Letters to Fred [CURRENTLY OPEN TO REQUESTS]

The Messenger

Fred Weasley found himself wandering around, nothing to do for the second time in his time in the afterlife.

When he first arrived and greeted Death, he was amazed as he was led around the white, airy space of nothingness.

There was no floor to the place, and yet one remained standing or sitting and didn't fall through the space where a floor should have been.

It hadn't been long before Fred and Death came upon a town. Instead of fields, like back at home, the town was surrounded by the same nothingness, and yet had streets of stone, and buildings of brick.

They had reached their destination, and waiting for them were Fred's friends, family and acquaintances. He went up to them where a crowd of people were stood, along with others he didn't know greeting people he assumed had - like him - recently departed from the world of the living.

"Uncle Bilius!"

"My favourite nephew - Ginny!"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm messing with you Fred. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be a bright lad. Getting crushed by a wall was not, admittedly, the brightest thing but you died a war hero, my boy."

"Wall? Oh- oh!"

"I hate to break it to you Fred, but you died when it crushed you."

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but you're... Who exactly?"

"Gideon Prewett. Your Uncle, and mother's favourite brother."

"I think you'll find that I was Molly's favourite, even from a young age. Fabian Prewett, nice to actually meet you at last."

"You too. Although you act as if you know of me other than through Uncle Bilius."

"Well of course they do, they've been watching you." Sirius informed him. "I'm serious."

"I know who you are, although points for seeking to still find that joke funny when you must've heard it your entire life."

"No, I mean I'm being serious. Everyone here can see everyone in the other world."

"Really? That's so cool I mean - wait, show me how. I need to George. I need to make sure that he's alright."

"Well he's not here so he's alive. James Potter, by the way. Although most people call me by my old nickname of Prongs."

"I recognised you because of Harr- Wait, what did you just say?"

"...Most people call me by my nickname of-"

"You have to be kidding me. You're Prongs? You, Harry's dad, are The Prongs?!""

"Yes. And Remus is Moony, Sirius is Padfoot. I must admit given the time you and George spent pranking and sneaking around I'm surprised you never caught Harry, Ron or Hermione calling Sirius by his other name."

"I'm going to have to process this later, sorry. I-I need to see my brother. Alive does not mean well."

"Let's go then." Bilius told him, and he began to lead the way.

It was after witnessing George's reaction and seeing his brother in a state he'd never seen before that Fred first had nothing to do. Or rather, he couldn't do anything because nothing would be able to allow him to communicate with his twin.

Years had now passed, and as he witnessed his family begin to recover, and over time heal, he found himself comforted that perhaps they'd be okay after all.

Occasionally he'd see one or two of them writing letter they never sent, but didn't think much of it until he bumped into someone.

"Sorry! I didn't see you there." The person quickly said, nervousness seeping through their words. "It's this stack of letters - I can't see for the death of me where I'm going. And no one seems to know where the guy is, either. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you? I'm looking for Fred Weasley."

After a couple of seconds, the words registered in Fred's mind.
"Sorry, erm, that's me. Why- why are there letters for me?"

"Take them, please, my arms could do with a break."

Still unsure as to what was going on, Fred took the bundle of letters and saw the person who delivered them.

The person was short, with curly hair as brown as mud, and a white gown. They wore golden sandals with a set of wings on the back strap of each.

"These are for you. Since your death, friends and family have written letters to you as a form of communication, even if they believe you cannot reply. However, I'm here to give them to you and tell you that you can reply, but they won't get your replies until they join you here. At that point you can choose whether or not to give them your responses."

"How come I'm only just getting them?"

"Most people here spend their first few years watching family members in hopes that their families will move on - it gives a sense of comfort. However, once families have moved on they need to realise that they need to move on too - you can't spend the rest of time watching over them, because one day they'll be here too. You know that though, you had the realisation of it this morning. It's when you get this hit of realisation that we deliver any form of communication living family and friends may have tried in order to interact with you."

"So... George, mum, dad... They've all written letters for me? And I can reply but you can't deliver them to them? Why not?"

"I'm sorry," the messenger told him, "f the living discovered that the dead could communicate back we'd have a riot on our hands. People would use the power for evil as well as good, and there could potentially be a surge in arrivals here."

"I get it. But where do I get writing supplies from?"

"You've seen the shop many a time, and always wondered why we have one here when you talk without letters. Now you know. Here's my card. Give it to the man behind the counter and he'll give you all you need. I hope you can recover from your loss."

With that, the messenger disappeared.

Fred did as they had instructed and returned to his house with parchment, quills, ink and envelopes.

He took the time to read each letter and then, he began to reply..

It was suggested that Fred replies by @free_lost_girl , so this little filler was just to say that now he can, but of course the others don't know. Letters written to Fred will continue to be uploaded before this part, and replies will be placed after it.