The first thought that came to Fred’s mind was, inexplicably, “Hahaha, look who’s the saint-like one now?�



The second thought, arriving very shortly after the first one and kicking off its slippers to stay awhile, was, “Wait, how did I just think that? I’m dead.�



He paused in thought. Yes, he was quite sure he was dead. The wall had fallen on him—he remembered that part excruciatingly vividly, though the pain was gone now. His life had flashed before his eyes in a montage of comedy shorts that made Monty Python’s Flying Circus look like a series of lectures by Professor Binns.



There had been that dark tunnel with that tantalizingly shiny light at the end, that sensation of everything going hazy and warped, and… he distinctly remembered flooding out of his body like steam rising from a boiling teapot. And he’d seen his own body below him, broken and crumpled and so small from the outside.



He looked down at himself now. He didn’t seem to be there. Somehow, this didn’t bother him… he was just Fred Weasley without the body attached. Bodies were for people who were still alive, and he wasn’t anymore. He was strangely calm about all of this, thoroughly peaceful and relaxed.



People were so worried about dying, he realized, that they had no idea what a relief it was to get it over with. He could take his time now… he wasn’t part of time now.



Oh no, he thought suddenly. Am I being profound? If he had a head, he would have shaken if from side to side. A lot of things might change with death, but he wasn’t going to start being deep and insightful just because he wasn’t alive anymore.



It suddenly came to him in a strange flash of perverted realization that if he didn’t have a body, he didn’t have clothes on, either. He laughed… or rather, he would have laughed if he had a face or vocal cords or the ability to make any sound at all. He must have been the first dead person to think about such a thing.



In fact, he’d been so busy thinking about his nudity and wondering if there were any disembodied girls around that it was a surprisingly long while before he consciously thought, So where am I, then?



The second the thought popped into his mind, he knew where he was. Had he been there all along, or had his surroundings not appeared until he’d really thought about it. He was looking down at a Hogwarts corridor, but it was subtly different from the ones he remembered from his schooldays.



For one, it was as empty as his ex-girlfriend’s head—and Fred didn’t think he’d ever been anywhere without any company whatsoever… with the possible exception of bathroom cubicles. And this corridor was silent and spotless, something that places inhabited by Fred Weasley never were for long.



He became aware of the smooth feel of a broom handle beneath him and realized that he must have a body… or at least some form of one. And as soon as the thought struck his mind, he suddenly had one.



At least it looked like his body—his fully clothed body. But it was different. He didn’t need to blink, to breathe. His heart didn’t beat, his organs didn’t churn, and there was no pain whatsoever. Somehow, he instinctively knew that this body was just for appearances, that he didn’t really need it. It was like a cloak he could pull on or off whenever it so suited him.



He experimented a little, giving his body rock-hard abs and astonishing biceps, but while he once would have embraced this new ability, it no longer excited him that he could look however he wanted. Maybe because he didn’t have any glands or hormones or anything. Sex appeal was an earthbound concept.



But Fred was dead now. No one cared what he looked like anymore. He gave himself horns, waist-length neon green dreadlocks, neon yellow eyeballs that spun like Mad-Eye Moody’s on uppers and forty-nine inch toenails.



Showing off just wasn’t the same when no one was there to watch him.



In an instant, he returned to his usual appearance. Although he knew it wasn’t really him, just a form he was occupying for the time being, there was something comforting about being just plain Fred again.



He was sure he’d been floating up and down on his broomstick for quite some time, but time didn’t seem to pass the same way for him anymore. It could have been years or seconds. But however long he’d been there, he was pretty positive his soul wasn’t meant to spend eternity bobbing up and down like a demented cork in a deserted hallway. And if so, he wanted to know what stupid supreme entity had come with that wacko idea.



He was on a broom. Maybe he was meant to steer it somewhere. He looked behind him and a door appeared. Ohhhhh, no. He knew that door all too well… with that strange new intuition that he’d never had when he was alive (what a bizarre phrase that was), he slowly recognized where he was. He had been floating here in front of Umbridge’s office when he and George had flown out of Hogwarts back when they were eighteen.



This is all some stupid metaphor or something, isn’t it? he thought crankily. He clearly had two choices—he could put the broom back in Umbridge’s office from whence it had supposedly come and not risk it, or he could fly out the window to whatever lay out there.



It didn’t take a super genius to know what that meant. According to Harry—who wasn’t one to make things up—Nearly-Headless-Nick had said that there was a choice to stay behind and become a ghost or… go on.



Become a ghost… Fred had never even thought about such a thing, never really thought about death before. Even though so many people were dying every day in this war, even though the clock on the wall at the home he’d never return to constantly stated that he was in mortal peril, dying had always seemed like something that always happened to other people.



But here he was nonetheless, having to choose between life (or lack thereof) as a ghost or the Journey to the Great Whatever.



Fred Weasley… ghost. That was a novel idea. He’d get to stay back at Hogwarts where he’d died, cheer on the battle, watch the little squirts he’d tormented grow up, encourage people to break rules and flout authority, creep people out by popping out of walls and screaming…



And he’d get to watch as everyone around him grew old and died and he never changed, stuck in school and forever twenty years old with no way of knowing anything that happened beyond those four walls. People had joked that Fred would never grow up, but they didn’t know how right they’d be.



He leaned forward on his broomstick and zoomed off into the sunset.



* * * * * *



The spectral ear flitted around Fred’s head like half a flesh-coloured butterfly. He swatted absentmindedly at it and lay back on his deck chair to resume watching the waves lap up on the shore, vaguely wondering if the spirits of his toenail clippings were flitting around somewhere.



