GHOST OF YOU || Fred Weasley

• CHAPTER TWO •

»»» WITHOUT the company of his past self, Fred found it much more tolerable to follow his brother around, often finding amusement in the tasks that he would busy himself with. He did not really know why he felt such comfort from loitering by his shoulder and generally acting like a nuisance, but it lightened the heavy burden on his heart. 

Having reached the conclusion that he had in fact died during the Battle of Hogwarts, he focused on the parts that he had control over. Waking up the next day and finding that he was still trapped in this version of Hell was difficult to accept at first, but after the first few hours of screaming in denial, he had gotten used to it, or at least was forced to.

There was no doubt that in terms of ghostly abilities, something had gone terribly wrong for George could neither see him, nor could he hear him. More concerning however, was the fact that he was trapped in the past, forced to endure one of the worst weeks of his life rather than watch the world miss him in the present. Each day would be like the previous, monotone and repetitive, yet there was no indication of an end to it all.

Fred was not an optimistic person, but he chose to channel the energy of his brother and spent his hours figuring out which part of his non-existent ghostly abilities he did inherit. So far he had managed to walk quite easily through walls, which was a useful tool, except on the days where he would randomly end up walking onto the street by accident. Picking up, touching, generally anything that involved physical contact was out of the question. His hand would slip right through it, no matter how hard he concentrated.

No one could hear him, no matter how loudly he yelled, nor how quietly he shed tears at the sight of his brother sitting by the window late at night unsure of who he was waiting for. At times, he would succumb to the vivid flashbacks that would tear him back into his time, replaying the painful moment of his death like a broken cassette. Each time it would be tougher for him to hold on, but a part of him knew that he had to.

Sirius falling into the Death Arch in the Ministry looked completely different. He had a smile on his face, as if he was returning home. This did not feel like that. There was only so much Fred could compare his situation to Nearly Headless Nick, especially considering the ghost had managed to haunt the Gryffindors for a hundred years. The only form of consolation he found comfort in was the lack of an audience to his apparent failure at dying. He did not need another person to be disappointed in him.

To distract himself from his thoughts and undoing, Fred spent most of his time talking to his brother. Apologising for his behaviour, for abandoning him, for allowing his own anger to blind him to George's pain. Not one to dwell on an argument once it had been resolved (and to Fred, the four hour long therapy session had resolved all their issues, at least for now), he would amuse himself by narrating George's life, attempting to figure out what was whirring around in his brain.

One day, he hoped that he would be able to get through to him and send him a sign. It would not make any sense to him now, but it could provide some closure after his death. At least George would know that he returned and chose to stay with him as a do-over for his failure as an older brother. Perhaps that was why he was stuck in this realm and that was a far better reason than any punishment, so like most things Fred chose to do, he applied his unwavering attention to making it happen.