‘George? Could you pass me those napkins?’
George raised his head from his arms and looked up at his mother’s expectant face. She pointed to a set of green and gold paper napkins to his left that most definitely had not been there five minutes ago. He sighed and handed her the stack.
‘I thought I’d try and make fans out of them,’ she said with a smile. ‘You know, to go in front of everyone’s plates tomorrow. What do you think?’
George shrugged. He didn’t care what she did with them as long as she left him alone. For days now she’d been trying to get him involved in the preparations for Christmas day - suggesting he go outside to pick some holly, or telling him to wind some tinsel around the banisters - but George really wasn’t interested. He got up and slouched out of the kitchen.
How could they all pretend that everything was normal? How could they put up the Christmas tree, or cover the sitting room in paper chains, when, right there beside him, there was a huge gaping chasm where Fred should be? His family were determined to keep things ‘normal’ for this year, but George didn’t know which was worse: his mother’s determination that this year should be celebrated in style, just as Fred would have insisted on if he were here, or Ron acting like Fred had been dead for years.
He wandered into the hall, and, catching sight of the tinsel his mother had forced him to hang, he knew he couldn’t stand any more of this. He had to get away from it all. He marched up to Percy’s old bedroom (he couldn’t stand the sight of the two beds in his own room, so he and Percy swapped whenever they were staying at The Burrow), and packed his things haphazardly into his old duffle bag. Grabbing his jacket, he left the room, banging into the door as he went.
‘Mum, I’m off,’ he announced to his mother as he entered the kitchen.
She looked up, startled, from the sink, where she was washing sprouts the Muggle way. She did a lot of things the Muggle way these days. She was probably trying to take her mind off Fred. Somehow, this annoyed George. Why were his family so determined not to dwell on Fred? Why would they not give him the honour of their undivided grief?
‘What was that, George, dear?’
He hated that as well, being called by his own name. He never got mixed up with Fred any more. It was like she was determined to make the distinction between the dead twin and the living one.
‘I’m going back to the flat,’ George repeated. ‘I can’t stand it here. Not while you’re all determined to ignore the fact that Fred’s not here.’
‘George!’ Mrs Weasley exclaimed in shock, dropping the sponge she was holding. ‘Nobody is doing that!’
‘Then why all the food, and the cheeriness, and the bloody decorations?’ he snapped. ‘It’s like none of you care!’
‘How can you say that?’ Mrs Weasley said, and George saw tears well in her eyes. For a moment, he felt guilty, but all guilt soon left him when his dad entered the kitchen, a bundle of tinsel and baubles in his arms. ‘Of course we care, George! But do you really think Fred would want us to sit around in tears because he’s not here? Look, this is hard on all of us, especially you, but Fred would want you to be happy.’
‘Don’t tell me what Fred would have wanted!’ George cried, making his father stop in his tracks. ‘You don’t know what Fred would have wanted! Fred is dead! Why won’t you just grieve for him?’
With that, he stormed out of the house, and, once out in the bitingly cold air, turned on the spot and Apparated away. He materialised again in the small sitting room of his flat. Here, there was no Christmas tree, nor tinsel. Not even the tiniest hint that today was Christmas Eve.
He threw his duffel bag onto the sofa and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Snatching a mug from the draining board, he rapped the kettle with his wand, and heard it begin to boil.
Suddenly, all the anger, all the depression and frustration he had been feeling came to a head. He seized the mug and threw it, as hard as he could, against the opposite wall.
‘Hey, that was my favourite mug, you know.’
George whirled around. He knew that voice, it was a mirror of his own, but surely… it couldn’t be…
Yet, it was. There, leaning casually against the counter, was Fred. Pearly and transparent, he was clearly a ghost, but he wore the same old smile, and the way he was fidgeting with a loose thread on his jacket was just so… Fred.
‘Fred?’ George said incredulously. ‘What are you… how come…?’ George trailed off, and just stared at his twin, a mixed feeling of surprise, longing and love welling up inside him.
‘How come I’m here?’ Fred said. ‘Well, I had to pull a few strings to get here, I can tell you; we’re not usually supposed to be doing stuff like this, but ultimately, I’m here to help you.’
‘Help me?’ George said, a little dumbstruck.
‘Yup,’ Fred said as he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter. ‘Look, I’ve been keeping an eye on you; on the whole family, really, and I know what you’ve been going through.’
‘Fred, listen,’ George said. ‘I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea what these past few months without you have been like.’
Fred held up his hand to stop his twin. ‘That comes later,’ he said. ‘Right now I’m here to talk about you, and what an utter killjoy you’re being.’
‘I’m - what?’ George said, and, for a moment, he felt a little flare of anger rise up inside of him.
‘Look, I know it’s been hard,’ Fred said, slipping off the counter and making his way over to George. ‘It’s been hard for everyone. But it’s Christmas. Even if you’re miserable every other day of the year, you’ve at least got to show some happiness over Christmas. Come on, let me show you something.’
Fred lightly placed his hand on George’s shoulder. George felt an icy chill, and then, suddenly, he was jerked into darkness.
Once Upon a Merry Christmas by Sapphire at Dawn
Story Notes:
Major thanks to hogwartsbookworm for being a fantastic beta.
Chapter Notes: Thanks to hogwartsbookworm for beta reading this.