December 23...
Arthur, unable to contain his excitement, had been up at 6am and spent an hour or so roaming the house, trying very hard indeed not to get into any mischief. Not an easy task at all, and he was actually relieved when he heard George rise...no doubt his son fearing that he would inadvertently blow something up. If in fact muggle objects did such things...though they must. Alf had gone six shades of gray when he'd attempted to put the frying pan into the micro-crave last night.
George had put the coffee on and managed to get him a cup of tea, before beginning to assemble breakfast. Arthur figured now was as good a time as any...
"So...will this Michelle be coming to dinner for Christmas?"
George smiled at him from over his frying pan, where he was diligently working on strawberry crepes. "Subtle, Dad. Mom put you up to that one?"
"She did." Arthur made no attempt to deny it, though he pretended to be interested in the local paper. "I think she is both excited at the prospect of more grandchildren and absolutely terrified that her baby would be taken advantage of by some wanton woman. To paraphrase, of course."
George snorted back a laugh. "Yet she seems unconcerned that Charlie is routinely being taken advantage of by wanton women...quite willingly, from all that I can see."
"I think she's given Charlie up as a bad bet." He cast him a sly glance. "I don't hear you getting offended about the grandchildren remark, George."
Arthur watched with amusement at the blush that slowly spread over his son's face, even while he pretended to be obsessed with the proper plating of Breakfast. Finally, he turned back to his father. "I like her, Dad." He said softly, suddenly unable to meet his eye. "A lot."
Arthur felt a warmth rising in his chest. He'd had the happiest of marriages himself...albeit one not without its share of drama. That was the nature of the times in which they lived. And nothing made him happier than knowing that his children had made happy marriages as well. Bill and Fleur, totally wrapped up in each other. Percy and Penelope...who else but Penni could have seen through Percy's fussiness and moods? Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Harry...both matches seeming to have been formed by destiny itself. Charlie, he didn't worry about. He was the real wild one in the bunch, always had been, and one day he would find someone to tame him, though Arthur doubted it would be for some time to come.
George had been a worry. George, always so much more sensitive, so much more a homebody, than most people knew. George, still mourning his twin, seeming hesitant about letting anybody in, and with physical scars to boot. Well, after the boy'd told Arthur about what Angelina had really done, that was less surprising, but still, Arthur had wanted desperately for his gentle son to find a soul mate. Alf was terrific, a complete boon to the family and to George in particular, but children grew up and moved on, or at least they did if you were any kind of parent at all.
"So, can I take that to mean that she WILL be joining us for Christmas?" Arthur said, allowing George some time to recover from his embarrassment.
"Yes...along with Rufus, the wonder dog." George said, relaxing on seeing his father not becoming too crazy about the whole thing. "She's coming over on Christmas Eve...was quite charmed when I told her we traditionally decorated the tree that night..." George's blush returned. "She will quite probably not be going home."
Arthur sensed George waiting for some kind of explosion, which might very well have come had Molly been there. But Arthur wasn't going to do that. First of all, George was quite clearly a grown adult and this was his house; and secondly, he knew his son. The fact that the relationship had escalated to this point merely told him that George considered it quite serious indeed.
"And have you bought her something?" Arthur asked, watching George's color return to normal.
"I have!" George hesitated, and then got up excitedly and ran to the cupboard, pulling out a small box. Opening it, he showed Arthur proudly a pair of exquisitely crafted earrings, spirals of gold that ended in a single jewel, which was emerald. "She has green eyes." He added, by way of explanation.
"Perfect, George!" Arthur said, holding them out at arms-length.
George exhaled, as if he had passed some test. "I think so...I mean, I wasn't sure jewelry was really appropriate...we've known each other as friends since I moved here, but only been seeing each other a few weeks...still...anything less seemed wrong."
"I am sure she will love them." Arthur closed the box gently, and looked at George once more; his son had suddenly become pensive once again. "She clearly has excellent taste."
George managed a smile. "You're biased." And then, as he sat down and sipped at his coffee, "Do you think it's a bad thing that she's a muggle, Dad?"
Arthur nearly choked on his tea. "Good lord, Son...ask ME that question?"
