A/N: Happy Holidays! (It's a week to July, we can call this an early Christmas in July, can't we?)

This was my Christmas chapter, featuring, for the first time, Watts, who is still one of the hardest characters for me to write in-character. I think a huge part of Watts' characterization is purely physical acting on the part of Daniel Maslany and trying to convey that through writing is hard for me, but I try my best. I hope it shines through a bit.

Thanks for reading, enjoy! Season's Greetings, I suppose!

George's socks were wet. A trickle of snot threatened to drip down his nose, and he kept having to sniff loudly to keep it at bay. The snow crunched underfoot. His hands burned from the cold. He shoved them deeper into his pockets.

Despite the cold, a warmth bubbled in his chest. Green trails of holly curled around lamp posts, red and gold garlands strung up on every house. A twinkling rainbow of lights lit up the streets, not hung up with wires or cords like the Christmas lights he'd seen back home. These were tiny orbs of light floating in the air all on their own, and every now and again, they would shoot up into the air and explode like little fireworks. He couldn't help his smile.

A hand ruffled his hair. "Better than muggle decorations?" Thomas Brackenreid smirked, folding his arms across his chest.

George nodded. "It's amazing," he said. He was loving his first trip to Hogsmeade. He'd never been to a wizarding village before, except for Diagon Alley, but he'd been so excited there that he couldn't take everything in properly. He only wished he had more than a few hours to spend in Hogsmeade before he had to leave.

Julia beamed. "You should see the decorations at my house," she said. "My mum's pyrotechnics are much better than these ones. She makes the fireworks look like little snowflakes." Her giant, fluffy Father Christmas hat slid down in front of her eyes, and she pushed it up with annoyance.

"That's way cooler than any of the lights back home," said George. "They're all just electric lights on houses."

"That's it?" asked Murdoch, his eyebrows raised. "No fireworks? No stars? No enchanted reindeer statues?"

"Well, there is that house down the street with the tacky inflatable Father Christmas on the roof…"

Thomas shook his head, smiling. "Muggles," he said. "I'll never understand them."

"Well, what do wizard families do for Christmas?" asked George.

Thomas chuckled. "Probably about the same as you, Crabtree, the holiday's still the same."

"Okay, well, how about your family?"

Thomas shrugged. "Church in the morning, presents after dinner, the usual." He pushed his hands in his pockets. "My grandparents usually come over for dinner, and we have turkey and potatoes and Yorkshire pudding." He swung his arms. "My family's simple, nothing too fancy at my house." He eyed Murdoch. "What about you? What happens in the Murdoch house for Christmas?"

William cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We used to have a big celebration, with dinner and lots of guests, but since my mum died…" He scratched the back of his neck. "My dad's not one of those holiday people, so it's up to me and my sister." He smiled. "There's a forest behind our house, and there's this little fir tree. Every year after Mass, Susannah and I decorate it with popcorn strings and things, and we give each other gifts."

"Aw," cooed George and Julia in unison.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Murdoch breathed a sigh, a cloudy puff of air releasing into the sky. "It'll be different this year," he said. "Susannah's staying at her boarding school over the holidays, so…" he shrugged. "We'll see what happens this year."

They walked past a large conifer strung with glittering golden garlands. Enchanted candles poked out from among boughs of needles.

Julia gazed up at it, her face lit up by a faint, Mona Lisa-esque smile. "At my house," she said. "We bake gingerbread men and decorate a house." She giggled. "My dad always enchants the cookies so they move around. My little sister Ruby used to try to catch them running around on the counter." She brushed her curls out of her face. "Afterwards, we go outside and my mum sets up a magic fireworks show for us. She does Quidditch pre-shows and things, so it's marvellous."

Thomas nudged George with his elbow. "What about you, Crabtree? What's a muggle Christmas look like at your house?"

George grinned. "Well, last year, all my aunts and I went to a movie theatre— that's like a big theatre where they show moving pictures— and we watched Star Wars…" He tapped his chin. "Which is this movie about people in space with laser swords and spaceships and robots and things. I'd never seen it before, so my aunts took me to see it. It's a really cool movie, I especially like the part where—"

Murdoch cleared his throat.

