Kneeling down beside the colorfully decorated tree, Ron placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Within seconds, Ron was flat against the ground with a wand at his throat.
"WHO- oh, it's you," George muttered, slowly withdrawing his hand and allowing Ron to sit up. "Sorry. It's just..."
"Reflex," Ron finished grimly. "So, George, what are you doing down here this late on Christmas eve? It's nearly midnight! Don't you want to wake up early to open presents? Remember? Like we used to do when we were kids." George adjusted himself so that he was facing Ron, but avoided eye contact at all costs.
"That's just it, Ron, don't you see? This is my first Christmas without him. I don't want to go through it all without him." The shadows engulfed his face, but Ron was sure he heard a choked sob escape his brother. Ron placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him.
"It's not just your first Christmas without him, George. It's all of ours." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "Things- things are different, now that the war is over. It's gonna be weird having Christmas without him, but we'll get used to it, just like we've started getting used to everything else, okay?"
With a pained expression, George grabbed Ron's arm, gripping it fiercely.
"Ron, I-I'm scared," he let out in a strangled whisper. To his anger and surprise, Ron snorted with laughter.
"Scared of what, his ghost?" He shook his head in disbelief. "C'mon, Georgie, Fred wouldn't have wanted this. He would've wanted you to be, I dunno, charming everyone's presents to turn into birds when they opened them or something. He wouldn't've wanted you crying by the fire like an old witch wailing over some bloke." A faint smile appeared on George's tearstained face as he raised his eyebrows at his younger brother.
"Excuse me, but I do not look like an old witch!"
"Uh, yeah, you kinda do," Ron replied, smirking. "But, er, seriously, d'you want a cup of tea or something?" George fixed him with a look of disgust, as he quickly added, "It's what Mum always does when someone's upset!"
"You want to make me a cup of tea? Honestly, Ronnie, I'm the old witch?" Ron's splutters of indignation were lost in the rare sound of George's laughter. "Really, Ron, sometimes you and Mum seem to have a hell of a lot in common."
"Fine, just sit here and mope; what do I care?" he grumbled, but he walked into the kitchen and got out a mug anyway.
George followed him, watching him prepare the hot beverage.
"Merlin, Ron," George laughed after seeing his brother slosh milk all over the counter, "You can't even make a simple cup of tea!"
"I can too!" he snapped, spilling hot water all down the front of his shirt.
"Ohh," George sniggered. After a moment, the smile faded from his face. "Burn," he finished without conviction. Ron gave him a strange look.
"What's wrong? Thought you'd love it that I just poured boiling water all over me." The expression on George's face was serious enough to wipe the affronted look off of Ron's. "What is it?" George just shook his head. "Seriously, George, what's the matter?"
"It's just hard, sometimes, to realize that no one's going to finish the joke."
"Mmm."
"It's like, everyone thinks that they get it. That Fred was my 'best friend,' my 'other half.' But no one really gets it. When he died, it was like I had to re-learn how to do everything without him. Even things as simple as just telling jokes."
"Uh huh."
"I just hated having everyone patting my arm and insisting that they 'understood what I was going through,' and whatever the hell else they said, you know? Just, like, admit that they can't relate, can't do anything about it. Understand I need to be alone sometimes, and that I'm coping. Sometimes, I just want to bloody tell them, 'Don't start acting like this has happened to you, 'cause hasn't, and I sure as hell hope it doesn't.' It's just bull, what they're telling me."
"Mmhm."
"And- Ron?"
"Mgph?"
"Ron!"
"What?" He cowered under George's unfaltering gaze. "Uh, okay, I mean, uh, I guess I get what you're saying... Er, but I most definitely have no idea what you're going through, and I'll leave you alone, and I sure as hell hope that my twin brother- who most certainly isn't my best friend- never dies, and-" He paused as George began laughing harder than Ron had seen in a long time.
"I'd forgotten what a prat you were," he said, swatting Ron's head. Ron grinned cheekily at him.
"Yeah, well... Uh, since we've established that I most certainly can not make tea-"
"I don't know, I kind of enjoyed watching you screw up... OW!"
"-then how 'bout some hot chocolate, instead?" Ron offered.