George chuckled. "Oh, I know how you are about muggles...still, living in a world of fair play and magical-muggle unity is one thing, and having one of your kids marrying one is something else!" And he sighed. "Really, that wasn't exactly what I was asking, anyway...I mean, do you think it can work? It has been hard on me, these past months, living this life, even though I've made the best of it. Could SHE be happy living out of her own world?"
Arthur looked at George, so serious, so worried. He smiled at him with reassurance. "If you had to keep living this way, would you make the best of it, for Alf's sake?"
"Of course I would!" George answered, immediately.
"Right. Because you love him." Arthur didn't say anything else, but let that sink in. "Remarkable food, son...if you're not careful, your mum will pass on the responsibility for family meals to you."
George snorted, although he seemed pleased both with the compliment and with Arthur's common sense response to the situation with Michelle. "So, Dad...care to come tree shopping with Alf and I this morning? If you're good..." He teased. "We can stop at a muggle diner for lunch!"
Arthur laughed. "You are enjoying this far too much, Georgie...but yes, let's get you a tree!"
WWWWWWWWW
December 23, England...
Ron Weasley was exhausted.
He'd been thrilled, moved beyond belief, when George had asked him to take over the store, had given him partnership. There wasn't much in this world that could have meant more to him than that, and he cared, so much, about doing George proud, of making sure he never regretted his generous decision, that he was near to working himself to the bone to ensure that the store was doing well.
It was doing beyond well, actually. They were earning record profits. Ron knew that he'd never be the creative genius George was, but he was a damned fine businessman. And periodically George did send him little ideas, notes for future products, questions on what the customers seemed to be buying most of. His letters were also filled with high praise for the financial reports Ron sent along, words of encouragement, and then many, many stories of George's muggle life and the amazing things that were happening around him.
But Ron didn't really believe George. There was a part of him that felt like it wasn't more than a pat on the head, "Nice job, Baby Brother." Surely George couldn't actually be that happy with the job he'd done?
Ron had always been last. The baby. The sixth son of seven, the one who looked above him and saw three prefects, two head boys, a quidditch captain and a pair of the most irrepressible pranksters known to humanity. They'd all been good students, all been talented in a variety of ways, even Percy. Ron had never felt like he'd fit in.
When he was little, all he'd wanted to be was a twin. A part of Fred-and-George. They were closest in age, and usually seemed to have more time for him, even if that time had been taken up in pranking him. And they always had each other, never without a friend and a partner in crime. He'd have done anything for them, even covering up when one of them (or both, more likely) got into trouble. He would have willingly made that unbreakable vow just to be a part of them, and had been beyond upset when they'd been punished, afraid that they'd never forgive him. (He'd been shocked that they seemed to be nicer to him after that, although they went after Charlie with a vengeance).
When they'd started the joke shop, it had killed him with envy. He talked about being an auror, and indeed, he'd wanted to fight Death Eaters and protect his family. But the joke shop...that made him practically drool. He could see doing that for the rest of his life, in a time of peace, with happy families exclaiming over unimagined merchandise. But he didn't think Fred and George would ever let him near the place, except as a customer.
And then Fred died, and everything changed.
He had been devastated, had cried bitter tears to Hermione at losing Fred, and at what he knew it was going to do to George. He thought he might understand the two of them better than anybody else, and could feel the deep, black despair coming from George in waves. And it was Hermione who had urged him to be strong for George, to cry to her but to be his brother's rock. She'd never complained about the missed dates and the hours Ron spent caring for his brother, never done other than encourage him when he pushed George into the lab, helped get the shop up and running, made sure that George kept a purpose in life.
When George had asked him to work with him as a manager, just a year after Fred's death, it had been everything he'd ever wanted. When George just last August had made him partner, it had flummoxed him. It seemed wrong, somehow, to have gotten where he was because Fred had died.
So he worked, and worked, and worked...twelve hour days and more...because he wasn't going to screw this up.
He'd locked up for the evening...the last few days before Christmas were always insane, and the store was a shambles. It was only to clean up a bit, and then maybe do the books...and perhaps, then, prepare for tomorrow...that he was still there. So it surprised him to hear the magical doorbell ring.