Heaven was an interesting place, but he was getting used to it. It had probably not been a good idea to try to flirt with the saint guarding the gate into heaven (a female one, not Peter) to try to ensure he’d get in—tactics that had worked at night clubs didn’t exactly cross over to this realm. And he’d been really confused by the fact that heaven was what you made it, that the accountant he saw sitting on the beach three chairs over was really adding up complicated sums in his own private heaven.



The biggest surprise had been seeing James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus—he’d known two of them in his lifetime, but never all together, and the difference was incredible. They were so young, around his own age, and so carefree and relaxed. Even better, they’d congratulated him on his superb pranking, which definitely made him feel warm and fuzzy. Even better, James and Sirius had founded Zonko’s—a tidbit that Sirius had somehow left out when Fred had been living at Grimmauld Place—and had absolutely no hard feelings that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was beating it in sales.



Fred had been silently accepted as a replacement fourth Marauder at some point. No one mentioned it. No one talked about Peter Pettigrew. But he knew that he was filling the spot that Wormtail had taken in happier days.



Speaking of happier days, it was really odd to see Sirius not stomping around moodily and Remus healthy and whole, not a werewolf at all and able to feel at last like he actually deserved his wife.



The Lupins were always watching over their little son, Teddy, and the Potters always kept an eye on Harry. Fred had seen the incredible joy and pride on their faces when Harry had killed Voldemort, and for a moment, he was sad that he would never be a parent. Then he thought of the torture his own parents had gone through raising him and immediately took that back.



Speaking of his parents, however, he watched them. He watched them in these sad, fragile weeks after his death, and he watched Bill and Fleur, quiet and subdued at their own cottage, and Charlie, who didn’t dare go back to Romania. He watched Percy, who always tried now to be so helpful around the house, trying to make up for the past, and he knew Percy still blamed himself for his death. That was stupid. It had been the Death Eaters.



He watched Ron, who seemed to have suddenly grown up overnight—there was no way Ickle Ronniekins had been that mature the last time he’d talked to him—and Ginny, who was never seen without Harry these days.



But most of all, he watched George. And that wasn’t much fun. He didn’t think he’d seen George smile a single time since the interesting incident with the whoopee cushions, balloons full of ravioli, live goat, burping powder, and oodles of bird poo at Fred’s funeral. (He had been wise indeed to detail what he wanted for his funeral. He wouldn’t be caught dead at a dull, sombre affair. Er. That being a figure of speech, of course.)



George didn’t talk much. He didn’t cry or anything—crying was for things like getting kicked in a sensitive spot by Angelina Johnson—but he didn’t laugh, either. He was blank and silent, and when he did talk, he trailed off oddly as though expecting his sentences to be completed. It was really weird.



He wondered how George would feel if he’d known that Fred could see everything he was doing—including in the shower, though Fred chose not to watch this particular spectacle. It was quite like using Extendable Ears, listening in on someone so far away. The problem was that George couldn’t hear him.



The spectral ear invaded Fred’s personal space once more, and Fred raised a hand to bat it away…



And paused.



He was pretty sure that what he was having was an epiphany, because heart attacks didn’t happen often after death. The idea that had just popped into his head was crazy, but it just might work. George was down on earth… but his ear was up in heaven, where Fred was.



They’d never made long-distance Extendable Ears at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but why not try? What was the point of living without taking chances?



Er. Living meant in a figurative sense, of course.



Fred raised the imprint of the departed ear to his lips…





* * * * * *



George lay back on his bed. He felt tired, even though he hadn’t done anything strenuous that day. Or for the last week. And he was using the word ‘strenuous’ loosely, to include things like eating and changing clothes.



You’re cracking up, mate, said a little voice inside his head. Didn’t you used to laugh at angst-wallowing sissies?



It was the first time George had ever taken offense at something said to him by a little voice inside his head.



“That’s because it’s not a little voice in your head, idiot. It’s me, Fred.�



George blinked. All right, I am cracking up, he thought. This is going too far.



“Now I’m offended. Look, I can prove it’s me. The day I died, I stole fifty Galleons from your underwear drawer—incidentally, that’s a stupid place to put your money, though I can see your logic. No one who isn’t creepy would dig around in there. The flaw in your plan was that I’ve always been creepy… you forgot that bit there.�



There is no way I am going to get up and check my underwear drawer. No. That’s just stupid, thought George. But George’s legs didn’t pay attention to George’s mind, mainly because his mind had been so busy being melancholy as of late that they’d learned to do things on their own without it.



Fifty Galleons were missing from his underwear drawer.



George’s head spun. He swore loudly.



“Hey,� said Fred’s voice. “Swearing at someone up in heaven? That’s very near sacrilegious, isn’t it?�



“Don’t talk to me about sacrilegious,� George said weakly, figuring that if he was going to hallucinate, he might as well enjoy it. “I’m the hole-y one.�



There was an appreciative ‘ha!’ from inside his head. “That’s better! Your first joke since I kicked the bucket! I mean, it’s an incredibly lame one, but I’m guessing your funny bone has to get back in shape.�



George’s knees buckled, and he collapsed back onto the bed. “God,� he muttered, wide-eyed.



“What about him?� chirped Fred. “I can talk to him right now for you, if you like.�



“Look, how are you talking to me right now? And don’t go on about psychic twin connections, we both know that’s rubbish.�



“Extendable Ears,� said Fred simply.



