I don't own Hp or ROTG. Trigger-warning (deals with attempted-suicide)

Chapter 1

And Now I'm Dead

"You're joking, Perce! You actually are joking... I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

There was a moment of tremendous pain, then a vast amount of nothing.

He was surrounded by darkness. The claims of any bright light or flashes of memory were, quite frankly, not true. He felt no warm embrace. In fact, if he was anything, he was cold. Heavy. He thought maybe this was all there was. Infinite nothing.

No. There was something. Distant echoes of somebody screaming.

Maybe he wasn't dead.

He waited for the screaming to stop before he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Nope, still alive. He could have sworn...

"Bloody hell," he muttered, standing up slowly. His head throbbed uncontrollably. It must have been the explosion. "Now where's my wand?"

Under a rock to his left. He picked it up, inspecting it for any damage. It was in perfect condition. How lucky.

Looking around himself, Fred was suddenly aware of how alone he was. Where was everyone else? Percy, Harry, Ron, Hermione... Where did they go? They wouldn't just leave him here unless...

"Oh Merlin, no!"

He sprinted down the corridor, skipping over the rubble and stray bodies that littered the floor. They thought he was dead. He had to tell them that he was alright. God, the look on their faces might just be worth it. Maybe they wouldn't laugh, but they would at least be relieved.

Don't mourn me yet, he thought.

He could see the Great Hall from where he was now. Adrenaline kicked in and he ran.

He skidded to a stop at the entrance and searched for his family. They weren't ever hard to find. The family of redheads always stood out, even in the biggest of crowds.

Towards the back of the room, they gathered around somebody. Fred could tell. They looked sickly pale. George especially. Fred's heart shattered at the scene. Death had managed to touch them.

He edged closer.

"Mum?"

No response.

"Dad?"

No response.

"George?"

George sobbed, turning around. Fred smiled, waiting for his brother to see him alive and well.

He was greatly disappointed when his brother didn't even notice Fred's presence as he clung to Percy.

"George, who is it?" Fred said, a bit louder than when he first spoke. He reached out to touch his brother, but that simple action was perhaps his deepest regret.

His hand had gone straight through George. Fred pulled it back quickly, staring in horror. No... He was wrong. Something was wrong. He needed to fix it.

Deep in his mind, he knew. He knew he couldn't fix this, but he refused to believe it.

He very quickly found out it was exceptionally hard to deny a dead body.

On the ground his family crowded was him.

It felt like before. Nothing. The noise around him disappeared and all there was, was this insistent ringing. The ringing that happens when your brain forget what you were doing. He couldn't stop staring, even as his tears blurred his vision. Everything was becoming nothing much quicker than he could even begin to understand.

He was dead.

Fred Weasley was dead.

The world around him was crumbling. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His hand flew to his chest, praying that he would feel his own heartbeat.

He didn't.

His chest was an empty cavity. He was merely an invisible vessel.

He tried to scream, but as loud as he did, nobody heard him.

Gripping at the thin fabric of his shirt, he bowed his head in defeat.

Fred Weasley was empty.

Despite his better judgment, he stuck around his family. He couldn't bear to permanently part with them before he knew they would be happy without him.

The most apparent truth was that they weren't. Maybe they couldn't be.

It pained Fred so much to see all of them like this as they prepared for his burial. Countless times he found himself muttering jokes, hoping they would somehow hear him; urging them to move on and be happy.

"Merlin, guys. Smile, won't ya? Smile for me at least," he'd find himself whispering.

Fred was one to talk. He barely smiled himself.

How could he though? His mum was always crying. His father barely spoke and wasted his hours inspecting his muggle contraptions. Bill found comfort with Fleur. Charlie hid out in his room. Ginny and Ron were barely home, probably believing that avoiding the situation would help ease the pain. Percy was almost as bad as George. All Percy ever did was blame himself; constantly muttering apologies to his deceased brother for not being able to save him.

