AN: Personally, this is what I think happened, more or less.

Smells like the orchard, was Fred's first thought. Just different.

He kept his eyes closed, letting the rest of his senses decide where he was. He was laying in fairly long grass, a small breeze ruffling at his hair, the sun warming at his face.

Okay, I'm outside and it's the day. That didn't make sense, the last her remembered was fighting at Hogwarts and Percy the Prick had finally got his head on straight, and that had been before dawn, as far as he was aware. Then there had been some kind of noise and...

Fine, I'm having a temporary memory-block and George is probably laying three feet to my left, the battle is over and Moldywart is dead as a fish. Then why didn't he hear his twin breath or move or anything?

He opened his eyes at last and stared up at the green and white crown of a blossoming cherry tree. As far as he knew he had never seen the large tree before. Looking around himself at the hill he found himself to be alone. Completely alone and panic crept into his chest.

"George?" His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. "George! Joke's over!" He stood up and took a second glance around. It didn't look like Britain at all, everything was too colourful and warm and peaceful, the air was too fresh and the sky too blue. "Come out, come out, wherever you are or I'll cut off your remaining ear." His tone wasn't half as light as he wished.

Okay, this is a dream, I'm so exhausted after fighting my mind is messing with me. He shut his eyes hard, concentrating on waking up in his bed, how the pillow felt under his head and George's occasional snore, how his eyelids felt heavy and the slight air of burned gunpowder the flat had got. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Opening his eyes again he found nothing to be changed, he still stood halfway under the tree. He let his eyes fall shut and desperately tried fishing out different sounds, they may not be at the flat over the shop. Bill's muttering in his sleep, Percy throwing himself around in his bed, Charlie's grunting, steady snores, Ron waking screaming from a nightmare, Ginny sighing, even his mother's heavy breaths would be welcomed!

But nothing came.

Again he opened his eyes with a disappointed groan. Could he be under something alike their Day-Dream Charms, trapped in this unreal world until someone lifted it? If anyone could at all.

Sitting down against the tree-trunk he began wondering how long he had been there and how long it would keep going. Maybe forever. No, George would figure out something, as long as he wasn't trapped in the same fashion. A desperate moan escaped him.

Someone was walking towards him. Someone wearing a long, green skirt and a white shirt, her long, dark blonde hair flying behind her and a basket hanging from one hand. Fred got to his feet and took a couple of steps towards her, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

She had noticed him, how could she not with the flaming red hair? Slowing down before they met, she ran her eyes over his freckled face, muscular frame and ruffled clothes.

"Hi," she said at last.

"Hi," he answered automatically. It was something familiar with her kind face, the round cheeks and pale green eyes. She couldn't be much younger than him, if she wasn't the same age.

"Just arrived?" She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear.

"Huh?" He raised his eyebrows, astonished it actually was someone else here.

"You just got here, I take it?" She smiled timidly at him and he felt his heart race until his mind followed.

"Yeah, just woke up here. Where is 'here'?"

"Cherry Valley, Nangijala," she answered and shifted the empty basket to her other hand.

"Lay off," he said with a shaking laughter. "I wasn't born yesterday!" He had heard the stories in his childhood due to a muggleborn or halfblood baby-sitter, he had never got that straight.

"No, but you died," she said softly and met his eyes. She bit down on her lip, never having seen eyes like that, at first they may pass as blue or green, but on a second look it was impossible not to notice they had specks of brown, too.

"Yeah, right," Fred said and crossed his arms. "Very funny. When this wears off I have to ask George how he's pulled this off."

"George, who is he?" she asked politely.

"My twin," he said and shook his head. "But if we're stuck here for a certain time we just have to make the best of it." His face changed to a suggestive grin.

"What do you take me for?" She brushed past him, stomping away.

"Okay, maybe not," Fred muttered to himself before running after her, grabbing her upper arm and turning her around to see her furious face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." George, when I get out of here I'm gonna murder you!

"Then how did you mean it?" Her hands found her hips and he knew that usually mean trouble.

"I mean, this can't be real, so it have to be some kind of dream and I'm sadly a bloke and that's what my world evolves around," he said and sighed. "I'm sorry for coming across as a caveman."

"Well, this is real," she told him and let her hands fall to grab his. "You're dead."

"Fat chance," he replied at once. "Then where's George?"

"Still alive," she said slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he shrieked and yanked his hands free. "We're twins! We do everything together! We can't be parted, really bad things happen when we are! We're the original We, with capital W!" He panted and started walking away only to go back and and pointed his finger in her face, bursting to say something else, but deflated as no words came.

"I'm truly sorry, I know it's not easy," she said and their eyes locked again.

"Oh, I bet you've lost tons of twins," he muttered.

"Okay, I don't know," she admitted. "But I can see this is hard for you. If he really loves you he will come soon."

"Suicide, you mean? Not his style," Fred said and looked down at his feet. "I'm stuck here alone 'til old age gets him." His eyes stung, but he blinked hard to make it stop.

"Would it help if I said time's different here and fifty years for them can be a month here?" She tried catching his eyes again. He settled on looking at her waist, noticing her dress would fit somewhere in the middle ages, or maybe the seventeenth century, clothes had never interested him much.

"A bit," he admitted.

"We never got to introduce ourselves. Amy." She held her hand out to him and and he took it absentminded.

"Fred," he said hoarsely, knowing it wouldn't be followed by 'and George'. "Fred Weasley."

