notes: it all belongs to J.K Rowling. I should point out that this was written solely on the basis of, "I am going to sit down and write something! That is what I shall do! Here it is!" I wrote it in a rush and as a result it is not much more than fluff, and not even particularly good fluff, but there are Weasleys and snow and that is all I really wanted.
"It's not right!"
Ginny scrunched up the string of tinsel she held in her hand and threw it across
the room, emitting a little cry of frustration as she watched it hit the wall
and fell to the floor. It wasn't as though she'd wanted to be in charge
of decorating the living room - she'd rather have hung a bit of mistletoe over
her door and been done with it.
"It isn't - it's not - it - I hate it!" she bit out, and to
better illustrate her point, slammed her fist down on the floor. "I hate
it!"
She waited.
No fussing Molly Weasley came rushing in, the traces of cranberry sauce staining
her cheek and all sorts of things Ginny'd rather not think about staining her
apron. No anxious Arthur, Muggle fascination of the moment tossed aside to look
after his baby daughter.
Not even Percy, who she wouldn't have liked as much as Bill, perhaps, but
he'd still have done all right.
Ginny let out a shriek, accompanied with another shrill, "I hate it!"
The Weasley clock smirked down at her as it ticked the time by, keeping all of
its hands with all the freckled faces firmly fixed on Home. Home
but where was everyone and why weren't they there with her and oh,
it was absolutely maddening!
She bit her lip.
__
Six minutes later found Miss Ginny Weasley bundled up in all her comfy winter
clothing, pink mittens and all. (She knew redheads weren't to wear pink,
certainly, and she knew that Ron would most likely tear her to bits for wearing
something "so girly, Gin!" but oh, it was her favourite colour
after all, and it was Christmas Eve. And she wanted to.)
Lifting her chin up in determination, she reached out a hand and had a bit of a
struggle with the doorknob to get it to open at all - Mummy's wool mittens,
lovely and warm as they were, weren't quite the most useful of things to have on
while trying to operate anything. They were really quite a slap in the face for
opposable thumbs, in all honesty.
Still, she managed to pull it open, and stood shivering for a moment as the cold
wind swept its way inside the Burrow from the ice and snow that laced the land
outside.
Ginny stood there in all her cold-weather-clothing, and it occurred to her that
it was Christmas Eve.
"Gin, look out!"
Splat.
Something cold and wet hit her left cheek. She flinched and touched her hand to
it. Her fingers came away coated in a thin layer of white snow.
"Gin!"
That was Ron, Ron rushing up to her with his face creased. "Eurgh Gin I'm
sorry, didn't mean to hit you with that - oy!" He broke off, having been
caught off-guard himself by a stray snowball spinning through the air. "Oy!"
He twisted around, searching for the offender. "George!"
Ginny bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.
"Ron," she said.
He looked at her. "Yeah, Gin?"
"DUCK," and she flung the snow balled up in her palm straight at him,
and couldn't hold back her laughter as it hit him square in the forehead,
leaving trails of water dripping down his face.
For a moment all Ron could do was splutter and stare.
Ginny took this as a ticket to run far, far away, down to where Bill and Charlie
were building a fort of snow by the now frozen-over pond. It'd come in handy for
hiding from Ron, she thought, who was now tearing after her, using her trail of
laughter to mark her path.
"GOT YOU!" Panting, he fell on top of her and brought the two of them
crashing down into the snow, Ginny nearly helpless with laughter as she tore off
her pink mittens to tickle him senseless.
And she knew it was Christmas Eve.