"Closed!" Ron yelled, looking towards the glass. And then he came up in surprise.
Draco Malfoy was looking through the window, and waving at him to be let in.
He went to the door, and hesitated. Grimly he thought that if somebody'd have told him he'd be doing this when he was at Hogwarts, he'd still be laughing. With a sigh, he opened the door. "Sorry, er...Draco...we've shut up about an hour ago."
"And yet you're still here, I see." Draco walked in, peeling fine leather gloves from his hand. "I wanted to pick up a special toy for my son...Ron..." He emphasized the name. "But more than that, I wanted to have a drink with you. If you'll accept."
"I...you...what..." Ron muttered, uncomprehending.
Draco smirked. "I hardly expected to be able to render you speechless any longer. Come, it's been a long time since we were at school." He came over to the counter, and produced an exceptionally fine vintage of firewhiskey, the sort of stuff that cost easily four or five hundred galleons. "From what once was my father's private stock. He loved his whiskey collection more than he's ever loved me, which is why I am taking great joy in sharing it with you."
Ron actually laughed, then, and, tired as he was, he figured what the hell? Draco was helping Alf, after all; George would no doubt approve. He conjured up a pair of ice-filled glasses, and Draco poured.
They toasted each other in respectful silence, and Ron savored the exquisite brew. Draco seemed to be studying him carefully, but he didn't care...Ron had always considered himself an open book.
"So..." Draco spoke with great thought. "Two days before Christmas, and it's 8pm, and you're sitting alone in a store in Diagon Alley?"
"I know." Ron shrugged. "It's a lot of work, this place is, and I don't want it to go to seed at all. A lot of responsibility now I'm partner."
"I can imagine." Draco nodded. He leaned forward on one elbow. "George a tough boss then? Real slave driver?"
"George?" Ron chuckled lightly. "Nah, he's terrific...working with him is hardly work at all, no matter how busy we are."
"Ah. But it's different now, with him not here?" Draco asked.
Ron frowned, not quite sure what Draco was getting at. "Well, a bit more work for me, but Percy's come by when he's been free, and Verity is doing a great job managing the Hogsmead branch, but I just feel so much more responsible."
"Mmm." Draco ran his finger thoughtfully around his whiskey glass. "Will it shock you totally if I tell you I've always been envious of your family?"
Ron nearly spluttered out his drink, but that would have been too sad a waste. "Geroff."
"Is it so surprising? I mean, I know I behaved a complete prat towards the lot of you, but you have to remember I sorted in to Slytherin for a reason. Cunning is a useful tool, Ron. Behind it all, though, who would have preferred my family over yours? I never saw my father, he was too busy with whatever business it was he claimed to have, and when I did see him it was rarely pleasant. My mother went from tea to nail appointment to shopping without giving me a thought. I had no brothers, although I had every proper toy money could by. Fat lot of good it was when you were alone." Draco gave a theatrical shrug. "And by the time I got to Hogwarts I knew the only way I could please my father was to take the dark mark. You can't imagine..." Draco's eyes were momentarily haunted. "Well, no I guess you really can't, can you? Your family is so damned supportive of each other it used to make me ill."
Now Ron was watching Draco curiously. "Look, water under the bridge and all that, I suppose. But I don't really understand why you're telling me all this. Do you want to bring Scorpius by to the house, so he'll have a playmate himself? Fine enough with me, you know...and Rosie would probably enjoy it too..."
Draco looked momentarily taken aback. "Thank you. That's...unexpected. But not my point. Actually, Ron, I'm here because, well, frankly I think you've forgotten what makes you a Weasley."
"Excuse me?" Ron snorted. "What, Red hair?"
"Family." Draco became serious. "You do recall that you have one?"
Ron pulled up quickly, glaring. "I beg your pardon, Malfoy?"
Draco matched him. "Weasley...you do realize that I have seen your wife more in the past week than you have in the past month?"
Ron felt jealous rage boil within him. "If you even consider touching her..." He sputtered out.
"Oh for God's sake..." Draco rose. "Hermione has been in love with you from the moment she set foot on Hogwarts grounds...it was the worst kept secret in our year, except from you, idiot." He crossed his arms before him. "What I am trying to tell you is that she misses you. That she knows you want to work hard to prove yourself to George, but that she is at home with two small children, still working part time for the ministry, trying to help me find a cure for Alf, and she misses you. Can I be any more exact?"
