Quietly, he closed the bedroom door behind him. He carefully started down the stairs, automatically stepping on the left edge of the second step and the right edge of the third. He knew just where to step to avoid making the stairs creak. After three weeks of nightly visits to the kitchen, he could go completely unheard all the way down to the kitchen and back.
He was later than normal tonight, as it took longer for Molly to settle tonight. One month ago tonight, they had lost Fred. Tomorrow there was a memorial planned at the school to honour those who died.
Sighing, Arthur Weasley made his nightly cup of tea. When the tea was prepared, he sat down at the table. He was stubbornly avoiding looking at the magical clock on the wall. He would not look at it tonight. He was determined to resist the urge to sit and stare at it.
He thought back to the morning after Fred died and they all returned to the Burrow.
When they walked in, George went to his room without speaking to anyone. Molly went to the kitchen and began cooking. Hearing her scream, everyone rushed into the kitchen to see what was wrong. Molly stood in front of the clock sobbing. Arthur looked at it. Everyone’s name now pointed to home with one exception, Fred’s. His hand pointed to a new spot labelled Heaven.
No one knew how this had happened or who did it. The clock had been a gift from Molly’s brothers for their wedding. As each child was born, a new hand appeared on the clock. No one gave any thought as to what would happen now that Fred was gone.
Arthur looked down at his cup of tea. He knew he could not resist much longer. Each night, he sat here staring at Fred’s hand on the clock. Turning slightly, he gave in. As always, everyone’s hand pointed to home. Except for… Fred’s. Wait, he thought, where is Fred’s hand?
Standing, he rushed over to the clock. Fred’s hand was not pointing to Heaven, instead, it was pointing to home. Pain clutched at his heart. Who would do this? Who would move the hand? Slowly, he reached out and moved the hand back to Heaven. He walked back and sat down in front of his cup of tea.
Perhaps George had moved it, or Molly? Shaking his head, he knew it was neither of them. George barely left his room, and Molly never even looked at the clock anymore. In fact, she had hinted that maybe it was time to get rid of it.
Glancing back, he noticed the hand was once again pointing to home. He knew without looking around there was no one downstairs with him. Striding over to the clock, he reached up to move the hand back to Heaven again. This time, however, he met with resistance. Though he was able to move it, it was not as easy as the first time. As he pushed the hand, he felt a cold breeze over his hand.
As he let go of Fred’s hand, he watched as the hand moved on its own back to home.
Gasping, he murmured, “Who?”
“Me, Dad,” came the reply from behind him.
Spinning around, Arthur’s eyes widened in shock. “Fred?” he said as he stumbled to the table and sank into his chair.
Fred turned his head slightly so Arthur could see his ear. Reaching up to rub the ear, he said, “The one and only. Surprised to see me?” Fred grinned at him.
“Just a little, considering you are dead,” Arthur said, his voice shaking.
Fred started laughing. “Guess that would make my appearance quite shocking then.” Reaching out, Fred laid a hand on his father’s.
Arthur could feel Fred touching him. He looked down at their hands, then back at his son’s face. He looked exactly the same except for the fact his image was a bit fainter.
“Not that I am not thrilled to see you, but why are you here?” Arthur asked.
At the question, Fred stopped smiling. He looked as if he was about to give someone bad news. “I was given one night to talk to one person from my past. The only condition was it had to be someone who really needed my help.” Fred looked into his father’s eyes. “I picked you, Dad.”
“Me? Why me? You should talk to your mother, or George. They need to see you more than I do.” Arthur started to stand.
Fred’s hand wrapped around his father’s and kept him sitting. “No, Dad. I am here to talk to you and only you.”
“I am fine, son. It is your brother and your mother who need this. They are…”
“They are grieving, as they should be,” Fred said.
“Your brother never leaves your…his room, your mother is either crying or yelling at someone for something little. She is obsessed with knowing where everyone is at all times. Harry and Ron have to check in at least ten times a day when they are out chasing the escaped Death Eaters. She is driving the entire family crazy,” Arthur finished sadly.
“Exactly,” Fred said. “They are grieving. They are going through what they should. “You on the other hand…” Fred looked at his father.
“I am fine.” At Fred’s raised eyebrows, Arthur continued, “So, I come down here at night once your mother falls asleep for a cup of tea. It is about the only time it is quiet with everyone home. I’ve got a lot on my mind, son.”
“I know, Dad. You sit here, night after night staring at the clock. You try to figure out why I died, what you could have done to stop it.” Fred shook his head. “You worry about Mum, and George and everyone else, but you don’t worry about yourself.”
“I am fine,” Arthur said, his voice rising slightly. “Of course I wonder if I could have stopped it. I am your father. I should have been there to protect you. I should have made you go home. It should have been me!” Arthur’s voice rose in anger. “There is no reason you should have died. You had everything going for you, your whole life ahead of you. It’s not right!”
