Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 6

Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Beater 1

Task: Write in the genre 'supernatural'

Prompts Used:

(word) experience
(quote) 'To die would be an awfully big adventure.' - J.M Barrie, Peter Pan

Word Count: 2,340

Darkness swirled all around as Death stepped into the void between realities, haunted murmurs echoing in the distance. He wasn't sure where he wished to go this time, and instead decided to let his ghostly wings unfold and carry him away to a place of their choice.

The eerie voices whispered urgently at Death as he flew upwards, away from the chasm of trapped, mindless souls, and faded through the void into a more interesting realm of the afterlife.

His surroundings lightened drastically from the unforgiving black, morphing into a stark white room with blurry dimensions.

A little way away from Death there was a figure, hunched over with shaking shoulders. Death faded from his position and reappeared next to the boy, who had an unruly mop of ginger hair.

"Fred Weasley," Death said, by way of greeting.

Reaching out a skeletal hand that shimmered in and out of reality, Death touched Fred's back, which was still shaking from his sobs. At once, the boy was still.

"What?" he choked out gruffly.

Death lowered his hand and let it fall back beneath the wisps of his cloak.

Fred turned his head ever so slightly, and could not stop a small gasp from escaping his lips when he took in the figure in front of him: taller even than Hagrid, Death's torso and arms were hidden by a cloak that almost seemed to be part of him. It was made of tendrils of smoke, or something very similar to it, which coiled and writhed around the body of vapour that was Death himself. . His features, if there were any at all, were masked by the large hood of his cloak, but Fred could not distinguish between the misty substance of the cape and the actual head.

As he stood there, Death seemed like he was floating between the many different realms of his dominion—his whole imposing body was hazy and shimmering like the air around a fire.

Trying to stop himself from trembling, Fred looked Death right in the eyes—or where he thought his eyes must be, anyway. "Why am I here?" he asked, voice breaking slightly on the last word.

"This is the place in between," Death stated flatly. He had done this more times than he could count, and would continue to do it until the end of the world. "Your mortal body is young," he told Fred, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "It is still tethered too strongly to the Earth. As you grow older, the connection loosens so that when you die, your soul is strong enough to escape fully through the veil between the worlds."

In the air between them, Death conjured a small archway with a filmy substance inside—the Veil. A miniature version of Fred appeared, floating in the middle of the arch.

"Your soul is pulling you towards my realms," Death said, and the tiny Fred began drifting out through the left side. "But your young, mortal body is stronger than your inexperienced soul, and is holding you back. It wants to stay on Earth. It doesn't want to leave yet." In demonstration, the body stopped moving abruptly and began moving towards the right, until it was back in the centre, where it began a tug-of-war game with itself, jerking left and right.

Fred—the real one—gave a small nod, his face pale. "So what do I do now?" he sucked in a sharp breath. "Am I stuck here forever?"

Extending his arm from his cloak once more, Death swiped a hand through the miniature Fred and the archway, and they dissipated in a cloud of dust. "No," he said, after a moment. "Not if you make a choice."

Death looked seriously down at Fred, who couldn't help but shrink back under his eerie gaze. How had everything gone wrong so quickly?

The last thing Fred could remember was being at Hogwarts, with George and Ron and… Percy. Percy had come back. Fred remembered the joy he had been feeling; he remembered it bubbling up inside of him like a fountain.

He had been laughing, then there was a terrible crash and then… Nothing.

And now he was here.

"What choice do I have to make?" he asked quietly, feeling completely overwhelmed. He was dead. That much, he had figured out. There must have been an explosion.

Death gestured around them at the stark white area. "Because you are stuck between the Earth and beyond, your soul has come here to await your decision."

Fred sighed and sank to the floor, putting his head in his hands. He didn't want to look at Death anymore. "But what am I deciding? I'm dead, aren't I? That's what this is. The afterlife. So what can possibly be left to decide?"

As he said this, the truth finally sunk in. He was dead. His fight was over.

He had lost George.

Nothing could ever feel as bad as the heart-wrenching agony that that realisation brought. Despite being dead, Fred still felt alive, and his emotions had the same clarity as ever before. And yet…

Fred felt like his mind was being squeezed, or slowly stretched; like it was trying to go in two different directions—which it was, according to Death.

"Normally, certain preparations must be made or a truly tragic event must take place for a person's soul to stay on Earth once they have died. It is the soul that wants to leave, and the body that wishes to stay behind on Earth. Unless you can do something to prevent it, your soul will become mine once you die, and your body will be discarded. "Death stared down at Fred, who glanced up quickly at him but otherwise avoided eye contact. "You are so young that your soul is not as strong as your mortal body's desire to stay on Earth. This has the same effect as if you had tethered yourself or had a damaged soul. Ultimately, it means that you could, if you wish, return to Earth… as a ghost."

Fred froze. Return to Earth? Be with George again? Of course he would like that! He could picture it now: working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, drifting—literally—through the crowds and chatting amicably. And he could do it forever.

His response was on the tip of his tongue when he realised that even if he could live forever, George still couldn't. George was still mortal. George could eat and drink and live, but if Fred returned, he would always be a ghost. He would continue to be a ghost even after everybody he cared about—George and all of his siblings, Angelina, his parents, everyone—had died.