"Weasley? I've heard of you," she said and he looked surprised up at her again. "From my father, Gideon Prewett."

"No way! Then we're kinda cousins," he said, feeling the grin return.

"Not really, I'm adopted," she told him.

"Well, anyway." He shrugged. "I'm dead." A dry laugh escaped him. "I'm dead!"

"You'll get used to it."

"I'm dead and... No!" He covered his face with his hands. "Mum's sobbing her eyes out! Merlin, I'm in perfect health, except the dead-part, but I'm alive here."

"Give it some time," Amy advised.

"Yeah, time..." His eyes found the sky. "George, stop those damned tears, it's nothing wrong with me, you moron!" he yelled upwards and shook his fist towards a cloud. "Stop, I tell -" His voice caught in his throat.

"He's not the only one," she said quietly and stroke a finger over Fred's cheek, taking the drops with it. "Come here." She opened her arms and he accepted it, resting his head down on her shoulder.

"It's not fair, is it?" he whispered into her hair and let himself cry. They would meet again, he knew that, but now he was on his own for the first time. She stroke her hand over his back and he let a sob escape him.

"You're not alone," she whispered back. "I'm here in the meantime, poor replacement as it is."

"Yeah," he agreed. No matter how many would be around him, no one could fill the place of George, not even attempt to. The tears eventually stopped, but they stayed in the embrace, he sniffing once in a while. "Thanks." He stood up properly and wrapped his arms over her shoulders, earlier his hands hand barely touched her sides.

"It's the least I could do," she said and rested her forehead to his cheek.

"What were you doing here anyway?" he asked after a minute of just feeling her calming presence.

"Going to pick apples. Want to help me?" She looked up at him and he nodded.

"Not like I have anything better to do," he said and let her go. A big part of him expected to turn and say "or what, George?" but a tiny voice reminded him just in time he couldn't.

"Okay, let's go, then." She turned to her left and he fell into steps beside her, digging his hands down the pockets of his jeans.

"What the hell?" He extracted the right hand again, holding up a wrinkled piece of something cold. "Bloody Merlin!" He dropped it and jumped a step back, looking down at it with surprise and unease.

"Do you usually carry an extra ear around with you?" Amy asked and looked from the thing on the ground to him.

"It's an ear," he concluded, his voice several pitches higher than normal. "It's a fucking ear! It's frickin' Holey Saint George's ear! Bloody hell, I had my brother's ear in my pocket!"

"Do you think he'll miss it?"

"He lost it almost a year ago and now it's here with me!" Fred's eyes were huge when he looked up at Amy. "It's here with me."

"Makes sense," she said and picked the ear up, holding it in her small palm.

"No, it doesn't, nothing does!" He grabbed his own hair and pulled. "I've been Crucioed into insanity." If anything was logical here, it have to be that. With a frustrated scream he bent over his own lap and sunk down in a heap in the grass. If George could be here insanity would just be what they practised every day, but he wasn't, he couldn't be.

"Listen," Amy said and sat down on her knees in front of him. He was so frustrated all that was left to do was sob and she took him into her arms again, letting him muffle his howls in her chest. "It's not easy and it's not fair, but it's real."

"Can't be," he gulped and fisted his hands on her skirt. "Can't!"

"Shh." Slowly she began rocking sideways, soothing him like his uncle had done with her when she was younger. "It is, for now."

"Don't want it to be," he muttered when feeling calmer.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"Okay, I'm not sorry," she said and got him to look up at her.

"Well, that's polite," he said, cracking a small smile.

"You okay now?"

"I'll survive. Not like I'm gonna die twice in one day." He sniffed a last time and got to his feet, she followed him quietly.

"Do you want this, or what?" She held George's ear towards Fred and he touched it with the tip of his finger.

"Can't very well leave it here," he concluded and took the eerie cold flesh in his hand, stuffing it back in his pocket, feeling the small weight against his thigh.

"Do you still want to help me? Or we could go down to the village." She ran her eyes over him, trying to determine what would be best, no matter what his answer was.

"Nah, I'll be okay," he said with a shrug. She shrugged back and they headed for the apple trees.

"Could you tell me a bit more about your family?" she asked as they walked.

"Charlie's the crier," he said as it was the first that sprang to mind. "Works with dragons, but can bawl like a baby."

"Dragons, really?" she said in awe.

"He doesn't get more hurt than he deserves," he said. "Bill's the natural leader and babe-magnet. At least before his face got slashed open last year." She gasped. "He's all right, married and the whole deal. Percy's a class A bigheaded prick and only cares about getting most power the fastest possible. Ron's a real klutz, but brave enough for ten. Ginny, she so badly wants us to see her as something else than our baby sister, going off and snogging half a dozen boys in a fortnight, but she too is brave and smart."

"And George?" Amy asked quietly.

"George... He's the other half of me, the butter to my toast, the hand to my glove, the yin to my yang and all that. We do everything together."

"Everything?" She gave a challenging smile.

"Well, we've grown out of going to the loo together, but other than that, yes," he said. "What we can't share directly we talk about afterwards, so anyone dating one of us would technically be dating both."

"Fred, I think you're coming on to me." She batted her eyelashes.

"What? No, not like that! Or, well, I did tell him when I – just forget I said anything."

"Deal," she said and giggled.

AN: Lousy ending really, but I don't know how to continue it without going on forever. And The Brothers Lionheart and all attached belongs to Astrid Lindgren, I just borrowed it.