Title: Existence

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JKR, and no one in their right mind would pay me for this.

Pairings: Off-screen Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny.

Rating: T

Warnings: Hallucination (?), existential crisis (?), my twisted sense of humour, abruptness due to limited word-space.

Summary: For Ron, knowing that he's insane does nothing to help him become sane again.

Word Count: 2,936 (finally, something under 3,000 words for once)

Prompts: Rain on my parade (changed the pronoun though)

S/he's too quiet these days.

Author's Note: This is my entry for Round 9 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

I have reached that point in the semester where I am burned out, so forgive me if I seem a bit...off.

As for this story, well, not much to say here. The overall round prompt was to have one of the trio suffer a mental or physical disability as a result of the war. I have decided to go for hallucinations here.

Or, at least, so I think. I mean, I guess you can argue that maybe it is real. I mean, maybe everyone else is just blind or unwilling to see what is there.

Or maybe Ron really is losing it.

I don't know. I think I'm losing it, never mind Ron.

Anyway, here you go. Hope you enjoy. I'm going to try catch some sleep.

Ron tossed and turned in his bed at the Burrow, the room unbearably stifling despite the cool night air.

Before the end of the post-Battle clean-up, he had entertained a fantasy of moving in with Hermione the moment they left school, but alas, it did not end up happening. Hermione had had amnesiac parents in Australia to deal with, after all. Ron had ended up forcing a smile on his face as he waved goodbye to her, trying not to sigh when the Portkey whisked her away.

For now, he was just going to spend the rest of the summer at home with his family before Auror training started up. He could wait before things with Hermione progressed. She probably needed to reconnect with her parents after everything that had happened. He understood. Really, he did.

He shifted and fluffed up the pillow beneath his head, willing himself to fall asleep.

"Ron," whispered a voice suddenly, thwarting his attempts.

He groaned and slowly blinked his eyes open, only to come face-to-face with his older brother.

"George?" he murmured. "What're you doing in my room? Can't sleep?"

"Oh come on, Ronniekins, I thought you'd be able to tell the difference by now. You've known us eighteen years."

He brushed his longish hair behind his left ear, revealing it to be whole.

Ron screamed and fell out of his bed.

Several minutes later, Ron found himself surrounded by the concerned faces of Ginny, Molly, Arthur, and Percy. George, thankfully, had slept through Ron's screaming, so Ron was spared from having to look at the too-similar face too soon.

He still could not believe it. Fred. He had seen Fred.

"Please calm down, Ron, and tell us what happened," sighed Percy, rubbing his right eye. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No! I saw Fred! He talked to me! He was right there!" Ron pointed to the general direction from which Fred's voice had come, hoping there'd be some trace of him there to prove he wasn't crazy.

Molly turned dutifully, but then she quickly turned back to him. "Ron…sweetie, you know Fred can't come back." She swallowed but somehow managed not to start tearing up. "He's…well, he's gone now."

Ron scowled. "I know that. But I also know what I saw!"

Arthur shook his head and helped Ron up to his feet. "Sometimes our dreams can seem very real, my boy, but they're just that—dreams. Now come on, it's still the middle of the night. You should try your best to go back to sleep."

Ron huffed, resenting the fact that they were treating him like a little boy, but he could see from the bags under their eyes that they were not in the mood to argue on and on about Fred's nonexistence. He turned towards the bed and crawled back in, showing them only his back.

"Good night, Ron," said Molly, and then Ron heard them shuffle out the door.

Well, all but one. He felt a hand on his back, and long hair brushed over his temple.

"Yeah, Ginny?"

"Can I join you? I had a nightmare, too. I was actually awake before you started screaming bloody murder."

He rolled his eyes and made room for her, not even complaining about the invasion of his personal space. She was his baby sister, after all.

When he woke up the next morning, he found himself facing Ginny, who was still asleep. A trickle of drool seeped into the pillow, and he cringed before grabbing his wand from the bedside table.

"Evanesco," he whispered, and the offending moisture went away.

"Honestly," he muttered. "Harry's gonna wake up to this one day. Well, better him than me. At least I've got 'Mione."

"Indeed, Ronnie. Although it still boggles my mind how you managed that."

Ron gasped and turned around. There Fred stood, leaning against Ron's sparsely-populated bookshelf with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. He only grinned wider when Ron pointed a finger at him.

"You!"

"Me. Good to see that you still remember how to use the right pronouns."

Ron turned and shook Ginny awake. "Wake up! It's Fred! I told you he was real!"

Ginny groaned and yanked the pillow over her head. "Ron, you're probably dreaming again."

"No! Just open your sodding eyes and look!" He pulled the pillow off her face, and she was forced to open her eyes.

They both turned to look at the bookshelf.

There was no one there.

Ginny sighed and squeezed Ron's shoulder, even as he gaped and spluttered. "It's okay, Ron. So you're seeing things a bit. Who can blame you? Just go back to sleep. I don't think the sun's even out properly yet."