Now George knew this wasn’t real. This was quite possibly the most ridiculous situation he’d ever been in, which was saying something, seeing as he was George Weasley. “I’m thinking if any of our products is causing this, it’s the Patented Daydream Charm.�



“Naaah, your daydreams wouldn’t have the bit where I call you a sad loser, would they? Anyway there’s a little spirit of an ear up here that won’t bugger off—ack, some saint is glaring at me—and it turns out it’s yours. Extendable Ears.�



George was beginning to worry that perhaps the white powder in his tea had not been sugar. “So,� he said, realizing that informing Fred that he didn’t exist wasn’t going to accomplish anything much. “Er, what’s heaven like?�



“Different for everyone. You don’t need to do the whole robes-and-harp thing, unless you really want to, I mean. Right now for me, it’s a night club. Oh hey, there’s John Lennon. You’d like him, he’s really cool, kind of a mad hippie. I think he was a bit famous with the Muggles awhile back or something… Harry’s mum likes him, in any case.�



“You seem… happy,� George managed. It was really weird, how sad he could be about losing his twin brother when Fred—pretending that this voice inside his head really was Fred and not just part of the Stark Raving Loony package—didn’t seem at all upset about never seeing him again.



“You’re kidding, right? I see you all the time,� Fred said. “And it’s been oodles of fun—I mean, you’re such a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?� His voice was absolutely infested with sarcasm, and there were little grains of sarcasm threatening to crawl over the edge.



George rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten how annoying Fred could be. “So you’ve been watching me--�





“On your rise to power as the Mayor of Angstville, population George? Yep. I see you when you’re sleeping, I know when you’re awake, I know if you’ve been bad or good…�



Everyone knew the stories about dead relatives watching over their earthbound family members, and ‘everyone’ included George. He just hadn’t imagined a guardian angel with a rakishly cockeyed halo, a sack of dung bombs, and the deeply unfeasible ghost of an ear as a communication tool.



“Can you just… fill me in on what you’ve been up to?� he asked, feeling the unfairness of Fred being able to watch him convalescing like a consumptive maiden while he didn’t get to watch Fred’s antics up in heaven.



“Why not? I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.�



* * * * * *



“George still thinks I’m a hallucination,� remarked Fred, “but he’s decided to play along. Your move.� He inclined his head toward the chess board.



Dumbledore moved his queen and managed to capture eight of Fred’s pieces in the twinkling of an eye. “Good for him. I’ve often found that to be useful.�



“S’weird, though,� added Fred, watching Dumbledore’s queen go on a killing spree and smash several of his pieces to smithereens. “George was a right mess after I died. He’s no fun anymore.�



“I must admit that I can sympathize with your brother,� said Dumbledore quietly. “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s siblings.�



“Oh. Er.� Fred felt terribly awkward. Then he realized that feeling awkward was useless, as he and Dumbledore were just as dead as Dumbledore’s sister, and he’d personally met her. “Well, I’ve talked to him every day this week. Checkmate.�



Dumbledore smiled. “Your shameless cheating never ceases to amaze me,� he said, but not sarcastically. He really sounded genuinely proud of Fred’s skill at cheating at the game—which he probably was. Fred knew as well as Dumbledore that the old man cheated for all he was worth.



“But Fred,� he said, suddenly sounding serious. “I want you to realize that you are communicating to your brother like this for him. Nobody has ever had an opportunity like yours before, and it is an easy one to abuse.�



Fred laughed. “What do you mean? You think I’m going to stalk him? He’s my brother, Professor, not… not… Fleur’s cousin!� He winced. “Ack, did I say that?�



“I’m sorry?� said Dumbledore mildly. “I was momentarily distracted by this fascinating bit of carpet fluff and didn’t catch a word of what you just said.�



“Er. Right.� Fred couldn’t help but acknowledge that for an old man, Dumbledore was pretty cool. For years, he’d hoped he’d be like Dumbledore when he got old. Of course, now Fred would never grow old, so this wasn’t a realistic aspiration anymore. “Oh, there’s that Marty bloke.�



He pointed over at the serene-faced, dapper-mustached man passing by. Dumbledore had gotten to be close friends with this one guy named Martin Luther King, Jr., and they could often be heard having interesting discussions.



“Thank you,� said Dumbledore, getting up effortlessly. He may have still looked like an old man up in heaven, but he had none of the stiffness or weakness of an old man’s body. “But understand me. One day, George will recover. He won’t stop missing you, but he will accept the fact that you are, to put a fine point on it, dead. The dead are not meant to communicate with the living, Fred.�



Fred nodded, but he knew Dumbledore didn’t understand. He and George were twins. It was different.



* * * * * *



Three months after Fred’s death, everyone was commenting on how well George was coping, considering. He seemed much like his old self, upbeat and boisterous, only slightly subdued. And then there was his occasional habit of trailing off his sentences as though expecting someone to finish them for him. The odd thing was, he didn’t seem to realize that nobody did. Other than that, though, he was really doing well.



“Good morning!� he said, kissing his mother. He’d moved back into his old bedroom in the Burrow after Fred had died, partly for him and partly for his family. The cruelest thing that he’d ever heard was a muttered comment at Fred’s funeral by some miscellaneous relative that if any of the Weasleys had to die, at least it was one of the ‘interchangeable’ twins. Apparently, Fred was expendable as long as George was still around. They basically counted as the same person.



George didn’t agree at all, but he knew that his family really missed Fred. Having him around made it less painful. After all, even his own mother had had trouble telling them apart before.