"I wasn't going to spoil it, don't worry." George smiled.

"So is that your tradition?" asked Julia. "Your parents invite all your aunts over and you have a party?"

George froze, his hands flying to grab his scarf. "Um… yeah," he said. "My parents invite all my aunts over." He forced a smile.

George wasn't the type to keep secrets. He wasn't great at it, and usually, no matter how hard he tried, he'd end up sharing them anyway. But the one secret that he had never told anyone at Hogwarts about was about his parents.

At muggle school, everyone always knew without him having to tell anyone, and everyone always looked at him differently because of it. The worst part was that the kids at school never knew the whole truth, and they would ask him about it and he'd always have to explain. He hated explaining.

"How many aunts do you have anyway, George?" Murdoch asked. "It feels like every time you talk about them, you're talking about a different one."

"Fifteen," said George. "But there's a few more who don't live with us, but they come around every now and again."

"Are they all your mum's sisters or your dad's?"

George hesitated, sucking in his cheeks. "A little bit of both," he lied. "My m-mum and dad both have big families."

"But there's just you?" asked Julia.

"Yup." George sucked in a breath. "Just me."

Thomas laughed, ruffling George's hair. "They had you and figured they didn't want to deal with another Crabtree, eh?"

George ducked out from under his hand, his heart aching. "Yeah," he said hollowly. "They didn't want that." The annoying voice in his head whispered, they didn't want YOU.

The four of them stopped outside of the train station. The tracks were empty, but the station was bustling with life. Students in Hogwarts uniforms milled about, clutching bags and suitcases, ready to go home for the winter break.

Brackenreid glanced at his watch. "We still have two hours before the train leaves," he said. "What do we want to do?"

Murdoch leapt up, placing a hand on George's shoulder. "George has never been to Honeydukes," he said.

"I've never been anywhere in Hogsmeade before," George pointed out.

"Exactly," said William. "Which is why you need to see everything. Starting with Honeydukes, the best sweet shop around."

"Well." George scratched the back of his neck with a shrug. "I like sweets."

Murdoch led them through the aisles of Honeydukes, pointing out the best sweets. Brackenreid bought a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and they had a good time sampling beans.

Murdoch's lime green bean turned out to be grass flavour, not exactly pleasant, but not awful either. Julia picked a light yellow bean that ended up tasting like cheese, which she was pleased with. Brackenreid's purple bean tasted of lavender soap, leaving everyone curious as to how exactly he knew what lavender soap tasted like.

George picked a bright orange one. "I can't think of anything that's orange that doesn't taste good," he said, popping it into his mouth. He instantly made a face.

"What is it?" asked Julia.

Grimacing, George swallowed. "Butternut squash," he groaned.

"Well, that's not bad!" cried Brackenreid.

"When you've had my Aunt Ivy's butternut squash soup," said George. "You'll never be able to eat the stuff again."

Brackenreid passed him the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "Here," he said. "You can share it with your family."

George took it, a mischievous grin forming on his face. "I'll try to give my aunts bogey flavoured ones," he said wickedly.

Chuckling, Thomas clapped a hand on George's shoulder. "Write me an owl and tell me how your mum and dad react to them."

George's eyes went a little bit wide, his cheeks flushing. "Right," he said. His smile returned to his face, perhaps more forced than before. "I'll try to save the vomit flavoured ones for them."

Once they were finished at Honeydukes, at Murdoch's suggestion, they moved to Zonko's joke shop, where Brackenreid nearly got his nose bitten off by a teacup. They visited Tomes and Scrolls, a tiny book shop where Murdoch and Julia geeked out over leather bound volumes while Brackenreid and George tried to find the thriller or paranormal fantasy sections. From there, they went to the local branch of Ollivander's wand shop, where they played around with wands. They were kicked out after Thomas accidentally broke a shelf after waving a willow wand.

Outside the shop, Julia glanced at a clock tower a few blocks away. "An hour and a half left," she said. "What should we do next?"

