Submission for Round 11 of QLFC

Team: Cannons

Position: Seeker

Prompt: Write about a character who uses trickery/tricks to reach their goals for a specific reason.

Word Count: 1770

When Fred opened his eyes, he knew he was dead.

He knew it not only because of the whitewashed appearance of his surroundings — Platform 9 ¾ looked very strange without color — but also because there were three people standing over him that he knew to be dead, too.

James Potter, who he couldn't fail to recognize because they plastered Harry's parent's faces all over the papers every Hallowe'en in remembrance. Sirius Black, whom he and George had become quite fond of during their stay at Grimmauld Place, since he always laughed at their pranks and even helped facilitate them many times. And finally, Remus Lupin, the best Defense professor they'd ever had, whose body Fred had seen lying cold and still in a corridor not even ten minutes ago — if he was judging time correctly, anyway.

"Got to say, I'm honored," Fred said, sitting up and noting with amusement that all four of them were wearing pure white robes, "I never thought I'd be greeted in the afterlife by three Marauders!"

Sirius and Prongs — it felt weird to call him James, and he definitely wasn't calling him Mr. Potter — grinned widely. Remus gave him a little smile, but it didn't last long.

"We're here to talk to you about something important, Fred," Remus said seriously. "You've got a decision to make."

"I do?" Fred asked, confused. He'd sort of thought being dead would remove his choices, honestly.

"You've got to decide if you want to stay here, or go back," Sirius said.

"I can go back?" Fred exclaimed. "That's great! Am I only mostly dead or something? Is Madam Pomfrey patching me up?"

"No, kid," Prongs said, shaking his head, "you're definitely dead."

"Oh." The sharp spike of excitement faded quickly.

"Don't leave him hanging like that, James," Sirius scolded, and then turned to Fred. "You can go back as a ghost."

Fred felt a bit overwhelmed by this revelation, and spent a few moments staring at the three Marauders blankly.

"Okay," he said, when he'd finally found his voice again, "how do I do it?"

"Look, it might not be the best idea," Remus cautioned him. "Returning as a ghost has its own risks, and you can still watch over those you love if you stay here."

For some reason, the implication that he'd change his mind and decide to stay in this white wasteland instead of going back to George made him angry.

"I can't believe you're not going back; you've got a wife and kid down there," Fred said, a bit spitefully.

Remus' eyes dropped, and Fred felt guilty even before he spoke. "Tonks is here, now."

Fred supposed he shouldn't be surprised, seeing as they had been in the middle of a battle, but he was. "Sorry," he muttered quickly, not even sure if that was the right sentiment.

"If you want to go back, there's only one thing you need," Prongs said, after a moment of silence, "and you must consider it very carefully."

"Alright, what's that, then?" Fred wished that they would just get to the point, already.

"Purpose," Sirius told him.

"That's it?" Fred asked incredulously. "So, what, all I have to say is that I want —"

"No!" Remus cut him off. "Be very, very careful. If you don't choose something that will actually happen, you'll get stuck down there."

"What d'you mean, stuck?"

"Nearly Headless Nick," said Prongs. "He went back because he wanted to join the Headless Hunt."

"But he's only nearly headless," Fred said slowly. He thought he was getting it. "So, you're saying if I choose a purpose and it's fulfilled, then I come back up here? Why do I want that?"

"Everyone you care about will die eventually," Remus said, with a sad smile. "You'll want to be here with them, in the end."

Fred supposed that made sense; now that he considered it, that would really suck to be stuck as a ghost after George and everyone else he loved was dead. He thought carefully — what was his purpose?

Fred mulled it over for a minute, wishing George were there to help him brainstorm, and at last looked up at the Marauders.

"I've got it," he said, firmly.

The process of becoming a ghost felt distinctly… fizzy.

The world warped in and out of focus for a few seconds, like flipping through radio wavelengths, until finally it seemed he got the frequency, and he was standing in the living room in the Burrow. After the monotonous white of the afterlife, the color of the real world was shocking. Fred stood in one place for a moment trying to catch his breath, until he realized he didn't have any to catch.

That thought unnerved him, and so he looked down at himself, curious about what outfit he'd ended up in, only to see that he was completely translucent.

Well, not completely — it was more like a badly done Disillusionment charm than anything else. He could see hints of the outlines of his limbs as he experimentally waved them around in the air. Just as he began to grow bored with that, Fred heard footsteps clomping down from the one of the upstairs rooms, and he immediately perked up, eager to see George — or anyone, really.

