The Potter Kids and the Time Turner

King's Cross Station

The early spring sun was rising, casting a pink and orange over-glow in the Weasley kitchen, as Fred quietly sat at the kitchen table, alone. George was still sleeping in his bed. They hadn't shared a bed since Molly and Arthur had a talk with them on their ninth birthday. But there seemed to a be an unspoken agreement in the Weasley household that any and all brotherly intimacy between Fred and George from here on out would be tolerated, accepted and even welcome. George had spent the better part of the night crying and expressing his guilty conscience. Why did he continue living while Fred would never see the light of day again? Fred had spent the better part of the night trying to calm his other half.

"Don't worry about me, Georgie. I'm glad it's me, as shellfish as it is, I wouldn't want to live in a world without a George Weasley."

This had only made George weep harder.

Like a rising tide, sorrow and fear washed over Fred, waving in stronger each time and retreating a little less. As much as Fred wished knew he was in the more favourable outcome, he couldn't help feel sorry for himself. He didn't want to die.

Fred looked at his untouched, and now cold, tea. He would miss tea. He would miss the way it warmed his cold hands. The way a fresh cup would always burned his tongue, and how the last mouthful was always a bit too sweet. He would miss that speck on the table-top. That speck was so perfectly simple, why couldn't he be more like the speck? The speck wouldn't miss tea, because it had never tasted tea. Even if it was removed from the wood grain of the table, it wouldn't miss the table. It was a speck! Was that what being dead felt like? If his brain stopped working then he wouldn't remember what tea was, so therefore, he wouldn't miss it? Right?

But Fred was more than his memories. He was more than just the additions of everything good and bad piece of Fred Weasley. He was greater than the sum of his parts. If a person was to take a perfect replica of Fred's body and add everything about Fred. Including the way he ever so slightly sucks in his lip when nervous. Or how he holds a quill differently for signing his name and taking notes. You still wouldn't have Fred. There's something else there, like his spirit or his soul. The Extra Stuff.

There was extra stuff. Like the glue that holds his compartments together. Where did that extra stuff go?

Does The Extra Stuff go somewhere, or is it lost forever?

Would he miss tea, or would it be forgotten, along with everything that makes Fred, Fred. Plus The Extra Stuff.

...~*~*...*~*~...

Harry came down the stairs; he had always been an early riser. He liked to have a cup of tea to himself before his husbandly or fatherly duties called.

"Hi, George." Harry mumbled in passing.

"Not George, 'm Fred" He muttered to his tea mug. Harry did a double take, still not used to having the other twin sitting in the Burrow's kitchen, very much alive.

"Sorry..." Harry pulled a chair opposite him.

...

"It's not as bad as you think." Harry said eventually.

Fred looked at Harry, "How can you be sure, what if being dead is horrible. What if there's nothing there? What if you're just dead?"

Harry sighed, "What I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone, especially not the littler version of me." Fred looked at Harry, interested now, he nodded eagerly. "In the final battle, the one you died in, Voldemort gave an ultimatum. Me alone, or the castle and everyone fighting."

"You didn't! Harry -"

"For reasons I'm not going to get into right now, I had to go. It was crucial to our side winning."