"No trip to Hogsmeade is complete without a trip to the Three Broomsticks," said Brackenreid. "Crabtree, have you ever had butterbeer?"

"Yes," said George. "You've brought me bottles of the stuff loads of times."

Brackenreid shushed him. "No, I haven't," he said. "That's illegal and against the rules. " He smirked. "I'm a prefect. I would never break the rules." He waved the crew forward. "To the Three Broomsticks, then?"

"Wait!" cried William, holding his hands out. He cleared his throat. "Erm, you all like Quidditch, don't you? Why don't we go look at the sporting shop? Last minute gift shopping?"

Brackenreid raised an eyebrow at him. "We only have ninety minutes, Murdoch, we can't do everything."

"I know," said Murdoch. "But this won't take long. Besides," he shrugged. "Shouldn't we finish off at the Three Broomsticks? End on a high note?"

Thomas shrugged. "All right," he said. "You're usually right on things like this."

On the outside, Spintwitches Sporting Needs looked like a tiny little shop tucked away in a corner, but once they stepped inside, they realized that it was almost as big as the Gryffindor Common Room. The walls were lined with racing brooms of various colours and models, dragon's hide gloves, and various Quidditch balls bouncing around in cages.

"Wow," said George, staring in awe at the brooms.

Brackenreid and Julia were equally breathless. "Wow is right," said Julia, skipping across the store. "Look at this!" she pointed at a handsome black broom, with a sleek design and tight, neat hairs. "A brand new Comet 290!"

Thomas nodded. "It's nice," he said. "But look at this!" He gestured towards a dark, fiery red broom with hairs that stuck out in all directions like a porcupine. "A real, genuine Nimbus 1000," he breathed. "First ever racing broom to reach 100 miles per hour." He sighed lovingly. "Percival Giles has one, you know, one of the Ravenclaw chasers? I'd give my left arm to try one out."

"Well, you don't have to give your left arm," said George, examining the price tag. "This one's going for a mere 950 galleons."

The others laughed.

"That's more than I think I've ever gotten in my allowance," said Brackenreid.

"Do you all even understand wizarding money?" asked George. "Because I can't handle these exchange rates. Seventeen knuts in a sickle?"

"That's seventeen sickles in a galleon," corrected Murdoch. "And twenty-nine knuts in a sickle. It's quite simple, actually."

Brackenreid shook his head slightly. "It's really not."

"What's muggle money like?" asked Julia.

"Well, it's pounds," explained George. "And then there's p, too, pence, I mean. There's one hundred pence in a pound." He shrugged. "That's about it."

"Does it really come in paper?" Julia adjusted her hat.

"Fives, tens, twenties and fifties are in paper," said George. "Those are pounds. And you can get one pound and two pound coins too. The rest of the coins are p's."

"But that's so easy."

"Isn't that sort of the point?"

Julia shrugged. "I suppose wizards keep money complicated because it makes it more important somehow."

Murdoch wandered the aisles, looking at broom servicing kits, considering if he should get one for Julia, when he tripped over something on the floor. William flipped head over heels, landing in a heap on the ground.

"Apologies," said a hoarse voice. A hunched, skinny figure rose up from the ground. "I suppose I should have warned you that I was crouched down on the ground."

Murdoch rubbed his head, sitting up. "It's all right," he said, looking up at the person he had tripped over. His eyes narrowed with recognition. "Watts?" he asked incredulously.

Llewellyn Watts, the clumsy second year from Murdoch's potions class brushed his brown curls out of his eyes. "Oh, Murdoch," he said. "Hullo."

"I didn't know you liked Quidditch."

Watts looked confused. "I don't." He said.

"Then why are you here?" Murdoch frowned, waving his hands around. "This is a sporting goods store."

"Oh is it?" asked Watts, distractedly. "I hadn't noticed." He sniffed. "I'm looking for my toad, have you seen it?" He held his hands about half a foot apart. "It's about this big."

William shook his head. "I haven't seen any toads around." He pushed himself to his feet. "Sorry."