Ron stared at the bookshelf for a few more moments before giving up and closing his eyes again.

Over the next few days, Ron began to think that maybe he had been dreaming like everyone else said. There were no more Fred sightings, and although Ron still felt a bit uncomfortable around George, at least he could feel his life getting back to normal.

He spent the days helping his parents with the housework and the evenings hanging out at the pub with Harry. They both talked about the future and how it was going to be full of Auror work and marriage and kids…to their surprise, they actually didn't find the thought of any of that scary at all.

Well, mostly. The idea of actually proposing to Hermione still brought a bit of a flutter to his stomach as he wracked his brains as to how he would word it and what he would do, but at least that particular event was a bit far off. He wanted to wait a bit until he was financially stable before buying a ring. Right now, he was still dependent on his parents' and George's income. Auror work would change that, though, thank goodness.

So Ron was returning home from the pub after his seventh Fred-free day, not that he was counting, humming to himself some tune from the Weird Sisters and planning out his next course of action. The moment he saved up some money, he was definitely going to move out. Maybe not with Hermione right away. Maybe he'd ask Harry to move in with him for a bit. Give himself some time to feel out his and Hermione's relationship post-Hogwarts before moving in with her—

"Ah, Ron. You're deep in thought again. I can tell, since your forehead is all wrinkled like a—"

Ron's shout cut off whatever Fred had planned to say. "You! I thought you were just a dream!"

Fred sighed dreamily, as if Ron had cued him to do so. "Yes, I can see how it'd be easy to think me a dream. But I'm not. Sorry to rain on your parade."

Ron cast a Stinging Hex at Fred, but he didn't even flinch. He continued to stand there with that maddening grin, and Ron clenched his wand tightly. "Go away! You're not real! Real people feel hurt when hexed!"

Fred clucked his tongue. "Maybe you're just a terrible spell caster. You always did take a few tries to get it right."

Ron launched himself at him, fists swinging.

But instead of hitting Fred, he hit the wall, and he hissed, clutching his newly-injured hand.

He must have made a huge racket, for Molly came running with her wand out, her eyes blazing.

"Ron! What in the world have you done to yourself! Have you been drinking?"

Before he could respond, she had already cast a healing charm at his knuckles, and the pain went away.

"Well, mister? Care to explain why you've been breaking your hand on our walls?"

"Fred," he hissed, looking around him. He snarled when he realised Fred was gone again. "He was goading me, the bloody git."

Molly's lips, which had been tightly set in a thin line, relaxed into a frown. "Ron…"

"No! Don't. Don't tell me he wasn't there. He was. Right bloody there, right against that wall, taunting me about my casting abilities—"

Molly placed her hand on his shoulder and shook her head, and he quieted. Somehow, she had that hold over him. "Go to sleep, Ron. You are probably all sorts of drunk right now—"

He twisted away from her, free from her hand's spell. "Don't you brush it off—"

"Go to bed. Don't make me carry you."

Something about her tone made him look at her, really look at her, and he saw that her eyes shone with the sheen of unshed tears.

"Alright. Fine. Goodnight, Mum."

He turned and made his way to bed.

He was too quiet these days. He knew that. But it was better to be quiet than to be shouting all the time, whether it's at Fred or the rest of his family.

Fred just wouldn't go away. Whenever Ron made some remark to himself, Fred showed up either to agree or poke fun at him. Whenever Molly scolded him for eating a biscuit before it's served to the rest of the family, Ron could hear Fred's snickering in the background. Whenever Harry came to Ron to talk about how things were progressing between him and Ginny (which was rather unwanted, really, but Harry seemed to think it was okay to share these things with him while Hermione was away), Fred stood behind Harry and made gagging sounds.

It was frustrating, even though there were moments when Ron couldn't help but smirk or smile whenever Fred said or did something really funny, because the humour was bittersweet with the knowledge that it was not real, that it could not be real. Fred was dead. His name even rhymed with "dead." There was no way he could really be standing in front of Ron, but he was.

Ron threw a book he was not really reading at Fred's way-too-amused face, wincing as it fell to the ground without impacting the git at all. He'd better pick up the book and charm the pages straight, or else Hermione would kill him when she gets home.

He missed her.

"You miss her."

Ron rolled his eyes before looking at his knees. "Of course I do."

"You Firecall every day though."

"It's not the same."

There was silence for a moment, and Ron entertained a hope that Fred had finally gone away.

But he dashed that hope by speaking again. "Well, Ronniekins, I think George and I may have a product that could help relieve the physical part of your problem—"

Ron abruptly stood up and walked out of his bedroom, not wanting to hear Fred's voice anymore.

Luna sat next to him at the pub where he usually met Harry, smiling at the bartender while sipping on her mimosa. Ron glared at his beer, because it was better to glare at the beer than to glare at the Fred sitting on the other side of him. At least the beer was real.

"So Ron, what are we celebrating today?"