"And she told you this, did she?" Ron seethed.
"Not out loud. Some of us can see between the lines. Some of us always could." Draco suddenly deflated. "I would still give my right arm to switch places with you, sometimes. I go home at night to a criminally insane father, an iceberg of a wife, and a vacant mother. Only my son gives me any hope at all." Draco shook his head. "Hermione wants you, Ron. But you're not there. And just like the Yule ball, someday she'll be tired of waiting for you if you're not careful."
Ron was nearly trembling with rage. "I have a job to do. Hermione knows that. She's always known that."
"Of course she does." Draco snapped back. Then, forcing himself to stay composed, he asked more pointedly. "Tell me, Ron, if Alf weren't forced into hiding, if George were here, where do you think he'd be right now? Performing unnecessary clean-up on a store that will be in chaos by 10:05 tomorrow morning? Going over exceptional numbers in pristine books to discover a half sickle variance? Or out in the snow, playing with his son? Here, or at your mother's house helping trim the tree? Working himself to death, or enjoying every moment of life that he has?"
The words hit Ron with the force of a two-by-four, and he blinked. "But...but I don't want to let him down...you don't understand..."
Draco relaxed, and poured another round. "I think maybe you don't understand." He shrugged. "Hermione told me with such pride about George making you partner. He didn't do that because of your business acumen, although no doubt it helped. He did it because when he needed a friend, a brother, you were there for him. I don't think there is anything you could do that would let him down. The business is running well, is it not?"
"Well, yes, we're up 75 from last year..." Ron mumbled.
Draco started to laugh. "I think I can safely say that you won't be disappointing George!"
Suddenly the absurdity of it struck Ron as well. "Blimey, when I actually say it out loud..." Ron found himself laughing too. "Hell...I'm a fool."
"Welllll..." Draco drawled out slowly. "Not that I'm suggesting anything, but as your wife and I were leaving our last research meeting, we went past Riquelli's Jewelers, and I noticed her eyeing a necklace with a mystic topaz in the center..."
Ron mulled that over. "With a 75 increase in revenue, I could do diamonds."
Draco smirked at him. "My wife would insist on diamonds, Ron, because of what they cost. Yours wants topaz because she thought it was a beautiful necklace."
Ron found himself blushing. "Right...right...She's never been about the money." He rose suddenly. "You wanted something for Scorpius, you said..." Ron darted away to an aisle of stuffed toys, specialty items for the toddler set. "This one's Rosie's favorite..."
He handed Draco a stuffed dragon, cartoonish in feature. The eyes glowed and when hugged it gave off a little puff of light smoke. But more than that, it sang, happy, clapping songs when it sensed the child was playful, gentle lullabies when the child was tired, and soothing songs when the child was upset.
Draco's eyes lit up. "It's brilliant, Ron." He whispered, picturing Scorpius' face when he brought it home.
"Tell George it's brilliant...of course, he has more than his share of willing guinea pigs in his nieces and nephews." Ron smiled genuinely. "But it's even better than brilliant...here..." He passed Draco a medallion with a dragon on it. "That's the best part. Once the toy bonds with your son's magic, if he's in any danger...fire, wayward pomegranate carts, you get the idea...this medallion will actually roar. Parent's best friend, that is."
Draco immediately dug for his wallet, but Ron stopped him. "On the house, Draco."
Draco paused and studied him. "What happened to the sharp business man, Ron?"
Ron laughed. "He just drank about a hundred galleons worth of your firewhiskey. Now let me get out of here...the jewelers are open until 9pm and I can just get there before it closes."
WWWWWWWWWW
December 24
George was trying, very hard, to ignore the commotion that was coming from the living room. He was hard at work on a set of sweet potato pies with a pecan maple topping that he planned on sending back to England as a surprise for his Mum, with a little help from the American ministry. He was nearly finished, but the background noise was frankly starting to worry him.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Alf and his Dad get the tree ready by themselves?