He levitated a knife to butter his toast and Summoned it toward himself. “Mum, Lee’s invited me to go ride his boat with a couple of our other friends. He got it for his twentieth birthday, and now he thinks he’s a pirate or something. Can I go?�



His mother turned around and faced him. She looked tired and pale, thinner than he could remember ever seeing her, discounting pictures of her before birthing so many children. There was grey visible in her flyaway hair, and her face was lined. “Oh, George, I don’t know. It’s dangerous.�



“Mum, I promise I won’t get in a sword fight with anyone with a peg leg and an octopus beard. And I’ll hardly ever fire the cannon at anyone, and I’ll try not to get marooned on a rum-filled island.� He smiled weakly. “Mum,� he said in a soft voice, “I won’t get hurt. Cross my heart. Nothing will happen to me.�



Molly drew him into a rib-cracking hug and ruffled his hair. “George,� she whispered, “you know I worry about you.�



“Fred doesn’t—Fred wouldn’t want you to worry about him. I bet he’s having a great time where he is. He’s… he’s probably trying to chat up Morgana Le Fey or something. Don’t you think Fred would want us to enjoy ourselves?�



Oh no, thought George. Now I’m sounding cheesy and profound.



“Yeah, that’s a habit I’d not recommend getting into,� said Fred in his ear. “But tell Mum the bit about how life is too short to not live it or something. That one always makes her give in. Oh, and give her the earrings I bought for her birthday with the fifty Galleons I stole from your underwear drawer. I think she needs them. They’re…�



“In your underwear drawer?� guessed George, knowing his brother all too well.



“Excuse me?� said his mother, blinking at him. “What about underwear?�



George thought fast. “Just an expression, mum. It means… er… ‘sure thing.’ You know slang is, always changing…� He picked up his bag. “I’ll be back from the sailing trip in a few hours. And I have a present for you when I get back.�



He started for the door.



“Hold it right there,� barked his mother in her horribly intimidating voice. “George Horatio Weasley, what is that you have in your ear?�



George gulped. He’d hoped she’d be too depressed to notice. “It’s… an earring, Mum,� he said slowly, backing toward the door. “I got it yesterday. Fits the pirate theme, I thought… and I figured now I’ve only got one ear, I should treat it good and buy it expensive jewelry, after my last one walked out on me.�



Molly did not look amused, though she did look furious.



“It was Fred’s idea!� exclaimed George. “It really was!�



“You know perfectly well that excuse doesn’t hold up anymore!� sobbed Molly, and ran out of the room. “Take that thing out of your ear!� she added from the next room, and slammed the door.



Fred whistled slowly under his breath. “What’s her problem?� he said.



That was when George realized that this whole long-distance Extendable Ear business could get pretty awkward.



“Don’t take the earring out,� advised Fred. “You’re a grown man, just like Bill. Might as well get Ron and Charlie and Percy one, too—maybe then Mum will finally get used to it.�



“She’s pretty upset,� remarked George. “I don’t think it’s good to make her angry when she’s already so sad.�



Fred’s voice was skeptical. “I think it’s good to get her mad again. When she’s shouting at you, she’s too busy to be sad about me.� He paused. “Speaking of being busy, you and Lee are boating? What about the store? Open the store again! Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean everyone in the wizarding world has to go without Skiving Snackboxes and fake wands. People are really gonna want this stuff now that Voldemort’s gone!�



George was shocked. It was definitely too soon after Fred’s death to sell things like U-No-Poo. One of the attractions of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was the two extremely identical proprietors. Before George had lost his ear, they’d offered a discount to anyone who guessed which Weasley was which on their first try.



“Ron can help you,� continued Fred. “Let’s be honest, he doesn’t have a patch on me in the funny department, but at least he’s got red hair. Oh, and put in the ads that Harry Potter gave us the grant to start up the store. Make sure you say he gave us all his Triwizard winnings.�



“Harry will kill me!� protested George.



Fred laughed. “Cool, then you can hang out with me!�



George couldn’t help but grin. Especially at the expression on Harry’s face when he saw the posters. He could imagine the slogans already. ‘THE CHOSEN ONE’S CHOSEN STORE!’ ‘THE BOY WHO LIVED GIVES IT TWO ELDER WANDS UP!’ He couldn’t just go around accomplishing deeds of astonishing heroism and expect no one to talk about it.



“Look, business is important,� said Fred. “I’m hanging out up here with the guys who founded Zonko’s, and they think you should get back to work, too. And Zonko’s is our number-one top competitor. Also, you should make Snickerdoodles with my face on them. Put candy on them, too. And the words, ‘REST IN REESE’S PIECES.’�



George smiled. “I think that’s maybe going a little bit too far.�



* * * * * *



“ENGAGED?� shrieked Molly.



“ENGAGED?� shrieked Fred.



George winced and rubbed the hole on the side of his head. He was pretty sure Fred’s shouting had caused him to rupture something.



“I’ve only been dead a year and two months and you go and get engaged?�



“It’s not like you were my first wife or anything!� George hissed, too quietly for his mother to hear over her sobs of joy. This shut Fred up momentarily, which was saying a lot, seeing as he was Fred and all.



A pool of saltwater was forming around Molly’s feet at an alarming rate. George had never seen tear ducts behave like hurricanes before. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you! You and Eglantine will be so happy! I’m going to start planning straight away!�



“Eglantine Mackle?� howled Fred. “The scary girl who raises carnivorous plants for fun and profit? The one who’s six-foot-one and built like a Valkyrie? The one with the hair that wrestles with her plants all on its own?�



“Shut up,� said George, glancing hastily over at his fiancée and feeling immeasurably glad that she couldn’t hear Fred.



“Shut up?� repeated Molly.



George coughed. “I was talking about the ghoul upstairs. He’s, uh, spoiling the atmosphere.�



In a way, it was kind of true. Fred certainly was upstairs, in a matter of speaking. And his manners were about as good as the ghoul’s.



