Chapter Text
“You’re joking, Perce!” Fred shouted as he fought against a few Death Eaters, himself. He had just felled one before turning to his brother; adrenaline and amusement coursing through his veins.
“You actually are joking, Perce… I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were–” and that was the last thing he remembered saying before darkness took over.
To say that Fred Weasley felt disoriented when he awoke again would be an understatement. All he could see was a blinding light. All he could feel was this strange pressure in his chest, like something was missing. He squinted his eyes to try to adjust his vision, only for the brightness to fade away into an opaque, cloudy room.
“What…what happened? Are we dead? What do you reckon, Georgie?”
No answer.
“G-George?”
He began to pick up a slight echo when he called for his brother in this empty space. Wherever Fred may be, George was not present.
Suddenly the emptiness in his chest became prominent. It wasn’t just a lack of heartbeat, he was missing half his soul. He had died while his twin had been left behind.
Panic clawed at Fred’s throat as he once again surveyed his surroundings. He needed something, anything really, to help him feel grounded. Unfortunately all he could see was this dull, cloudy room. He stumbled forward, deciding the next best option was to keep moving, hoping to reach the end of…wherever he was going, he supposed.
After stumbling and wandering around the empty void for what seemed like hours, minutes, or days, he saw a wooden door in the distance. A rush of relief welled up in Fred’s throat at the thought of there being an end to this endless nothing. He began to pick up speed, hoping to get to the end faster.
When he reached the door, he stopped moving and stared at it for a long moment, taking a deep breath he didn’t know whether he actually needed or not.
Summoning his Gryffindor courage, he turned the knob and opened the door and suddenly another burst of light had him shutting his eyes tightly.
When the light subsided once more and he could open his eyes, he found that he was no longer standing in an empty void. All around him were familiar, haphazard buildings squished together, molding to one another. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He was in Diagon Alley.
But it was completely empty.
Another wave of panic gripped Fred as he looked back at the door he was still holding on to. The door had changed to something of familiarity as well.
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes” loomed proudly above him in all its chaotic glory The shop looked completely untouched from dark magic or war. Suddenly the panic was overshadowed with his excitement as he pushed the door open once more and walked into his establishment for the first time in what seemed like (and most likely had been) months. However, the joy was short lived as he walked further into the shop he ran with George only to find it to be as empty as the Alley. It was almost like the store was only a facsimile of what it once was.
The weight of loss suddenly became prominent once more. What was the point of this dream that he and his brother had scrimped and saved and planned for so long, when the only other person that mattered was no longer by his side?
A choked sob escaped his lips, echoing through the empty shop where once several ingenious inventions, potions, and pranks overflowed the shelves. Every nook and cranny carried memories of laughter and chaotic glee, but he couldn’t seem to recall them. The silence pressed on him, making the weight in his chest heavier. Without George, the soul of this establishment had vanished. Never in his darkest dreams had he ever figured that one of them would leave the other behind. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. In all their wildest nightmares, neither had assumed to accept such a reality.
“Is this it, then,” he mumbled, his whispers reverberating off the empty shelves. “Is this my afterlife? Am I going to spend it alone, or am I just waiting for George?”
“Is that what you truly want?”
Fred jumped at the soft, but unexpected voice in the eerie silence. He turned around to see a woman who looked as though a paint bomb had gone off in front of her. She wore a paint-splattered smock, mismatched socks in the colors of electric blue and pink and black polka dots peeking out from rolled up trousers, and a paintbrush in her unruly, white hair.
The brush looked to have fresh paint on it, which kept dripping onto her snow white hair. Every time paint fell from it, the color would change before landing on her head, thus turning it into a vibrant, messy canvas.
What truly stole the show were the glasses on her face. Her eyes were covered with the most ridiculously large rainbow sunglasses that Fred had ever seen. Every time her head turned, the lens seemed to bounce off nonexistent light, creating a kaleidoscope effect.
In this dull, unnatural silence, this strange woman being the definition of “loud”, repeated softly in a deep, soothing voice, “is this really what you want, Fred Weasley? To spend your afterlife waiting?”