"Sure, I'll have some hot chocolate," George replied, grinning. "I'm sure that this other beverage including hot liquids and milk will be much easier to make than tea." Figuring that it would be humorous not to remind Ron that he was a wizard and could do this all by magic, George tossed him two mugs and packets of cocoa. A few minutes later, they both settled down at the table, Ron with numerous ice cubes down his shirt, supposedly "soothing" the burned skin.
"Thanks, Ron," George said, trying to contain his laughter as he took a sip from his mug. "Not bad... You could've screwed it up much worse." Ron looked as though he wanted to say something, but finally pulled off his shirt, wrapped the ice cubes in it, and then pressed the bundle to his skin.
"Ahh, so that's how you do that. You don't put the ice directly on the skin!" Ron took a large gulp of cocoa, coughing violently for a minute while George laughed at his expense.
"You know, Ron," he said, looking his brother in the eye, "Thanks. Seriously, I needed someone to talk to about all that. Even if the person was too thick to understand any of what I said." Ron made a face at his brother, but nodded. "Tomorrow's Christmas. You're right (first and last time you'll ever hear me say that); Fred would've wanted me screwing with your presents and leaving trick wands around to annoy Mum, not moping around missing him." Ron smiled at his brother, more touched than he would have liked to admit.
"Thanks, Georgie. But you're wrong again- Christmas isn't tomorrow- it's today! It's already one in the morning!" The boys grinned at each other.
"Well then, we'd better get to bed if we really are gonna do this the same way we did as kids. We'll have to be out of bed by six. You head up. I'll come up in a minute."
"Okay. Merry Christmas, George." George smiled mischievously.
"Oh, it will be," was all he said before turning his back and walking out of the room. Ron yawned and dragged himself up the stairs, looking forward to what would be the best Christmas the Weasleys had shared in a long time.
"Ron, Ron, get up!" Ginny shook him, radiating excitement.
"Mmgha?" he mumbled into his pillow, lifting his head slightly.
"Get up, Ron!" Bill urged, yanking the pillow out of his brother's grip. Ron weakly made a grasp for it, but gave up on the attempt shortly.
"Be downstairs in ten minutes. Breakfast is almost ready." As his brothers left the room to rouse Harry and Hermione, Ron dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans. A few minutes later, he walked into the kitchen and plopped down in a chair between Hermione and George, pulling the nearest plate of food toward him. In less than half an hour, everyone was dressed, fed, and huddled by the Christmas tree. Just like normal life at the Weasley house, there was no real pattern or organization to their Christmas. Everyone found the gifts with their name on it, and all opened them at once, until everyone had one gift left. For a while, everyone just opened their presents happily, hearing only the sounds of paper tearing and an occasional "ooh!" Only excitement and eagerness emanated off of anyone, until Mrs. Weasley burst into tears at the sight of Percy in his brand new jumper. But even those tears only hinted at the past negativity in their lives.
At last, everyone was down to their last gift.
"On three, guys, everybody tear," Bill said. "One... two... three!" On "three" there was a loud rip! as everyone tore through the wrapping paper to their gift. But instead of books and candy, nearly a dozen tropical birds began tweeting and zooming around the room, tearing the remaining wrapping paper to shreds. George was rolling on the ground, laughing and gasping for breath as he watched his family's reaction to the prank. When the final bird had at last disappeared with a pop!, George sat up and turned to his family.
"The real presents are in my room, you can go get those." As they all got up, still chuckling, to head upstairs, George put a hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Stay down here a sec," he said quietly. "Just because I don't have someone to finish the jokes for me anymore doesn't mean I have to stop making them in the first place. It just means I'll have to work twice as hard to do it myself. You told me it's what he would have wanted, and I think you're right. And I just wanted to say... thanks." Ron nodded, looking uncomfortable.
"Anytime. Just give me one sec- I'll be right back." George smirked at his brother.
"Oh, yeah. The gift I took from you was from Hermione... And now that you're..." George wiggled his eyebrows pointedly as Ron smacked his arm.
"Shut up," he muttered, walking upstairs. Halfway up the staircase, he paused for a moment, listening to George downstairs.
"Merry Christmas, Fred." And no one could be sure, but George were convinced that he heard a very quiet,
"Merry Christmas, George," in response.
A/N- Written for chewinggumandpencils' Hot Chocolate Competition using the prompts reflex, scared, insult, and five, and for Fire the Canon's Fanfiction Tournament Competition.
Disclaimer- Blah. I don't own HP. I'm running out of new ways to say this.