Ginny awoke with a start on Christmas morning that year, an all too familiar feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't the feeling one usually associated with Christmas morning; one of excitement and happiness, but one of dread and worry. Ginny was slightly surprised to feel an odd mix of hope filling her as well.

Ginny knew this Christmas would be like no other. For one thing, there was a cloud of worry hanging over the family; nobody had heard from Harry, Ron or Hermione since the wedding. They had to assume, as her father had said, that no news was good news. After all, it would have been all over the Prophet if any one of the three of them had been found or killed.

It was a good thing, Ginny forcibly reminded herself. Her brother, the boy she loved and one of her best friends were off fighting for the greater good, and if they didn't do it, no one would.

Ginny rolled over in bed. There was no point in getting up, not really. They weren't giving/getting presents this year, except for the usual jumper. It wasn't safe to go out and all of the shops were shut anyway.

It was the first Christmas since before Ginny was born where the Weasley family weren't having a big get together. It was too dangerous to travel to different areas of the country – they were bound to be discovered and accused of being blood traitors, or taken in for questioning about the whereabouts of Ron, Hermione and Harry.

Bill and Fleur were at Shell Cottage, Fred and George were staying in the flat above the deserted shop, Percy wasn't talking to the family and Ron was... Well, no one knew where Ron was. It was only Charlie, Ginny and her parents at the Burrow this year. It would be a Christmas unlike any other, that was for sure.

XXXXX

Bill awoke to the sound of someone, presumably his younger brother, crashing around in the kitchen downstairs. Sighing, he rolled over and turned to face his wife, who was staring up at the ceiling.

"Merry Christmas," He murmured, more to the pillow than Fleur.

"Joyeux Noël," Fleur said back in her pure, French tongue.

"How long have you been awake?" Bill asked softly, brushing Fleur's cheek with the back of his hand.

Fleur glanced at the clock. "Around an hour."

"And how long... how long has he been down there?" He asked, indicating the kitchen.

"Since before I woke up."

"Today's not going to be easy, is it?" Bill said sadly.

"I zink not, no," Fleur agreed. Sighing, she threw the covers off her body and sprung out of bed with a grace Bill both admired and envied.

Bill watched her pull a fluffy, white dressing gown around her body and go into the bathroom before rolling over again. It was more than a little temping to pull the covers up over him and go back to sleep, and then deal with Ron later.

Groaning to himself, he kicked the covers away from him so they lay, deserted down the middle of the bed and half rolled, half fell off the bed. Not bothering to change just yet, he stole a quick glance in the mirror before heading downstairs.

He had been half-expecting to see Ron trashing his kitchen, with shards of glass and china all over the floor, so was nicely surprised to find his brother standing at the stove.

"Ron," Bill said. "What in the name of hell are you doing?"

"Cooking," Ron said brightly, avoiding Bill's eyes.

"But... why?"

"It's Christmas," Ron said, as if that explained his peculiar actions. "You cant' be without Christmas dinner, can you?"

"But we haven't got a turkey," Bill pointed out.

"I know," Ron said, setting about boiling some butter. "I'm making the best of a bad situation. It'll be fine, Bill."

"Right," Bill said, flicking his wand at the kettle, which promptly began to boil. "Tea?"

"Please," Ron nodded.

Bill smiled. Despite how odd Ron had been recently, even he could not refuse a cup of tea. Their mother was right; it really did solve everything.

Over the past few weeks, Bill had tried to make peace with the fact that Ron had left Harry and Hermione. As Ron said, there was no point sitting around regretting his decision when there was nothing he could do to rectify it. However, Bill was certain he could hear Ron sobbing during the night, shut up in the spare room under the illusion that nobody could hear him.

XXXXX

Molly bit her lip and closed her eyes against a cascade of tears as she made herself a cup of tea. It didn't feel right. It was Christmas morning, and there were only four of them in the house. The fact that she didn't know the whereabouts of two of her children and had no way of contacting the three of them that now lived alone often drew her sick with worry, and today was no exception.

When she was growing up, Molly had been taught that Christmas was a time for family. It didn't matter if money was low that year, as long as everyone could be together. What did she have now?

She snapped at herself to stop thinking like that, bustling around in the kitchen as a way of keeping busy. She looked over at the tree in the corner, sparsely decorated and with only three presents; the jumpers she had made for Arthur, Charlie and Ginny.

Charlie swearing as he stubbed his toe on the kitchen table alerted her to her son's presence. He came into the kitchen and smiled sadly at her.

Molly looked up at him, now much taller than she could ever hope to be, and reached up to brush his hair lightly away from his face. He screwed up his face in disgust but she merely smiled at him.

"Tea?" She asked him.

"Yes please," Charlie said eagerly, sitting down at the table and tracing circles with his finger.

Charlie sat at the table, nodding and agreeing with whatever it was his mother was saying, but he wasn't really paying attention to her voice. He knew this behaviour only too well. Molly was keeping herself busy, fussing about in the kitchen and talking at a ridiculously fast pace, her voice a little higher than usual. It was what people did when they lost someone they loved; kept talking and kept doing something, just so they didn't have to think about the loved one.

