Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Note: Written for Round One of the HPFC Writing Tournament. Brought to you by the prompts "Fred Weasley" and "Hungry."

As She Did for Mine

Fred Weasley opened his eyes with the perfect understanding that he had died. He wasn't sure how he knew, because the actual memory of his death seemed to be missing from his head, but it was a truth that resonated within every molecule of his being. Or... un-being as it were.

He was standing, he realized, although he couldn't remember getting up. Or had he always been standing?

"Hard to tell," he answered himself out loud. His voice sounded a bit off, and his head was full of fluff. "Can a man be standing if he's dead?"

Fred held one hand up in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. They were slightly blurry as they moved, like he was seeing each frame of motion separately.

"But of a trip, eh?"

The voice echoed in Fred's ears in a way that made him a little dizzy. He turned in a slow circle, not trusting himself to move quickly. His eyes focused on the face of a young woman about his age, perhaps a bit older. Her eyes were green as jewels, her hair was burnt sienna, and a smattering of freckles decorated her nose and cheeks.

"A trip, yeah..." Fred said, his eyes glued to the freckles which were bouncing around and off each other.

She grinned at him, and the white flash of her teeth hurt his eyes. "It's always a little hazy in the beginning," she told him. "You'll adjust eventually."

"I'm starving," Fred said, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say.

She chuckled a little, each staccato sound thumping at his ear drums. "You're not really hungry," she said. "You'll never have to worry about eating again, actually. Right now, your body is simply processing all sensation at a heightened level to help accommodate you to your surroundings. I can help you lie down, if you prefer," she offered.

Fred felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and the contact helped to steady his spinning head. Feeling almost instantly more stable, he didn't accept her offer.

"How long have we been on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch?" he asked.

Dropping her hand from his shoulder, the woman looked around them and saw that they were indeed standing in the center of the Quidditch pitch. She shrugged. "About four seconds," she answered, turning back to him. "We weren't really anywhere before. It's a sign you're acclimating. How's your head feeling? Better?"

Fred nodded, and this time there was no hint of nausea, and even the hunger had faded away. He looked away from her to take in the familiar, welcome sight of the pitch where his fondest Hogwarts memories had been made. He smiled to himself, and the ringing in his ears finally faded completely.

"Why are we here, though?" he asked. He turned back to the red-haired woman. "Oh, wait. Don't tell me," he grinned. "I've pulled one prank too many so I'm doomed to an eternal afterlife of school?"

The woman laughed, and this time it sounded more like chimes than church bells in his head. "No, this is just a sort of transitional place," she explained. "When you're ready, you'll move on to whatever awaits you. Probably on that," she said, pointing to the stands where a Cleansweep Five was sitting upright, leaning against the second row of seats.

"Oy!" Fred bellowed joyfully, rushing over to pick it up. "It's just like mine from school! Look, it's even got the wonky notch in the handle where George smashed my hand with a bat in fourth year!"

He admired it for a moment before giving the woman a curious look. "Hang on," he said. "It's exactly the same broomstick. How can that be? Don't tell me this is all happening in my head?" he asked.

"Ah, well, sort of," she said, "but sort of not. With your head being... well, dead, this is all happening—as far as I've been able to deduce—in a sort of dream state Dream adjacent, perhaps," she commented, "but, it's all very mysterious, really. I'm not sure anyone knows how it really works. Not like there's a handbook or a map or anything," she said with an apologetic grin.

"Well, you seem relatively well informed, anyway. Do you visit dead people a lot, then?" Fred joked.

Her mouth twitched upward for a brief second, but she couldn't quite make herself smile. "These days," she answered in the affirmative, her tone solemn.

Fred instantly felt like a heel. "Sorry," he said. "I'm a cad. Always been one. Don't know where I got it. Poor upbringing, probably," he quipped dryly.

She accepted his apology with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, I very much doubt it was that," she said, smiling gently. "I have it on very good authority that your mother is top shelf."

Fred shrugged. "Ah, I suppose she was all right," he said, but he was smiling. "Anyway, who are you? Friendly family ghost? Old-timey Weasley?" he prompted, waggling his eyebrows at her. "Long-deceased relative here to usher me to the great beyond?"

She grinned and shook her head.

"I'm Lily," she said. "Lily Potter."

Her admission wiped the jester's smirk clean off his face. His jaw dropped and he stared at her for a moment.

"Blimey," he said finally. "Not to sound ungrateful for the welcome wagon, but what are you doing in my limbo? We've never even met before."

Lily gave a deep-seated sigh and walked over to stand in front of him, putting both of her hands on his shoulders. Her green eyes pierced his brown ones.

"I couldn't be there for Harry," she told him. "Not the way I wanted to be. My son was all alone in the world with no one to care for him—no one to look after him as a mother should."

Tears drew themselves up behind Lily's eyes. "No one, until your mother," she said. "She welcomed him like he was her own. She didn't let him wander in the darkness. She protected him and guided him as I would have."

Lily's hands dropped to Fred's, and she gripped them firmly. "I came to look after her son, as she did for mine."

Fred didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't. He sniffed and released one of Lily's hands to swipe at his own eyes.

"Are you ready to go, Fred?" she asked, one hand cupping his cheek the way his own mother had done a thousand times before.

He released a long, shuddering breath and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."