Fred was worried about all of them, but George... God, George was the worst off. Fred couldn't count the number of times he caught George staring at the knives in the kitchen or the muggle pills Hermione had brought over to help calm everyone's nerves. George was tiptoeing along the edge of a cliff, waiting for a rough wind to push him over.

Fred wanted to pull him back, but his hands always went right through his brother

Funerals are supposed to grant closure to those who have suffered a loss. It wasn't that way for the Weasley's. Fred, himself, could barely accept his own fate as his body was laid to rest while his ghost roamed the earth forever.

George hadn't been there. Fred had witnessed the screaming match between his parents and George that morning.

He had refused. Said that it was too much.

You'll have to bury me too if I go!

In the end, no one could get him to go. They might have been too scared to push.

Fred could do nothing to help.

His father had once told him that muggles believed in an almighty being beyond this world. Fred never really understood it, but his father still insisted on his children praying to this almighty should they need to. There had only been one occurrence where he had been brought to getting on his knees to pray. That was when his father had been attacked near the Department of Mysteries.

Once more, he found himself kneeling at the side of a hospital bed in the face of death and begged for a miracle.

They shouldn't have to bury George too.

Invisibility would drive him mad at this rate.

George had recovered, but he was still at the hospital. He was under strict surveillance. More than once he had tried to rip off the bandages around his wrist, and because that was so, he was admitted to a special ward at St. Mungo's. Someone had to always be with him.

Then again, he never really was.

Though invisible he was, Fred never really left.

When George was released, Fred felt as if his prayers had been answered.

His twin seemed happier. Fred saw him smiling more, even daring to crack a joke or two.

One would think Fred would've noticed the sadness in his brother's eyes every time he looked in the mirror. Or the questioning glances every time he saw something even slightly sharp.

The biggest clue of all that no one seemed to catch was something about the kitchen clock.

George's hand was always pointed at lost.

It happened again.

This time, it was a closer call than the last. George had barely made it. He was in a self-induced coma.

Things were worse than the last. His mum was almost bordering on insanity with the simple idea of losing another one of her children. The healers had to sneak a Dreamless Sleep Potion into her drink. Percy continued to blame himself. Bill and Charlie found themselves taking on quite a few leadership roles at home. Ron and Ginny finally stopped avoiding their problems, but both went very different ways with their grief. Ron was hell-bent on destroying anything he could get his hands on and Ginny barely spoke to anyone. She usually grabbed a broom from the shed and flew as high and as far she could.

Nothing felt right anymore.

This time, Fred didn't bother praying.

George's coma continued all through the winter months.

He was pale and almost lifeless. If it weren't for the steady beeping at his bedside, you would think he was dead.

Staying in a hospital room all day was taking Fred's last bit of life too. He stole a selfish moment and floated around outside the window looking into George's room.

That's when he saw him.

A white and blue figure flying overhead, making snowflakes behind him.

Curiosity consumed him and he took to the sky, making a silent promise to George that he would return soon. It was barely necessary though; he would always return.

"Oi!" He called out. His voice lacked all the conviction it once had, despite trying to be as confident as he could.

The white-haired boy turned around, an ecstatic smile dazzling his features. At a closer view, Fred could see a tiny little fairy-like bird perched on the boy's shoulder.

"Yes?" the boy mused, laying back against his staff.

Fred smiled. This was his first interaction with anyone in almost a year. The fact that someone could see him was enough to make the small flame inside him burn just a bit brighter.

The other boy quirked an eyebrow, but his expression formed into one of sympathy.

"No one can see you, can they?" he asked, straitening his stance.

Fred's smile vanished and he simply nodded.

"I know the feeling," he said sadly. "The name's Jack Frost, what's yours?"

"Fred Weasley. A former owner of Weasley's Wizards Wheezes."

I really hope I did this justice. I've had this idea for a long time, but only now got the chance to actually write it. What great ideas come from art class :)

Remember to review! It would be much appreciated!

- Stitch