Harry Potter One-Shots

Fallen

TWs: death
Ship(s): Lee x Fred, George x Angelina

Fred saw his whole life flashing before him as he fell. He barely registered the screams around him. All he could see was everything he had wished he had done, all he could feel was the ghost of three little babies he had given life, three little babies he might never see again. Three babies hardly anyone knew about. All he could hear was his lover's laugh, a sound he loved so very much.

He screamed, his brothers and Harry all making a dive for him. Spells were shouted as teachers tried to catch him. His semi-long hair whipped in his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. His bat was in his hand.

Why did this feel like it was taking forever? He couldn't breath right as the air was yanked from his lung, the air that came out taking form of screams. Blood curdling screams as he fell.

What happened? Well, Fred had failed to notice the bludger that was hurdling its way towards him. It hit his broom, snapping it in half and knocking him off balance. He had wobbled a little as he gripped to the small part of the broom he was on before falling. 

Fred hugged himself, wishing that he was hugging someone else. Admittedly, he had always been scared of dying alone. That was one of his biggest fears, that he would die alone and people would forget him. He was scared that George would see how little he was needed, he was fine with George moving on, but he didn't want to be forgotten and unneeded. 

Most of all, Fred wished that he was with his babies. He loved them more than anything and was supposed to see them after the game. Small tears fell from his eyes as his screams died down. His throat ached so much, his voice gone. 

The ground must be near. 

Why hasn't anyone caught him? Surely they were trying.

The last thought young Fred Weasley ever had was:

George better take good care of my kids. He better be good to them, they'll be good for him.

A few hours later, Fred opened his eyes. It felt like he was floating, and he couldn't feel anything. He looked around and found himself in the hospital wing. George was crying by his bedside, his eyes shut as he sobbed and gripped onto his hair. Fred looked around then gasped when he saw a body covered in a sheet. His gasp caught the attention of his twin brother, who looked up at him. 

"Fred?"

"Hey, George. What's going on?" Fred's voice was very raspy, and would likely be raspy for a long time, if not for the rest of time.

"You fell off your broom and no one could get to you in time." George stood up and wiped his cheeks. "You're, uh, a ghost."

Fred blinked and looked at his hands, which were whiter than usual and translucent. He was still in his Quidditch uniform, the clothes he would be in for the rest of time. He shut his eyes, his hands shaking. "I'm dead...?"

George didn't say anything for a while. "Mum and dad are coming," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I don't know what they're feeling."

He sighed and lowered himself to be sitting on the ground. "Everything's going to be so different."

0-0

Fred usually was on the pitch, finding that it was the most comfortable spot. He had spoken to the other ghosts and they told him that, usually, it was the most comfortable where you had died. It had been years since he died, almost eleven years ago. 

Which did mean that his triplet children surely would be going to school by now. He didn't know what they would think of him, he didn't even know if they knew about his existence. Unfortunately, family wasn't able to visit him, so he was left in the dark.