It was an odd sensation, having so few of them at Christmas, though Charlie had spent many Christmasses in Romania, without any of his family. Still, it didn't feel natural being around the Burrow without Fred and George putting fireworks under Percy's chair, or going outside and playing Quidditch with his siblings.

He sighed and accepted the tea from his mother. There was nothing he could do about it.

XXXXX

Bill, Fleur and Ron sat around the kitchen table in relative silence, eating their dinner (chicken soup which Ron had prepared) with only short lines of conversation drifting between them.

Bill studied Ron. He had run out of steam. He had seen his mother act like this when she was scared or worried about something; she would keep herself so busy that she didn't have time to think of anything, but by the end of the day would have both worn herself out and run out of things to do, so would just crumple on the sofa and not talk to anyone, mulling over her thoughts.

It wasn't a good technique for dealing with worries, Bill thought to himself. Ron was going to kill himself just going over and over the night he had left Harry and Hermione, and Bill decided there and then that, at some point during the day, he would confront his brother and get him to open up, rather than sit and watch the knowledge that Ron had left his two best friends kill his brother.

XXXXX

Later in the afternoon, Bill, Fleur and Ron sat in the small living room of Shell Cottage, each engaged in separate activities. Fleur was cleaning the shelves unnecessarily, Bill was engrossed in a book about Quidditch and Ron was busily staring into space.

Bill looked up from his book and coughed, catching Fleur's eye. After just six months of marriage, Fleur knew her husband well enough to know what the look meant. Mumbling her excuses, she left the room.

Bill paused, placing a scrap of paper between the pages of the book he hadn't really been concentrating on, and looked across at his brother, who was gazing at the ceiling.

"So, Ron," Bill said quietly, shifting in his seat. "You've been here almost two months now. Have you any idea what you're doing?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, not taking his eyes off the spot in the ceiling.

"Well... Do you want to talk about what happened the night you left Harry and Hermione?"

Ron didn't answer.

"Ron," Bill coaxed, sitting up and folding his arms across his lap. "You need to talk about it. I won't tell anyone, not even Fleur. But you've gotta share it, bro. It's eating you alive."

Ron closed his eyes. Slowly, he swung round in his seat so he was facing Bill, finally looking at his brother.

"In your own time," Bill murmured.

Ron took a deep breath. "It was stupid," He said. "I got splinched. I couldn't apparate, so, naturally, Harry got a bit... frustrated with me. I felt useless. More useless than normal, I mean. And, well... I was... I was sick with worry about all of you." He took a deep breath. Having a meaningful conversation with Bill was a first. "I suppose I got jealous of Harry and Hermione. They didn't have to listen to the radio all day, awaiting the seemingly inevitable deaths of their entire family. Hermione's parents are hidden away and safe in Australia, and Harry's are dead..."

"Ron!" Bill hissed, a threatening glare appearing on his face. "You didn't... you didn't tell him that, did you?"

Ron looked down at the floor, biting his lip.

"You idiot," Bill muttered. "You absolute pillock, Ron Weasley."

"Well I don't feel good about it!" Ron said defensively. "Now, do you want me to finish my story, or shall I stop whilst you sit there and judge me?"

Bill bit back a retort, and gestured for Ron to continue.

"Harry and I got into a fight after I said that. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth, I wasn't thinking... And then I left."

"That's it?" Bill blinked.

"Well... yeah," Ron furrowed his brow.

"Really, Ron?" Bill exclaimed jumping up. "I know we Weasley men aren't exactly famed for our tact but that really is poor."

Ron stood up to, taking a step towards his brother, who was at least four inches shorter than him. "I told you I regret it, didn't I? And, for your information, Bill, I'm going to find them!"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Bill sneered. "You're stuck here, Ron! You made your decision, and you left. End of."

"No, it's not." Ron said quietly. Though Bill was right, he had no way back. Sighing and blinking back the angry tears that were forming, he pushed past Bill and went back upstairs.

XXXXX

"I wonder..." Ginny said, looking out into the garden.

"What?" Arthur asked, studying his daughter.

Ginny sighed, and pressed a hand against the glass window. "I wonder what they're doing..."

"Don't," Molly said sharply.

Ginny spun around. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about them," Molly said simply, standing up and turning away from her family.

"Mum," Ginny said softly. "Mum, I –"

"Enough, Ginevra!" Molly shrieked. "Enough! There's no point in us sitting around here thinking about them, is there? No! So stop!"

Ginny gaped at her mother, her eyes blazing and glistening with tears. Mortified, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Ginny never cried in front of people, and the survival instinct she had adopted growing up with her brothers of not crying kicked in as she subconsciously stalked out of the room, running up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door behind her, falling to the floor just as the tears began to fall.

After a while, Ginny wiped her eyes and crossed to her bedroom window, looking up at the sky.

"Harry," She whispered, her voice thick from crying. "All of you," She pleaded. "Come home. Please."

Well, the probability of this being finished by Christmas is getting thinner and thinner, but ah well! I hope you like it , please review!