Eglantine was tall and sturdily-built, it was true, and her hair could be a little wild, but she happened to be very attractive. And her carnivorous plants were big softies, really, once they got used to you and they stopped trying to eat you.



He’d needed some Flesh-Devouring Daffodil bulbs for an interesting new product he was inventing, and he’d paid a visit to the only breeder of carnivorous plants in England. And then another visit. And then another. And, well, then they decided to get married.



“Oh, we’ll have to pick out a dress!� exclaimed Molly, who suddenly and inexplicably was holding a catalogue of wedding dresses. George was impressed. She had powers the Dark Lord knew not.



“Er, thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but I think I can manage on my own,� Eglantine said nervously. George knew what she was thinking. In Mrs. Weasley’s opinion, if it wasn’t frilly and covered in ribbons and lace, it wasn’t a wedding dress. Eglantine wasn’t a frilly kind of person. She was the ‘carry a Venomous Tentacula in my wedding bouquet’ kind of person.



“Call me Molly!� squealed George’s mother.



Fred made retching noises that weren’t all that angelic as Eglantine asked, “Can we have the wedding here at the Burrow?�



“In your underwear drawer!� chirped Molly.



“What?� Eglantine blinked furiously, as George stuffed his hand in his mouth to try to keep from sniggering maniacally.



“It’s just slang, Eggs,� he managed to choke. “It means ‘sure thing.’�



Once Eglantine (“if you call me ‘Eggs’ one more time, I will feed you to Audrey Two!�) and Mrs. Weasley had gone into the next room to discuss girly things and were safely out of earshot, George let loose.



“Fred, you idiot, can you at least act like you’re happy for me?� he demanded. “Look, I love Eglantine. Just be glad it’s not your ex-girlfriend I’m marrying instead.�



Fred snorted. “It’s just… George Weasley? Married? I never would have pegged you for the marrying kind. In a few years, you’re not gonna have any life at all. You’ll be diapering babies… and seedlings.� He snickered.



“You better be glad you’re dead, or I’d kill you,� George said.



“I am glad I’m dead. No way I’d let you and your wife share a bedroom with me.�



“No, I’d make you get your own house,� snapped George. “Grow up.�



“Can’t!� sang Fred. “Dead, remember?�



George sighed. He couldn’t remember ever really arguing with Fred before, not over anything big. They’d always been so much alike. But maybe having his brother die had made George a bit more mature, because although it was only one year later, George felt much older.



“Fred,� he said quietly. “I want you to watch our wedding… but I don’t want you to say anything, okay? Promise me you won’t talk to me during the wedding.�



“Oh,� said Fred, his voice subdued. “All right. I won’t. I get it.�



Up in heaven, he let go of the spectral ear and tried not to look at Dumbledore.



* * * * * *



George’s wedding had been lovely, all of his dead relatives agreed. Up in heaven, Uncle Bilius had done his infamous wedding dance involving pulling bundles of flowers out of the unlikeliest of places, and recently deceased Great-Aunt Muriel’s venomous comments could only be heard by her fellow dead.



And nobody else cared that Great-Aunt Muriel thought Eglantine looked ‘ghastly’ in the goblin-made tiara that had once been Muriel’s. It was agreed that the bride’s simple cream-coloured dress matched her dark-brown skin tone beautifully, and that she looked so elegant without her glasses and with her wildly curly hair subdued into a French twist.



“I’ve always liked her,� said Great-Uncle Mordred. “She’s got spunk.�



“Her father was a famous Muggle film star,� added Aunt Benvolia. “She has his smile.�



“Oui!� added Great-great-great-great-great Uncle Francois, and added something that probably was not family appropriate in rapid French.



“She and George are perfect for each other,� concluded Great-grandma Hesperidina. “George has excellent taste. Ron was a wonderful best man, as well.�



Fred didn’t say anything. Sure, the ceremony had been great, except for the part where Percy had danced with Fleur’s cousin and Ron got to be best man. He felt like a selfish spoiled child. It was the happiest day of George’s life, so why couldn’t he feel happy for his brother?



The answer was, he was jealous. Oh, not because Eglantine was marrying George. Fred had never known her personally—she’d been in Hufflepuff a year below them in school—but he’d heard stories about the Scary Plant Girl. And she may have been radiant as the sun at her wedding, but only in that your eyes burned when you looked at the sun.



Okay, she was not that bad, he had to admit. But as perfect and peaceful as heaven was, as petty and dreary as it made earth seem, Fred felt left out. He hadn’t gone to his own twin brother’s wedding, hadn’t made an embarrassing speech about him, hadn’t played some prank during the ceremony, hadn’t yelled, “you may now snog the bride’s face off!�



He’d have understood if George had taken a moment to sigh and wish that his twin brother could have been there, but no, instead, he’d told Fred not to say anything, to watch but not participate.



And he’d never be married himself, he realized. It wasn’t just the marriage, either. Getting married was definite proof that George was growing up. And Fred wasn’t. George had a whole life ahead of him, and Fred’s was all behind him.



George was a married man now, which meant it was awkward for Fred to watch him as much as he had before. Not that George needed him. All that mattered to him now was his wife. He fed her plants raw filet mignon. He gave her the secret formula for all of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products. He completely let her in on everything. They finished each other’s sentences and shared inside jokes.



George had said that if Fred hadn’t died, he’d have kicked him out of the flat over the store and made him get a new house. Fred couldn’t help but wonder what else George would have shut him out of.



They were twins. They’d done everything together. And now they couldn’t.



* * * * * *



“It’s a boy!� announced the Healer. “And a girl!�



Frankly, Fred couldn’t tell the difference. Newborn babies all looked like E.T., in any case. Anyway, he was sure that when he was born, it hadn’t been nearly as gross; otherwise, why on earth would his mother have kept putting herself through it?