How could he have a life like that?

But how could he leave George again, after finding out there was a way they could be back together?

"I don't know," he managed to choke out. "Is there anyone I can talk to about this?"

Death sighed. Fred suppressed the nervous urge to laugh. "If you want," Death said reluctantly, "I can make you appear in a dream to someone, I guess. But only one person, and I can give you no more than five minutes. Just tell me who."

Fred thought. The person he really wanted to see was George, and that should have been his immediate answer, but…

He didn't know how much time had passed since his death. He felt like he had only been here for a couple of hours at most, but who knew how time passed here. If he appeared to George, asking if he should come back as a ghost, months after his death… after George had had all that time to mourn...

However long it had been, it would be unimaginably painful for George to see him again, and for such a short time. George would probably be so relieved to see him again that he would tell Fred to be a ghost so he could have his twin back, without thinking about the long term consequences.

No, there was only one person Fred could go to about this. One person who understood what it was like to leave people and then return after they had grieved the loss of them .

"Okay, I know who," he said firmly.

"Percy."

Percy looked around. He was in a strange, white room, and there was someone else with him.

"George?" Percy looked at the figure, confused. He had the strangest sensation that he was dreaming.

The boy turned to look at him. Percy drew a sharp breath when he saw that his brother had both ears. His voice echoed around the room as he whispered: "Fred?"

Fred nodded and walked up to him. "I don't have long," he said, and Percy saw tears glistening in his eyes. "But I've been offered a choice, Perce, and I don't know what to do."

Percy grasped Fred's hand in his and nodded. "Fred, I… it's been weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts. We've all… everyone is so, so upset. George refused to talk to anyone for the first week. He just shut himself in his room; blocked out the world. But we won, Fred, we won."

Weeks. It had been weeks. Fred felt a pang of sadness so raw, he wanted to collapse in a heap on the floor. What must it have been like for them all, without him? He hated to think of them going on with their lives without him, but he was unimaginably happy that they were at least still alive.

"Percy, I can come back as a ghost." He said the words quickly, without thinking.

His eyes wide, Percy's grip on Fred's hands tightened. "What?" he breathed.

"If I want to, I can come back to Earth and live forever as a ghost, instead of letting my soul move on." He held on to Percy's hands, using them as a lifeline, thinking of all the people he had left behind. He might see them again. "Percy, I don't know what to do. You have to help me!"

Percy closed his eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. "You don't know if it's fair to come back after everyone has finally managed to start moving on from you. You think it might hurt them too much."

It wasn't a question. Percy understood straight away what was holding Fred back from becoming a ghost, and Fred knew straight away that he had made the right decision coming to him.

"Exactly," Fred said. "Not to mention all the pain I will feel when… when you all grow old and die, and I'm left there alone. How can I put myself through that? How can I put everyone else through it?"

Percy gave Fred a sad, small smile. "Doesn't that give you your answer, then?" he asked quietly.

Fred looked down at the floor. "But I don't want to die," he whispered, and Percy could hear the pain in his voice.

"I know you don't," he said. "Nobody should want to die. But think about it... to die would be an awfully big adventure. You always did like adventures. You would miss out on the experience if you became a ghost."

He had been thinking the same thing, but it was so good to hear it from someone else. And, Fred realised, Percy was right. Death was forever, but so was becoming a ghost. If he stayed, he would never, ever die. Fred knew he didn't want to die, but it was a natural part of life. Becoming a ghost would be… unnatural.

"Thank you, Percy," Fred said. "I know what I need to do now."

Percy nodded. He didn't need Fred to tell him what he had chosen; the answer was clear from the sadness and regret etched upon his pale features.

"Just do me a favour, Percy," Fred began quickly, even though the room around them had begun to break apart. "Don't tell George about this. He can't ever know. It… it would hurt him too much. I know it would. Please."

There was desperation in his brother's eyes, and Percy nodded without thinking. "I won't," he promised.

Fred was fading away along with the room, and Percy knew he had just seconds left. "And, Fred?" Percy looked his brother directly in the eyes, trying to convey all he could in that one look. "I understand why you came to me."

Fred nodded once. Percy opened his mouth to say something else, but then the whole room crumbled away, and he was gone.

Death stood before Fred once more, this time in a cosy living room. With a jolt, Fred realised it was the lounge of the Burrow. It felt like years since he had last been there.

"Have you made your decision?" Death asked.

Fred nodded. "What do I do now?" he asked, his voice calmer than he would have expected it to be.

Seeming to ignore the question, Death looked around at the room. "It's interesting: different people's perceptions of dying. For some, it is as terrifying as can be. For others…" he turned back to Fred. "It is as quick as falling asleep."

"Where do I go?" Fred asked, an edge to his voice. He was tired of Death's mind games. "Tell me what to do."

"It's up to you," Death said. He gestured to the door to the garden. "Do you want to go out into the world again?" Then he turned to the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. "Or do you want to finally go to sleep?" He stared hard at Fred, as if sizing him up. "Don't spend too long deciding."

Those great, black wings extended from Death's back. They flapped, once, and Death faded away, leaving Fred alone in the Burrow's lounge.

With a long, heavy sigh, Fred ascended the staircase for the last time, climbed into his old bed, and closed his eyes. He was ready for the next adventure.