It was Ginny that appeared on the staircase. She was wearing a dress, which was a surprising occurrence, and Fred was so taken off guard that she was past him before he realized that she hadn't even looked at him.

"Ginny?" He called after her in confusion, but even though he'd meant to say it loudly, it came out of his mouth as the gentlest whisper.

Ginny didn't even hear him. Fred tried again. Still, no response. In fact, she kept going and walked right out the front door.

Fred, utterly failing at not panicking, followed her outside.

It was his funeral. Literally. Fred choked back a half-laugh, half sob. His mum had gone all out — beneath the beribboned black tent packed with somber guests, there was a table with an enormous cake emblazoned with his face. Fred was actually impressed, because it really was his face, and not just George's with an ear.

As if he'd been Summoned by Fred's thoughts, at that moment George emerged from the back of the tent and with long, sharp strides headed straight for the marshy, swamp-like land behind the Burrow.

Fred, of course, followed.

George had gotten a head start on him, but it wasn't particularly difficult for Fred to find his brother, because the sounds of broken sobbing were quite distinctive. George was sitting on an old tree stump, without a care for how dirty the seat of his trousers were probably getting, with his head hanging down in his hands and his shoulders shaking. Fred, without thinking, moved to comfort him, but when his hand landed on George's shoulder it sunk right through.

George's head shot up and Fred yanked his hand back, horrified. George's eyes were wet and bloodshot, and he looked directly at Fred for a few moments before releasing a long, shaky breath.

"I'm going mad, that's all," George huffed, his head dropping back down again in resignation.

"Can you see me?" Fred asked, shocked. Ginny hadn't seen him at all when he'd first appeared, not ten minutes ago, but looking down at himself again, Fred noticed that he did appear to be a bit more opaque, more like the ghosts he remembered at Hogwarts, and he was pretty sure his voice had just come out at a normal volume. Maybe he'd just needed an extra minute to come into focus.

"Fred?" George asked, voice quavering. "Is — is that really you?"

"You think I'd pass up the opportunity to haunt you?"

George started crying again, but he was also smiling just a little, so Fred supposed that was a good sign.

"I'm so glad you're here, Gred."

"I missed you, too, Forge."

"So," George said, after he'd dried his eyes, "how'd you become a ghost, exactly?"

Fred didn't think there was any harm in telling him.

"I just had to want something," Fred said, and then he hesitated briefly. "But I can't… George, I won't be able to stick around. As soon as it happens… I go back."

His brother's face went through a range of emotions that were difficult for even Fred to untangle, and then George was speaking again before he could process them all.

"You're not — no. What is it?" George demanded. "What's going to make you leave me again?"

Now Fred really didn't want to tell him, but he found himself speaking anyway.

"I wanted to make you laugh again."

"Fred…" George said quietly. "I love you like a brother —"

"We are brothers."

"—but you are an idiot."

"What?" Fred was rather upset. "George, I had to choose something that would actually happen, or I'd be stuck down here forever! I don't want to be Moaning Myrtle!"

George had scrunched up his face by the end of Fred's speech, and appeared to be holding his breath. After several long seconds, Fred became concerned.

"Er, George?" Fred asked, after this had gone on for some time. "What's wrong?"

George still did not respond for several more seconds, but at last he gritted out, "You are making it very hard for me to not laugh right now."

"Oh," Fred said. "Right." Even if he didn't fancy haunting a toilet, he supposed it was objectively hilarious to imagine himself doing so.

"Couldn't you have gone with something like 'I want to be a ghost until my twin brother dies'?"

Fred had to concede that that would have worked brilliantly, but it was too late for that now, so what were they going to do?

"Fred," George said, "we are the most brilliant inventors the wizarding world has ever seen, dead and alive. I think we can come up with something."

The wizarding world was of course delighted by the news that Fred had come back as a ghost, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes took advantage of his state of being to release a slew of new products a few months later, many of them ghost-themed. The least popular among them was a candy product labeled 'Laff-b-gone!' which claimed to allow the user to 'experience up to eight hours of nary a giggle, even in the face of extreme hilarity!'

Despite their very best efforts, however, Fred eventually caused George to laugh — while on his deathbed at the very ripe age of one hundred and twenty two.