“Twins,� said George, smiling shakily and stroking his wife’s sweaty hair. “Runs in the family. Me and Fred, and my mum’s brothers, Gideon and Fabian, were twins.� He had an obnoxiously sappy expression on his face. “Can you excuse me a minute?� he asked brightly.



Very composedly, he walked into the next room, closed the doors, and burst into tears. How very manly of him.



“Congratulations!� said Fred. “Twice the trouble! They should have an interesting upbringing in a houseful of pranks and man-eating plants! Might want to think of child-proofing, huh?�



George laughed. “Fred… Fred, wasn’t it beautiful?�



“No.�



“THANK YOU. Everyone keeps saying it was beautiful… finally, someone who agrees! All that blood and stuff… wasn’t that the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen?�



Fred thought about it. “Mmm… actually, I remember when Ron was a baby, and Mum changed his diaper, and this diarrhea squirted all over the walls and—�



“This isn’t really helping,� said George. “I’m already scared about taking care of the babies… let alone diarrhea bombs.� He closed his eyes. “I never want to see another placenta as long as I live. Those things almost made me throw up, and there was enough bodily fluid in that room to start with. They should make a horror movie… Attack of the Placentas…�



Fred rubbed his chin in thought. “Which bit was the placenta?�



“Uhhh, the bit that looked like a tortilla covered in cherry jelly.�



“That thing has a name?� cried Fred, shuddering.



George smiled. “But Fred… I’m a dad! I can’t believe it! It’s just… wow!�



“So disgusting and yet so irresistibly loveable,� said Fred. “Just like me! So, what are their names?�



“Edwin and Esmerelda.�



Fred pulled a face that George couldn’t see. Pity. It was a great one, too. It looked like the offspring of Snape and Voldemort smashed between two bricks. “Matching names? How could you?� He paused. “And whatever happened to naming kids after dead relatives? Last time I checked, my name wasn’t Edwin.�



George raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but in most cases, the dead relative doesn’t say ‘yes?’ when you call your kid’s name. You have to admit that would be a problem.�



“Well, what about my middle name?� demanded Fred.



George stared at him. “Your middle name is Diptheria,� he reminded him.



“Oh. Yeah.� Arthur had chosen all of his children’s names out of a Muggle history textbook. Unfortunately, not everything he had picked was actually a name. At least he was better off than Charlie—the poor man’s middle name was ‘Nazi.’



“You could’ve at least given him a cool name, though. Like… like… Jorge!�



“That’s like my name spelled wrong,� pointed out George.



Fred made a tutting noise that made him sound uncannily like his mother. “You’re no fun anymore. And you say it like HOR-hay. That’s what makes it so cool.�



George shook his head. “In any case, Edwin’s middle name is Frederick, so it’s not like we totally ignored you when we named the kids.�



“Ahhh, you know I wasn’t really upset. The name’s not important. You’re a dad, mate! You know what that means?�



“I never get to have any fun again?�



Fred grinned. “I’m thinking you’ve got yourself two test subjects for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.�





* * * * *



George didn’t have much time to himself lately, what with his twin terrors and his wife, and gradually, he’d begun talking to Fred less and less. Fred would make wisecracks from time to time for George’s amusement, but George, invariably surrounded by people, didn’t dare respond.



So it really came as a surprise to Fred when he heard, loud and clear, his brother calling out, “Fred? Hey, Fred?�



Fred broke off immediately from his chat with Sirius (“ ‘Innocent’ is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘not guilty of mass murder’�) and picked up the spirit of George’s ear. It always hovered hopefully around him, no matter how long he went without having a conversation with his twin.



“George! I haven’t heard from you in ages! I thought you died!� exclaimed Fred. He paused. “Well, no, I’d have known if you did, but you know what I mean.�



George smiled. “Same as always, I see. How’s Dad?�



Arthur had recently arrived in heaven, and he’d been delighted to hear about the system of communication that the twins had worked out. For some reason, though, the ear wouldn’t trust anyone but Fred, so Arthur couldn’t talk to his son.



“Dad’s great. Loads of Muggles to talk to up here, though he hasn’t found any named ‘Diptheria’ yet.�



Fred squinted at George. He’d casually glanced at him all the time, but he’d never really looked—after all, he knew how George looked. Exactly like Fred, minus one ear. But now he looked different. “Merlin’s adult diapers, are you going bald?�



“So what?� snapped George defensively, his hands going automatically to his head. “It’s hereditary. Dad was. Percy and Charlie are going bald. You would, too, if you were still alive.�



Fred squinted even more. “And have you put on some weight?�



George laughed. “Only a few pounds. I’m in terrific shape for a forty-year-old guy.�



Fred stared, listening faintly to the dull ‘clunk’ of his jaw hitting the floor. “FORTY?� he yelped, and because he still couldn’t believe it, he said it again. “FORTY? But… that’s… that’s… so old!�



“Thanks for reminding me,� said George flatly.



“I mean, that’s twice my age… and I’m supposed to be the older one!� Fred simply could not wrap his brain around the idea of George being so old. Time worked differently up in heaven. He knew a good deal of time had passed since he’d last talked to George, but it barely felt like any time at all, maybe because he’d stay up in heaven for eternity and twenty years was a comparatively small slice of the pie.



But it really was surreal. He and George had always been identical… now George could be his father. The idea was strangely unsettling.