He turned to Luna, who was now smiling at him, the bartender long-forgotten.

"Er, well, I don't know. I'm not really celebrating anything."

"That's quite alright. Sometimes it's just nice to spend time with friends for no particular reason."

He swallowed another sip of beer and decided to just tell her. Even if she blathered on about wrackspurts or snorkacks or whatever they were, it would still be a better explanation than any he had so far. He could have asked Hermione over owl or firecall, of course, but…well, it was just too awkward to bring up the fact that he saw his dead brother when no one else could. Which was why he called Luna here.

"Luna…do you see anyone sitting next to me?"

She craned her neck. "Nope! But maybe you can introduce us, anyway."

Ron shook his head. "It's Fred. You don't see him?"

"How do you do, Fred. It's been a long time since I've seen you." She was looking at the wrong angle, though, so she ended up facing his chest. Ron sighed. Even "Looney Lovegood" couldn't see him. Maybe he really was crazy.

"Luna, why am I the only one that can see him?" He held back a snort as Fred tried to reach out to Luna and failed, which only emphasised his point.

Luna frowned slightly and tilted her head upwards as she thought about it. Then she shook her head. "Can't say, Ronald. I suppose the only person who would know is Fred himself."

Ron sighed again. He couldn't even argue with her, because she was probably right. "I guess I'd better go home, then, so we can talk in private."

Luna patted his arm. "If you need anything, just owl me, okay? I know how you feel."

He looked at her with the feathers in her hair and her necklace made of Butterbeer caps, and he concluded that she probably did know what it was like to see what others could not. He squeezed her hand before standing up and Disapparating.

When he landed in his room, Fred was already there, which was more proof that he couldn't be real. Real people were not faster than Ron at Apparition.

Ron scowled at him and sat on his bed. "Well. You're still here."

"Yes, I am. Do you know why, dearest brother?"

"Because you're a tosser that refuses to accept you're dead?"

Fred stopped smiling for the first time since he had appeared to Ron all those nights ago. "Ron. Why are you always angry to see me? I thought you'd be happy."

"Happy? Am I supposed to be happy that everyone around me walks on eggshells now? Am I supposed to be happy that people whisper behind my back every time I forget and give you the least bit of attention? Am I supposed to be happy that you're here, taunting me for as long as I live?"

Fred shook his head but said nothing, so Ron continued.

"You're not real. You're not. The real Fred would have said something right back at me. The real Fred would have come to George instead of me. The real Fred would know how to scowl and grimace as well as grin and smirk. The real Fred—"

"I get it. I'm not real to you. I might not even be real at all. I get it."

"Then why won't you accept it and go away?"

"Because you need me. Because, on some level, you want me here. And you know that very well; you're just arguing with yourself because you like to hear your own raspy voice."

"My voice is not raspy! And I don't want you at all!" Ron was tired of this argument. Luna had been wrong. He was learning nothing from asking Fred, since there was no Fred.

He raised his wand against Fred one more time.

Hermione stood in a corner as the Healers fussed over Ron, who was currently sleeping peacefully under the influence of a Calming Draught and some other potions. Her parents had safely had their memories restored, and she had seen them off at their house. She had been hoping to have a blissful reunion with Ron, but alas, it did not end up happening.

Ginny rested her hand on her shoulder, and Hermione grasped it with her own hand. She couldn't understand why Ginny was giving her comfort, when this was really something that affected both of them. But then again, Ginny had seen him in his state for much longer than she had. Yet again, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving him behind. Which was ridiculous, really, as he couldn't have come along anyway, but—

"Hermione. You're thinking too hard again."

She smiled wanly at Ginny. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."

"I know."

Hermione looked away from Ron for a moment to collect her thoughts. "So when you guys found him…"

"He had blasted away half of his bedroom, and he kept shouting Fred's name. It took both Dad and George to get him to sit still for a moment, because he kept casting and casting, saying something like, 'How about now, Fred? How's my casting now?'" She let out a shaky laugh. "It would have been kinda funny, actually, if it wasn't for the fact that he nearly destroyed the whole house and gave George a black eye."

"Had he been seeing Fred for a long time?"

"A few weeks, actually. We thought he was just having nightmares like the rest of us, but it turned out to be worse than that." Ginny swallowed. "I wish I had paid more attention to him. When he got all quiet, I thought that meant he was okay, if just a bit sad. I didn't think…"

Hermione turned and hugged her. "There's no point in dwelling on that. Just…what do you think will happen now? Have the Healers said anything yet?"

"They said they have to run some more tests. They don't know why he keeps seeing him. For now, all we can do is wait and watch over him, make sure he doesn't endanger himself again."

Hermione nodded and walked up to his bed, for the Healers had stepped away for now. She grasped his hand and twined her fingers with his, hating how cold it felt.

"I'm here for you, Ron. And I'll never leave again."

Ron could not consciously hear or see her, but even in his sleep, he could see Fred smile with approval at her words.