A/N: This is an Afterlife AU, so all of the characters in it are very obviously not alive, but it's pretty much like they're alive, so? I'm not entirely sure what to warn for, but there we go! No other warnings apply. I do not own the HP Universe.
The train glides through the forest.
It is still and silent in its approach, as it always is. The wheels turn seamlessly, barely touching the surface of the river that winds through the trees. Branches retreat in the face of such majesty, but the birds are not so afraid. They flit down to skim their wings along the ruby red paint, paying tribute in the only way they know how.
Ginny is aware of the train's existence long before she understands where she is, or how she got there. Long before she sees the train coming, even. She's aware of much: Her feet feel firm enough, her bare toes pressed against pine needles, each one criss-crossed, a thatched effect that makes the forest floor look darker than should be possible, even in the depths of night. Her hands are her own, and her hair is down, the ends feathering against the ridge of her shoulder blades.
She is so sure of herself. She is Ginny Weasley. A mother, a daughter, a fighter. Someone who flies fast and sure. Someone who never stays down for long. Fearless by habit. It doesn't necessarily scare her, this fog of confusion, this uncertainty about her circumstances, and how she came to be in them. But this feels very permanent, this haze of a world where the trees are wide and dark and the bushes are pockmarked with ripe blackberries, each one plump and threatening to burst. Daylight doesn't pierce this place. The fog unsettles her. Not knowing makes her want to run.
The train slides closer, eking along the river. Once it breaches the clearing Ginny stands in, it slows to a graceful stop. Steam comes billowing off the wheels, thick and faintly red, as though some of the train's paint flaked away, bleeding into the vapour. It plays around her ankles, koi-coloured mist, darting here and there. She steps forward, wandering a little closer.
It looks almost exactly like the Hogwarts Express. It's been a long time since she last saw it; her children are long grown, long past the need for a trolley piled high with owl cages and trunks. But the image of the train is burned into her mind like a beloved bedtime story. The silent one in front of her is not quite the same. The paint is still red, but it isn't the bright scarlet from her memories. And the windows are dark, no doors to keep the passengers in.
One such passenger has no qualms about taking advantage of this freedom.
Maybe she should be surprised by the man waiting to greet her, swinging from the doorway, clad in a faded red jumper. But she can't be. She can't be surprised because this is who she's been waiting for, not eagerly but in a soft, vaguely knowing way, in the way she's always waited for a match to come to a close or the milk to expire or the rain to come. Inevitability, but in a way that doesn't hurt. Anticipation, in a way that doesn't cripple her easy-going day-to-day life. Longing, without longing for the end.
"What are you doing here?" Ginny asks despite her lack of surprise, heart in her throat.
Fred's smile is easy, clear, and bright. "Same as you." He cocks his head, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other braced on the train. "Not going to give me a hug? I'm hurt. It's only been, what, a hundred years since we last saw each other?"
"Eighty-seven," Ginny corrects automatically, a little dazed.
She hasn't been counting, but she knows anyway. She could say it down to the day, down to the second, right down to the moment when he left. If asked, in some strange cosmic manner, Ginny could pinpoint precisely when things changed, when Fred's laughter faded into nothing in the great wide workings of the universe.
"Is that so?" Fred's grin softens, but doesn't fade. "That's a lot of hugs to make up for."
And she finds that she can't speak, but also that she doesn't need to. Her voice dries up in her throat, and the only sound she makes is croaky and strangled, toad-like in all but intent. Fred huffs a tiny laugh, almost like he wants to make fun of her but can't bring himself to yet. Dying apparently taught him something about tact. He steps off the train. His shoes and socks vanish the moment his heels hit the dirt, and he walks barefoot across the dry soil towards Ginny.
Ginny doesn't wait any longer. She surges towards him, and Fred catches her. His jumper is scratchy and warm against her bare forearms, and he swings her around, laughing brightly into her hair. Everything about him is bright. His heart is an erratic symphony inside his broad chest, singing right against her ear. She clings. It's impossible not to cling, and she dares anyone else to try. But she also beats her fists briefly against his back, annoyed and delighted and tearful in equal measure.
"Oi, careful with the merchandise," Fred says, but he endures the beating, crushing her tightly to her chest until she rips herself away, wiping her tears away furiously. It isn't shame that drives her. She wants to see him with clear eyes.
"You're not here for the same reason as me," Ginny insists, craning her head to look up at him. "You can't be. I know why I'm here."