“So,� he choked, changing the subject, “how are the babies?�



“Human or plant?�



This was not a question Fred had expected. He should have known better from Eglantine Mackle’s well-trained husband. “Uhhhh… human.�



George wore a strange little smile. “Well, for one, they’re fifteen years old.� He smirked at Fred’s gasp. “Ed plays beater for Quidditch like we did. He’s built like his mum. And Esme makes more trouble than the rest of the school put together. Well, except for Ginny’s boy James.� He sighed sadly. “Do you know what that mad woman named her youngest kid?�



“Albus Severus,� said Fred. “I remember how much Dumbledore laughed. I wish I could’ve seen the look on Snape’s face, though. He’d probably die again.�



George paused thoughtfully, rubbing his middle-aged face. “Is he… you know… up there with you?�



“I dunno,� said Fred slowly.



He’d never thought about that before. There were so many people in heaven, and Snape wasn’t one who would run up to him upon arrival and yell, “Freddy-kins! Welcome home, love!�



“I really dunno. I mean, he was a good guy. Mind you, he was a huge git, too. He strikes me as someone who would blend in if he was up here.�



George blinked. “Blend in?�



Fred hated to talk about the way things worked in heaven. For some reason, the logic in it all that seemed so apparent to him didn’t make sense to people who weren’t, well, dead. But he tried to explain to George the way that heaven was whatever you wanted it to be, and that not everyone wanted to spend eternity walking around in their own bodies and greeting old friends.



Some people didn’t have any old friends. For some people, heaven was not having to be themselves anymore. They didn’t disappear, exactly, but they weren’t visible, and they weren’t individual. They were just part of heaven itself. In short, they blended in.



George didn’t seem to understand. “That’s really weird,� he said. “That’s like being part of a coral reef.� He was silent for a moment. “You know, we’ve gotten really off topic. There’s a reason why I called you.�



“Sorry, but I’m not available to baby-sit for the kids,� said Fred. “Bit too dead at the moment.�



George didn’t laugh. “No, actually, it’s… er… Eglantine’s heard me talking to myself for years, but she always just thought I liked the sound of my own voice. But then she heard me saying your name and she realized I was having a chat with you… and now she wants me to get my head checked out.�



“And just when I was starting to like her!� exclaimed Fred indignantly. Even if George really was insane and thought he could talk to his long-dead brother, wouldn’t a good wife let him be as insane as he wanted as long as it made him happy? Just so long as she stopped short of letting him run around town naked with his pants on his head and a sign saying ‘THE END IS NEAR!’



“Listen, I don’t think you should talk to me anymore. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like it… but it was half my lifetime ago when you died. It’s about time I faced the facts. Dead people shouldn’t be able to talk to the living ones. It’s just not right.�



Fred listened in horror. He knew where this was going. Dumbledore had been right. The man always was, whether he liked it or not.



“I mean,� continued George, “I’d get it if you were a ghost, but you’re settled up in heaven. You can’t have it both ways. You said you didn’t want to be a ghost because you’d have to watch everyone get old and die while you didn’t change… well, that’s what it looks like is happening to you right now.�



Fred didn’t want to admit it, but he knew his older and wiser brother was right. They’d been twin brothers once upon a time, but it didn’t make sense to act like they had anything in common anymore.



“Gotcha,� he said quietly. “If you ever change your mind, just give me a yell. I’ll hear you. Have a nice life.�



He put down the ear. “You can go off somewhere on your own,� he said to it dully. “I won’t be needing you around anymore.�



* * * * * *



It was hard to put a finger on the change that had occurred in George. It wasn’t that he seemed sad, exactly. He was just… different. Quieter, maybe. No, that wasn’t quite it, either.



“Hey, Dad,� said Edwin, busy chopping up pork tenderloin for the plants and chicken for those that kept kosher. “Esme says you made that piece of swamp in the corridor at school, the one that’s all roped-off. Is that true?�



He was a tall, broad-shouldered boy who had grown far past his own father’s height, but something about him failed to intimidate. Maybe it was his soft, hesitant voice, or the way that his cloud of wild reddish hair and blue eyes looked so strange with his light brown skin. He wore glasses, had a thoughtful and sensitive nature, and he’d been named Prefect, but he was still a Weasley through and through, which meant he had a fierce temper that reared itself every now and then.



George raised his eyebrows. “Ed, I can’t believe you brought that up. I almost forgot about that. Yeah, Fred and I got sick of school and that Toadface woman, can’t even remember her name anymore. So we turned the corridor into a swamp and set off fireworks, and then we flew out of the place on our brooms. Flitwick—he used to teach Charms—left the patch there, I think probably to remind people not to mess with Weasleys. The swamp part was Fred’s idea, but I came up with the rest.�



Eglantine smiled from where she was fixing up baby bottles full of meat puree for the seedlings. “I remember that,� she said. “I thought you two were stupid show-offs. And I went down and bought three cases of fireworks from you the next day.�



She petted her prize Flesh-devouring Daffodil, Clyde. “Clyde was only a little shoot then, but he remembers. I stuck him in Umbridge’s bed. That was fun.�



George smiled. He hadn’t known Eglantine in school, but he’d gotten the impression that she’d kept to herself. Not shy, and not quiet—she could be quite loud when she wanted to be—but not one to talk much with the other kids. He loved the idea of her rebelling in her own secret way.



“Do you miss Fred?� asked Edwin. “It must be really weird. To be a twin for half your life and then not be one anymore?�



George had not been expecting that question. He’d been hoping it wouldn’t sneak up on him. After all, he’d gone for more than fifteen years without ever being asked before. “Of course I miss him,� he said slowly. “You never get over that kind of thing. But you get used to it. I wouldn’t want him to suddenly turn up now and say, ‘hey George, turns out I wasn’t dead after all!’ That would just be… too weird, after all this time.�



He hoped sincerely that Fred wasn’t listening in. He was probably jotting down a memo to God right then to smite his evil brother with a bolt of lightning and plague of even worse hair loss.



