Time Slipped By

Thanks everyone so much for following my story! Please don't forget to review! I would love to hear your thoughts about what's happening in the story and what you would like to see! Happy Reading!

Chapter Two: He Wasn't Dead

Almost as suddenly as there was darkness, there was light. But mostly there was pain. Merlin was there pain! For the first minute of his awakening all he could feel was pain. So much pain that Fred didn't even really realize he was waking up, or that there were people surrounding him, or that he was alive. Just pain and an almost blinding light. Was he dying? Was he dead? Would he be in pain if he were dead? Is he in hell?

The second minute of his awakening, the voices of people around him started registering. There weren't many, and they were quiet, but they were there. Hushed whispers between loved ones. Someone at the far end of the room was crying. Another patient two beds down was groaning in his sleep. This could be hell, he supposed. A kind of hell meant for war victims. But he fought for good. He fought for light. So maybe this was purgatory. A sort of in between because the afterlife was so confused about the onslaught of deaths from the battle. Yes, Fred could definitely be in a type of purgatory.

The third minute of his awakening, Fred's surroundings came more into focus. The light dimmed, enough for Fred to realize that the room he was actually in was darker. Like it was nighttime. Was there nighttime in purgatory? Or was there only darkness? Come to think of it….this purgatory looked a lot like St. Mungo's. Was that possible? Fred supposed anything was possible in death.

The fourth minute of his awakening, Fred was beginning to think he maybe wasn't dead. There was always that possibility, right? I mean….why would his purgatory….any purgatory….look, sound…smell like St. Mungo's? It couldn't, and so Fred started to move. First his right hand, he could feel it twitch; the rough blanket scratching against his fingertips. Then his feet; he could hear the rustling of the sheets. Then his head. First to the left, where the figure of his twin lay resting in a chair. Fred attempted a smile, but it turned to a cringe when the stiff muscles of his face protested the movement. Then he turned his face to the right. Hermione. If she was there, he must be alive, right? But then, wouldn't she be in some version of his heaven, too?

The fifth minute of his awakening, Fred was almost certain he wasn't dead. Because, honestly, pain, George, Hermione, and St. Mungo's? What kind of version was that of any purgatory or heaven? No, he must be alive. And he was staring at Hermione. He smiled through the pain. Because he was alive, George was alive, and Hermione; Hermione was alive.

"Take a picture, Gred. It'll last you longer." George's happy, tired, amused voice grumbled from behind him.

"I just might have to do that someday, Forge."