Not that there was much to get ready. He was holding off on the decorations until Michelle came over that night. And the tree itself was very nearly beyond help. He hadn't realized that muggles had the tendency to put their trees up earlier than Christmas eve. Heck, he'd thought they'd been jumping the gun buying the thing on the twenty-third, until he'd gotten to the tree farm and all he, Alf and Arthur could find was the most pathetic specimen of evergreen imaginable.
"Amazing!" He heard Arthur exclaim. "One goes out, they all go out!"
Alf answered with a giggle.
He's going to electrocute himself...and then what do I say to Mum? "Dad, if you injure yourself, I swear I will get Mum over here to deal with you herself!" He called out.
"Of course, George." His father answered him back. "I'm sure she'd love the opportunity to meet Michelle."
George felt his face flush, and he rubbed his forehead vigorously.
"Ooooh, look...it flashes! And different colors! How did they figure that out?"
"Careful, Gramps...you're tangled up."
"What about this extra plug? Doesn't it need the ekkeltricity too?"
"No...see, you put another string in the end here and then..." Alf's voice faded out.
"AH! Brilliant! One feeds the other..."
Oh, bugger this! I knew I shouldn't have let the two of them go to the store together. That morning, Arthur had bemoaned the lack of holiday accoutrements, and Alf had suggested they head to the local department store. George had protested needing to finish his pies, and Arthur had, rather sternly, informed him that he'd been driving since well before George was born and could certainly handle a seven block trip. Alf had chimed in that he would be on hand to take care of the money issues. It was with a sense of defeat that he'd tossed Arthur the keys to the car.
They'd been back an hour now, Alf merely sticking his head in the kitchen to say they were handling everything and George should just finish his pies and not worry. Which of course, made him do just that.
With a sigh, he dusted his hands off on the towel, slid the last pie into the oven, and headed, with some trepidation, into the living room. "What in the blazes are you two up to..."
George came to a sharp stop and stood, open-mouthed, at the scene before him.
It was like the living-room exploded...there were festoons of flaming red shiny garland everywhere, and hanging wall decorations on every square inch of space, ranging from bells to some kind of red-nosed animal to a variety of St. Nicks. A whole row of candles blazed on the mantle, and a moving, four foot figurine of a snowman became animated as he walked in, doffing his top hat, and shouting, for some reason, "Happy Birthday!"
But that wasn't what had him stunned.
Arthur...his FATHER...was in the middle of the room, covered, himself, in what seemed to be over a thousand mini-lights. Some flashed rapidly, some slowly, and some not at all, in a multitude of colors. Alf had the other end of the string and was beginning to wind it into the...tree?
"Dad?" George said weakly. "The tree...what did you DO?"
What had been about four and a half feet of scraggy pine, was now a magnificent spruce, lush and full, the top of which was just enough shy of the ceiling to permit a tree topper.
"It'll be great when we're done..." Alf beamed at him.
"There's more?" His voice went up a decibel at the last word.
"Now, George..." His father's voice was soothed, in the same way George had seen him try to manage Molly, and he felt his blood pressure rising rapidly.
Before he could say anything, Alf spoke rather timidly. "Dad?" His voice was just a tad weak. "Don't you like it?"
George deflated, looking at Alf's imploring face and his father's excited one, and he gave up, going over to his son. "Need help with that, kiddo? We should probably start from the top down..." He grabbed his son about the middle and lifted him up to his shoulders. "Argh...you're getting heavy!"
Alf giggled. "Your cooking!"
Resigned to spending the next week in a Las Vegas Christmas nightmare, George gave in and laughed as his father spun on the spot to unwind the multitude of lights as Alf took care of getting them around the tree.
WWWWWWWW
That afternoon, as a courier from the ministry of magic waited, he added a brief note in with his pies for Molly...
Mum...just wanted to send these over to you. I understand that you are rather skeptical of my ability to keep Alf well fed, despite Charlie's reports, so I'd hoped that these would put your fears to rest.
More than that, though, can I just say I finally appreciate the forbearance you showed throughout my childhood in not hexing all of us...including Dad...into oblivion?
Love you...and miss you all.
PS...take my advice...never leave the Christmas decorating in the hands of a ten year old and his electricity-obsessed Grandfather!