“I think you’re a git, Dad,� said Esmerelda casually.



“I treasure your opinion, Esme. Stop playing catch with the Venemous Tentacula.�



Esmerelda pouted. “But he’s so good!� she exclaimed. “He hardly ever throws the Quaffle at Ed’s head anymore! But anyway, Dad, you’re a git. I mean, I love making Ed’s life miserable and everything, but I’d want him to turn up twenty years after I thought he was dead. That would be awesome.�



She was smaller and slighter than either of her parents, looking more like her Aunt Ginny than anyone else in the family in terms of shape. But her skin was a shade or two darker than her brother’s, and her short, curly hair was dark brown. She had a remarkably innocent-looking face, which contrasted interestingly with her actual nature.



“I think I have to agree with Esmerelda,� said Eglantine, the only one who refused to shorten her children’s names, “for once in my life. George, you and your brother were best friends. Every story about you from before the battle against Voldemort is actually about you and Fred. Why wouldn’t you want him to—hypothetically—come back?�



George sighed. “Hypothetically, yeah. Actually? No.� He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Trust me. I’ve been there.�



* * * * * *



“And so, Atlas-like, I single-handedly bore the weight of the wall until I was positive my brother would come to no harm, at which point, I was ready to allow myself to end my suffering!� Fred finished with a dramatic flourish of the hand. The ten or so people clustered around him ‘awwww’ed.



“What a lovely story, son,� said Arthur loudly. “Unfortunately, you lie like a rug.�



Fred smiled. He didn’t mind if everyone knew he was a dirty rotten liar. The important thing was that he could tell a good story. George would’ve approved.



He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d talked to George, maybe a year or two. There were days he almost forgot what life was like on earth—painful and boring, but it had its moments—and what it was like to have a twin brother. Sometimes, he almost forgot there was a person who had once looked and thought exactly like him. When he remembered, it was like remembering a book he’d once read, but forgot everything except the vaguest details of the plot.



But when he thought hard, he remembered everything. And that was when it was the weirdest…



Just then, he heard a voice, a voice rather like his own, but only in that it spoke the same language he did.



“Fred,� it whispered.



Fred’s head whipped around. Suddenly, the ear was there, floating behind him as if it had always been there. He picked it up to speak, and looked down from the sky at… George.



“Oh no,� he said softly.



It had to be George. It wasn’t anyone else. Who else would have bunches of flowers around his bed that were muttering to themselves and trying to take bites out of everyone gathered around the bedside?



But the man in the bed was… old. Not just ‘old’ as in middle-aged and starting to go a little bald. No, that description fit Edwin. The man lying in the bed was shriveled and wrinkled and thoroughly unrecognizable. It hadn’t been one or two years. It had been decades.



“Fred,� repeated George in that horrible, weak voice.



“He’s losing it,� said Esmerelda, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Daddy’s talking to his brother.�



George rolled over in the bed. “Fred,� he said again, “you stupid son of a Bludger, I’m sorry. I’m coming up there in a few minutes, so you better make me a good cake.�



Fred smiled. Yep. George was still in there somewhere. “All right,� he said, feeling a lump form in his throat, “but I can’t promise you one with dancing girls coming out of it.�



Down in the bed, George let out a disgusting-sounding cough that sounded like someone putting a cat in a blender. He reached out and grabbed Eglantine’s hand with his gnarled and knotted one. Eglantine was a sturdy, solid woman who would probably live to be about seven thousand years old and still able to wrestle a hungry plant to the ground every time, but she looked fragile for a moment, and a tear slid down her face.



“Love you, Eggs,� George rasped.



“You know,� she choked, “this is the only circumstance in which I will ever tolerate being called that.�



George’s breath was slowing, and rough wheezes were escaping his lips. They weren’t Wizard Wheezes. His eyes closed and his face twitched convulsively. He murmured incoherently, a sound like air escaping a burst bicycle tire.



“What?� said Esmerelda, leaning down next to him.



A ghost of a smile appeared on the old man’s face. “Eat my shorts,� he repeated clearly, then his face went blank and his head lolled back.



The shell of what had once been George Weasley lay like a waxwork on the bed.



Fred felt tears well up in his eyes and a laugh well up in his throat. All in all, he’d preferred his own death, but George’s last words were undeniably classier. It was just so hard to watch his own brother die… he wondered if this was how Percy had felt when the wall had crashed down on Fred.



“Hey,� said a young voice from behind him, “where’s my cake?�



Fred turned.



The gates of heaven were not really made of pearl. No, they shone much brighter and whiter than pearl, brighter and whiter than anything on earth. But nowhere near as bright as George Weasley’s smile.



He swaggered through the gates, twenty years old and sporting a full, shaggy head of hair. As he walked toward Fred, the spectral ear flew out of his twin’s grasp and reattached itself seamlessly to the side of his head. The two men faced each other, disbelief written across their faces. It was like looking in a perfect mirror.



“Godric,� breathed George, “I forgot how much uglier than me you always were.�



“I forgot how bad your breath smells,� choked Fred, and the brothers embraced.



“So,� said Fred as they broke apart, “Did you leave everything to the plants?�



George laughed. “Half. I thought Eggs would like that.� He raised a rakish eyebrow. “Well,� he said, “Are we gonna make Saint Peter wish he never let us into this place?� He made his ‘I’ve-got-a-lovely-bunch-of-dungbombs’ face.



Fred grinned. “In your underwear drawer,� he said.



FIN