The confusion still muddies her thoughts, still whirls around in her mind, the remnants of a slow and strange ending. But she's fairly certain that she must be dead, or else Fred wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be standing in the middle of a forest, in an eternal sort of night-time, barefoot and young again if she hadn't died. But Fred died a long time ago. Ginny grew old and had a family and a career and made mistakes and laughed and kept growing old. Fred should have moved on a long time ago.
"Nothing gets past you. Fought all the way 'til the very end, didn't you?" Fred says fondly, ruffling her hair. "Spitfire. I'm surprised dear old Charlie ran all the way to Romania to look after dragons when we had one living in our house the whole time."
Charlie. Ginny wipes away more tears. She misses him. God, she misses all of them.
"Where are we?" Ginny says, glancing around. "Is this the Forbidden Forest?"
"Nah, that's not your afterlife."
"So it is the afterlife?"
Fred shrugs. "It's the beginning of it, I'm pretty sure. One version of it, anyway. I've never gotten any further than this."
Her heart lurches. "Why not?"
"Nobody likes travelling alone, do they? And the Weasleys are a pretty big family. I wanted to make sure everyone got on the train safely."
Behind him, the train gleams, silently spewing more steam. The sentiment sticks in her throat, leaning heavily on her tongue, but she pushes it out anyway.
"You mean…"
"You're the last one, Gin. I knew you would be. Of course I waited for you."
She sinks down on the forest floor and cries. It's so stupid, but she doesn't mind so much when Fred sinks down with her, snickering at her bright red cheeks and wiping away her tears.
"Aw, time made you sappy," he says.
"I'd say time made you an arsehole, but you already were one."
Fred winks. He looks proud. Then he gives her a little shake, his grip warm and solid against her shoulders. "C'mon, Gin! We're already here, aren't we? We've done the hard part. What're the tears for?"
She laughs through them, shaking her head. "I know, I know. Give me a minute. Just… Can we stay? Just for a few minutes? I missed you. And I'm pretty sure I died, so I'm allowed to have an emotion about that."
Fred lets her have her emotions, though he limits her to three, just to be contrary. He leads her away from the train, a little further into the forest. It really is a train station, she realises, as he shows her around, though it's not like any that she's ever been to before. There's no litter or stone walls or plastic chairs and vending machines. But there's a uniformed stance to the trees, all lined up neatly, and mossy rocks posed like chairs, waiting for people to disembark. She can almost see the ghostly imprint of listless lives sitting on the stones. A felled oak tree forms the platform up ahead, but Fred shrugs when she asks why the train didn't stop there.
"I wanted to see my itsy-bitsy little sister again," Fred says. "Are you complaining?"
"I did a lot of growing while you were dead," Ginny tells him flatly. "And you'll be complaining of a broken nose in a minute, if you bring up my height again."
Fred surrenders, but there is a teasing glint in his eye. Ginny can't hate it. She's missed it dearly. She feels young again, trailing after her brother, desperately wanting to be part of their team, but this time he lets her in. They pick fruit, bundling the squishy blackberries into Ginny's pockets. Each blackberry they pluck from a thorny branch turns golden in their hands, and new fruit blooms in its place. He tries to shove her in a blackberry bush and she kicks him in the shin. They gather more fruit, emptying the bushes and snacking on more than they pick, but soon they have enough to fill the Great Hall, and they stagger back to the train station with their haul.
They sit down to eat on the platform, swinging their legs over the edge, and stuff their faces until their mouths are stained dark. Narrow fish dart about in the river, cog-like patterns etched in their bulbous eyes. Sweet red flowers float on the surface, aimlessly drifting back and forth. Fred scoops one up and pushes it into her hair while she tells him about her life.
"I know," he says. "I was watching. But keep talking anyway. There are so many things I want to make fun of you for."
She pushes her dripping hair out of her face, deeply unimpressed. When he takes an inevitable tumble into the river, she throws her head back and cackles with laughter. He curses and flaps about in the water. She should expect the hands that reach out to grab her and drag her into the cold, but it's been long enough that she forgot to look out for it, and doesn't that sting? She sinks under the water and comes up gasping, coughing and spluttering while Fred laughs in her face, unrepentant.
"Missed me?" he asks, dimpling at her.
"More than you know," Ginny says, with her own fierce smile. "But that doesn't mean you're going to get away with that."
Fred throws her a rakish grin, taking off along the drowned tracks, and Ginny swims after him, shouting and laughing. The forest sways and the night never wavers. The train waits patiently at the platform, ready to take them home.
[Word Count - 1857]