Fred
Percy has thought about dying.
He’s pondered it. A few times as a child when he realized what death was, what dying meant. When his mother sat him down and told him that his that his uncles weren’t coming back to visit again. A few more times during school. Especially when he was getting picked on. And then constantly, during the war. It was war after all. You couldn’t live through war without thinking of it.
Once he had his children, too, he thought about death. How terrified he’d be if something happened to Molly or Lucy. How scared he’d be if he died suddenly, leaving them alone. When he and his wife were still together, they had been in ahigh-rise building in London where a fire broke out. They’d agreed to take separate exits down the stairs- that way if something happened to one of them or their escape route was somehow compromised, the girls would have at least one parent left.
So yes. He’s thought about dying. How can one live and not? He thought he was prepared for it.
When he fades into an empty white, he’s scared. And he’s ashamed that he’s afraid.
Percy’s never been a fan of the dark. It wasn’t the dark so much that scared him. It was what could be hiding in it. It was the unknown. He was a facts and figures kind of man. Unknown oblivion terrified him.
Percy opens his eyes. He’s expecting to be gasping for air still in that alleyway, but instead he finds himself in an odd place. It feels familiar but strange all at the same time. The walls are fuzzy. There are shelves on the edges of the walls, blurry around the edges. It was like he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Percy pulls himself off the floor, his knees trembling. It’s like the real world, only it’s a bit lighter. Paler.
In fact, everything thing seems paler.
He looks around. It’s quiet. Still. Peaceful, even. And Percy’s confused. Life, death. Afterlife?
He stands in a vast, endless whiteness.
He inspects the shelves a bit more closely. They stretch high above his head, stacked with joke products in gleaming, ghostly white. Canary Creams, Extendable Ears, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Everything is where it should be, yet colorless, hushed, like a faded echo of something that once was.
Percy knows this place.
“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” he murmurs, voice swallowed by the eerie stillness. It feels like he’s in a sound-proof room.
A laugh—warm, bright, achingly familiar—breaks the quiet.
“Merlin, Perce, you always were a slow one.”
Percy turns so fast his glasses slip down his nose.
Fred Weasley stands before him.
Or something like Fred. His hair is as red as Percy remembers, his grin still wide and mischievous, but he’s just a bit too solid, too present for a ghost. His arms are crossed, head tilted. Fred, who looks whole. Wearing a pale sweater with an ‘F’ on it. His face isn’t bloody or bruised.
Percy stares. “No,” he breathes. “You’re—”
“Dead?” Fred supplies cheerfully. “Yeah, got that memo. Thanks for the assist, by the way.”
“I-,” Percy can’t even begin to find the words.
Percy flinches like he’s been struck. The words hit harder than any curse, cracking something inside him. He’s spent years carrying the weight of that night—Fred’s fall, the explosion, the rubble—and now, here Fred is, saying it out loud. He’s known it this whole time.
Fred’s smirk softens. “Perce, I’m joking.”
“That’s not funny,” Percy says, voice raw.
Fred shrugs. “It kind of is. I mean, we are in a joke shop.”
Percy swallows past the lump in his throat. “I—” His hands shake at his sides. “I should have—if I had been faster, if I hadn’t left—”
Fred’s grin falters. “Percy.”
Percy doesn’t stop. The words are spilling out now, years of guilt and grief clawing their way free. “You died because of me. And now—” He glances down at his hands. They feel light, distant. “I think I’m dead too.”
“Not quite dead.” Fred says with humor, quirking an eyebrow. He walks up to Percy, whose feet feel like they’re glued to the floor. His brother steps up close to him.
Fred steps closer. “Do you feel that?” He taps Percy’s chest, right where his heart should be.
Percy does feel something—a warmth, a tether, something pulling him back. His face must reveal that odd feeling, because his brother smiles.
“That’s love, Perce. And lucky for you, you’ve got a lot of it.”
“But I—” Percy shakes his head. “I don’t deserve- I was a coward—”
Fred claps a hand on his shoulder, firm and real. Somehow so blissfully real. How on earth can this be real?
“Tough luck, then, ‘cause you’ve got it anyway. From Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, George, Ron, Ginny. Your twins, nice one on that, and Penelope,” Fred pauses for effect. “Oliver.”
And despite being not quite dead, Percy feels himself flush in embracement. Fred waggles his eyebrows almost cheekily, and it hurts so, so bad. Because maybe this wasn’t real, and this was just Percy’s dying brain trying to make himself feel better. The devastated look on his face as Fred’s easy demeaner sharpening into something a bit more solemn.
“And from me.”
Percy’s throat tightens.
“I always I thought—,”
“I know, Perce. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. No one did. It was the Death Eaters. Not you. I get that you know that deep down. You don’t need forgiveness, but I’m giving it to you anyway. Just food for thought while you go back.”
Percy’s eyebrows nearly raise up to his hairline.
“Go back?”
“Righto. You’re going the Harry route on this one, mate.”
The pieces of the puzzle click into place. Percy realizes what’s happening- he’d just about forgotten the moment he saw his dead brother’s face.
“She cast the killing curse.” Percy says flatly. He knew Audrey was bitter and cruel, and she’d hurt him… but he’d never thought she’d go so far as killing him. They had their children to think about for Merlin’s sake. The betrayal cuts deeper then any knife, any hex. Not just that she would murder him- but if she hurt herself or even got caught. She was taking both parents away from their girls.