“Dad,” Fred began, his voice low and soothing, “there is a reason it was me and not you. It may not make sense to you, but it had to be me. It had to be then. If I had lived, it may have been Mum who died, or Ginny. Would Mum have been angry enough to kill Bellatrix had I lived?” Fred waited until what he said sunk into his father’s mind.
“There is no justification to why I died. It is just one of those things. It can’t be explained, it can’t be reasoned out. It just is. But, that isn’t even the issue. The issue is you, Dad. You have to let go-”
“I’ll never let go of you, I’ll never…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he was too angry to speak.
“Not of me, Dad. You have to let go and grieve. You can’t keep taking care of everyone else and pushing your feelings aside. Dad, you need to mourn.”
Arthur looked at his son. How could he tell him he was too scared to give into the feelings of grief he felt? He was scared if he let even the smallest bit of emotion out, he would break into so many pieces, there would be no putting him back together again.
“I am fine,” he repeated for the fourth time. “I am handling everything just fine. Your mother needs me to be strong for her right now. George needs me and so does the rest of the family. Percy blames himself for distracting you, Ron blames himself for not saving you. Harry blames himself for not ending it sooner. Even Hermione blames herself for not being quick enough to prevent the wall from falling on you.”
“Everyone thinks it is their fault. But it is mine and mine alone. I never should have allowed you to be there.”
“Dad, we had to be there. You know that. It wouldn’t have mattered if you tried to send us home. We wouldn’t have gone. I wouldn’t have gone.” Fred took a deep breath, or seemed to.
“Mum needs you, yes. So does everyone else. But how much help will you be to them if you end up in St. Mungos on the locked ward because you bottled everything up inside?” Fred decided it was time for another approach, guilt.
“Do you know George thinks you don’t love him or me?” At his father’s shocked expression, Fred continued, “He thinks you took my death so easily because you never really loved us. And Mum…” Fred let his voice trail off.
“What about your mother? What do you know that I don’t?” Arthur asked anxiously.
“She is so mad at you. Even as she cries in your arms, she is furious with you. Why you ask? She can’t decide. She can’t figure out if you don’t care that I am dead, if you didn’t love me, or if you are just hiding your pain from her.” Fred stopped speaking to let his father think about what he was doing to his family by being the strong one.
“That’s crazy, of course I love you. I love all of you. Doesn’t she realize how much it hurts me losing you?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Actually, no she doesn’t,” Fred replied. “No one realizes that. You never show it, Dad. When was the last time you cried?” Fred waited a moment before he said, “You haven’t cried since the night I died. Don’t deny it, I know you haven’t. And so does Mum.”
Both Fred and Arthur’s eyes quickly darted to the stairs when they heard a noise coming from upstairs. “That will be Mum. You think she is sleeping when you leave her. But, she isn’t, she lays awake waiting for you to come back upstairs. She wonders if she should come down here and force you to talk to her.” Fred’s eyes strayed to the stairs again. “Dad, do you remember when Ginny was born? You used to take us to watch Bill and Charlie playing Quidditch out in the meadow.” When Arthur smiled, Fred smiled back.
“Do you remember the day I asked you about the sky?”
Arthur thought back to that day.
Arthur sat in the grass under a tree watching his two oldest sons playing their version of Quidditch. Sitting on his lap was three year old Fred and George sat next to him. Percy sat a small distance away reading a book. The twins watched in awe as their brothers flew around the meadow.
“Daddy, can they touch the sky?” Fred asked.
“No, their brooms won’t go that high, son,” Arthur answered.
“Do any brooms reach the sky?”
“No, Fred, you can’t reach the sky with a broom.” Arthur loved these times with his sons. They never failed to amaze him with the questions they asked.
“How do you touch the sky, Daddy? I want to touch it,” Fred said.
Arthur thought for a moment before answering. “Do you remember what we told you about your uncles? How they died and went to Heaven?”
Nodding his head, Fred said, “You said they are angels now.” Fred’s face showed pride that he remembered.
“Yes, they are angels. Only angels can touch the sky, son. Someday, a long time from now, you will be an angel and you will be able to touch the sky,” Arthur said. He hoped Fred understood what he was telling him.
After a moment, Fred nodded before saying, “I will touch the sky, Daddy. Someday.”
There were tears in Arthur’s eyes as he shook the memory off. “I remember,” he said simply.
Fred looked towards the stairs. Standing, he went over to the clock. “Mum will be down here in a minute. Talk to her, Dad. Lean on her for a while.” He reached out and moved his hand to Heaven.
“I can touch the sky, Dad,” he said as he faded away.
Visits From Fred by mudbloodproud
Chapter Notes: I wish to thank my beta for this one-shot. Unfortunately, this was written so long ago, I can't remember who it was. So, whomever it was would email me, I'll edit this with your name.
I do not own anything you recognize in this story. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am just thankful to get to play in her world.
Summary:
Mr Weasley was the strong one in the family. He held everyone together. What happens when alone one night, someone comes to help him see he is not facing his grief?
Chapter Endnotes: Stay tuned for more of Fred's visits to his family. Who will be next? You will have to wait and see...