's all grown up," Fred said in a very mum way.

"I have to go back."

"A true Gryffindor," Fred said wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"Thank you, Fred."

Fred smiled warmly at him. "I am proud of you Ron." Ron smiled back at him, a warmth filling him at the words. "Thank you, for looking after George," Fred said, his smile twitching down slightly.

"He'll be so mad when I tell him that I saw you."

Fred shook his head, "Don't tell him," he said fearfully. "I don't think… it's for the best."

Ron nodded slowly, looking around. "So what happens now?"

"I reckon I get going, and you stay where you are," Fred said simply looking past Ron with a warm smile. Ron turned and looked, but he couldn't see what Fred was looking at. Ron looked back towards him.

They locked eyes and Ron launched himself onto Fred, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He was taller than Fred, as he was George, and Fred had to rise to his toes. Ron chuckled. "I wish you could come back with me," Ron said as he pulled away.

"As do I, but what is, simply is."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "How very Dumbledore"

Fred laughed loudly. His face still young and free of the lines and pain George's carried. Forever frozen as he was when he died. "I'll tell him you said that."

Fred turned and began to walk away. He waved at someone before him that Ron couldn't see. When he got to the stream, he turned and called, "Don't forget to laugh Ron, it's the best magic there is." Ron nodded, unsurprised by the tears that were tumbling down his face. Fred, whose body was fading as he stepped across the stream, walked backwards pulling from his pocket a firework. With a laugh, he sent it flying into the air. Ron watched it, amazed. It tumbled and fizzed and, with a bang, exploded. The flash was so bright that Ron had to squeeze his eyes shut. The clearing and Fred fell away.


A/N Thank you for the kind reviews. They really are motivating me to keep going and get this finished!

I've always wanted to write a Fred and Ron scene, and I snatched at the opportunity here.