“Yes.” Fred says gently, seemingly understanding.
“And I’m not quite dead.”
“Right. I dunno the finer details, Lilly explained it to me but it sort of went over my head. Lucky for you I was able to figure it out.”
Percy looks up at his brother’s face. He’s even got the freckles still- and in all the places Percy recalls them being.
“Lilly?”
“Harry’s Mum. She likes you a lot, by the way. Says you’re both high-achieving kindred spirits. She reckons you’d give her a run for her money in Charms.”
The gravity of it hits him all at once like a tidal wave. This was insane. Fred was dead. And so was Lilly Potter. So how was this possible? Harry had only survived the Killing Curse because of love. And if what Fred was telling him was true, then the only conclusion Percy could come to is…
“I love you, Percy. You’re my brother. I never stopped.”
Fred loved him. Truly and deeply. His brother loved him so much that even the deadliest curse in the entire centuries-old history of the magical world couldn’t destroy it.
Emotion pools so thickly in Percy’s chest he can’t even stutter out any words. There’s a gentle heat inside his chest, right where his heart is. It thrums like the soft beats of a drum. Like the ringing of church bells.
Fred leans in, lowering his voice. “Audrey wanted to take you away, Perce. Take everything. But she can’t, because you are loved. And love—real love—doesn’t let go so easily.”
The warmth in Percy’s chest grows.
Fred grins. “Time to go home, big brother. There’re people waiting for you.”
“Wait!” Percy exclaims desperately. He wants to stay here. With Fred. But Fred is already backing away from him.
“Oh, Percy. You really should tell everyone about what happened during the war. You helped bring down more Death Eaters then you know.”
The world goes white again, with Fred’s name the last thing on Percy’s lips.
When Percy comes into awareness, it feels fragmented. He’s able to open his eyes slowly, but it’s just so bright it takes him several moments to adjust. He’s half-expecting it to be bright white, for some reason.
His vision is hazy, and he wants to reach up to push his glasses up so he can see but it’s like his arms won’t work. He can just make out a touch of red hair. He tries to squint, to see who it is. Percy opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, and it comes out as more of a groan than any coherent sentence. There’s a gasping sound, and then there’s the cold grip of a hand on his own, squeezing tight.
“Percy!? Percy, can you hear me? Harry, get a healer!”
There are some ruffled movements and talking. Then his sister leans in and he can make out her blurry features. He panics, briefly. He’s trying to breathe on his own, but it feels like there’s weight on his chest. It’s forcing him to take steady, slow breathes when all he really wants to do is hyperventatlie.
“’inny?” he asks. It comes out as a hoarse whisper. His throat is raw, like he’d been screaming. He aches all over. It feels like he’s been run over by a hoard of erumpents. Or by the Hogwarts express. Or both, all at the same time.
“Percy, oh Merlin!” his sister bends down and hugs him as best she can in their awkward position. Not to mention her stomach- she’s due in a few weeks, isn’t she? Or maybe she’s due in a few days? It feels like Percy has been sleeping for a decade and just a few minutes all at once.
“What-,” he wants to ask what happened. He’s not too sure, just that there’s been some fighting of some kind. Or an argument. Had someone found out what he did during the war? Was it still going on? He was too confused to form a thought. For whatever reason he’s thinking about the fall of the ministry and pale white nothingness.
“You’re in St. Mungo’s, Percy. You were attacked. Calm down, alright? They’ve got some spells helping you breathe which is why it feels weird. Don’t worry, we’re getting the healers.”
Her sentence rings in his head, bouncing from wall to wall of his skull like a rouge bludger. Attacked, she had said? Who would want to do that? No one would, he was a nobody unless-,
“Is it abou’… war?” he stumbles over the words, unable to find the energy to form a full sentence. He knows what he wants to ask. He just can’t get his mouth to do what his brain wants it to do. It’s a terrifying feeling- his brain is working at high speed and his body isn’t listening.
Yes. That would make sense. Percy’s not known for making waves. The war was the only reasonable answer.
“What? The war?” his sister asks, a frown blossoming across her face as she pulls away. She studies his face. She’s blurry, even this close. He needs to get his eyes examined again.
But oh, he can see that frown. Ginny wasn’t happy. It must be about the war, then.
“did… find out? What’I do?” he’s certain he sounds almost drunk- slurring his words together like he’ s had a pint too many. Which was silly, because he’d stopped drinking hadn’t he?
“What you did during the war?” Ginny repeats. It sounds more like a statement than a question, though. She sounds a bit mystified.
“Papers- about papers?” he slurs dizzily, his eyes feeling much too heavy to keep open. His head is pounding, and he can feel his pulse behind his eyes.
“Papers?” his sister echoes. Percy’s much too tired and lets his eye slide shut.
“’Figured it’d bite. Death eaters- always come back.”
He tries to say the whole sentence but comes out like more of one sound- like a strung together word rather than a sentence.
“Percy-,” he hears Ginny start to say, but then there’s footsteps and a flurry of activity and Percy finds himself slipping back into sleep. It’s dark. He’s not sure why he was expecting it to be white.