He remembers teasing Percy. That's the last memory he has, before the bright light and the warm feeling that's not unlike the feeling of having wet one's pants, but all over. He remembers giving his brother a hard time about his sense of humour, and then the light and the warmth, and that's all.

He's enclosed in darkness, a view so black that there could be a wall right in front of him and he'd never know until he walked into it. Alternatively, there could be an endless expanse of empty blackness surrounding him on all sides. Either possibility is equally terrifying, he reflects.

Instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and feels around for his wand. When he can't find it, he searches his other pockets, and then turns around in a circle. Pointless, since he couldn't see his wand if it was on the ground, but he's desperate. Since he was eleven and went with George into Ollivander's for the third time, with nine-year-old Ron and eight-year-old Ginny looking on with envy, as the mysterious old man helped Fred and George find their wands (as it would turn out, wands which were right next to each other on the shelf), from the first time he ever managed Wingardium Leviosa (before George, which he bragged about incessantly until George learned how to turn socks into birds), he's counted on his wand. He's never been more than an arm's length from it, even when he sleeps. And now it's gone.

"You won't find your wand," a woman's voice calls. Turning, Fred sees the first proof that he's not blind: a woman, dressed in white. "But you won't be needing it."

That's when the memories hit him, really. That's when he remembers what that light was, and the warmth, and he recalls one more bit of memory: that of George's face, covered in more pain and fear that Fred's ever seen on his brother's visage.

That's when he realises he's dead.

"Is this heaven?"

The woman nods.

"Are you God?"

She laughs. "No. I'm not an angel, either, if that was your next guess."

"Hang on a minute…" She looks remarkably familiar, but somehow, Fred knows that her face is too feminine for the memory he's trying to pull from his mind. "Have you got a brother?"

"No, but you're on the right track. Give it a minute."

"Have I met you before?"

"No, you haven't. But I'm not what's important here."

"What is, then?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"There's a choice you have to make. Come with me."

"Why?"

"Because you can."

"Well, what if I don't?" He was still puzzling over where he had seen her before.

"That's the choice. You come with me, or you don't."

"What?"

"I told you we're in heaven? Well, we're sort of in the outskirts right now. I can take you to heaven—the proper heaven. Pearly gates, streets made of gold, eternal happiness."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then you stay here. There's probably a few others who have chosen to stay. You might meet some of them—you've got all eternity to wander. But, I can give you my word that heaven is better."

"And why should I trust you, or your word?"

"Because I made a deal with your mother."

"What?" he asked. "My mum made a deal with the devil?"

"I'm not the devil. Your mother did a favour for me a few years ago. Now I return the gesture."

"What did she do?"

"She took care of my son. And now it's my turn to take care of hers."

He recognized her. "You're…"

"Yes." She smiled, extending her hand to him. "Will you come, Fred?"

"It's George," he corrected her.

"No, it's not."

"Mum was the only one who ever could tell us apart," he commented.

"Like I said, Molly Weasley's a good friend."

"I reckon she is."

"Will you come?"

"You have to promise me one thing first."

"What is it?"

"When George comes, you have to promise me that I'll get to see him."

"When George comes, you can come get him yourself."

Fred took the hand Lily Potter extended to him. "Then, let's go."