Watts looked disappointed. "I need to find it before the train leaves," he said. "It's my sister's toad; she'll kill me if I've lost it." He shook his fingers through his hair. "Wait!" He lit up suddenly, looking at Murdoch. "You're a detective, aren't you?"

"Sort of," said William. "I've solved a few mysteries here and there."

"Well, here." Watts gestured his hands around. "Mystery! The case of the missing toad! You can help me find my toad."

"Well, we're actually in a bit of a—" He stopped suddenly. His cheeks flushed slightly pink, and he smiled. "Sorry, never mind. Yes, of course I'll help!"

Watts' eyes widened. "Really?"

Murdoch nodded. "In fact," he said, motioning for Watts to follow him. "I'll get my team on it too."

His 'team' was not very happy about that.

"Murdoch, we don't have time!" Brackenreid groaned, glancing at his watch. "We've only got an hour left before the train leaves, and there's no bloody way we can find a toad in an hour."

Julia bit her lip. "Look, I love a good mystery as much as you do, William, bt we just don't have the time."

"We won't have time if we keep talking in here." William put his hands on his hips. "Besides, Watts has to catch that train too, and he can't do that without his toad, can he?"

Thomas crossed his arms. "Last time I checked, a toad isn't a life or death priority."

"But it's important to Watts," said George. He moved to stand next to William and Watts. "I'll help."

Julia looked at the floor. "Sorry," she whispered to Brackenreid, shuffling over to the others.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Thomas sighed deeply. "It better take five minutes at most to find that bloody toad, or else I might throttle someone."

Twenty minutes later, Thomas Brackenreid wanted to plunge his head into a brick wall. "Aren't toads supposed to be cold blooded?" He asked, trudging through a snow bank.

"They are," said Julia, who was his search partner.

"So, statistically, shouldn't the toad be dead at this point?"

"Actually, toads hibernate, I think," she said. "So, it's probably not dead, just sleeping somewhere in the snow."

"Perfect," Thomas grumbled. "That's so much better." He kicked up a small pile of snow, turning to Julia with a frown. "Do you think Murdoch seems a bit… edgy to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Thomas folded his arms. "He keeps jumping in with things to do."

Julia shrugged, brushing some snow off of her knees. "He might just be excited," she said. "It's nearly Christmas break."

"Murdoch doesn't get excited," Brackenreid said pointedly. "Not about normal things like Christmas. Besides," he glanced at his watch. "He definitely knows that we're almost out of time. Why does he keep suggesting things for us to do? It's almost like he's trying to make us late."

"What kind of toad is it, again?" asked George.

"Natterjack toad." Watts dug a hole in the snow and peered inside. "All brown with spots and a yellow stripe down its back."

Murdoch scanned the snow for holes. "We checked the sports shop, Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop… You haven't been in any other shops today?"

Watts shook his head. "Which means he must be hibernating in the snow."

George watched him dig. "What's his name?"

Blinking at him, Watts stopped digging in confusion. "What's whose name?"

"Your toad."

"Her," corrected Watts. "She's a girl toad. Her name is Athena. She's my sister's."

"I didn't know you had a sister." George aimlessly packed a handful of snow into a ball and tossed it against a building. "What house is she in?"

Watts looked down. "She… doesn't go to Hogwarts."

Murdoch frowned. "Is she a squib?"

"No." Watts shook his head. "She just… doesn't live with us right now."

George blinked. "What's a squib?" He asked.

Murdoch opened his mouth to explain, but Watts beat him to it.

"You know how wizards can come from muggle families?" He asked, standing up and clasping his hands together.

"Yes." George said flatly. "That's me."

Watts nodded slowly. "Well, a squib is a muggle who comes from a wizard family."

Murdoch glared at him. "Squibs are not muggles," he said. "Muggles are people who don't know about the wizarding world. Squibs know about magic." His older sister Susannah was a squib, and he often felt the need to jump to their defense because of her.

Shrugging, Watts bent down and began digging again.

"Oi!" Thomas and Julia jogged across the street, waving at them.

"You haven't found it?" asked Julia.

George shook his head.

Brackenreid checked his watch. "We've got forty minutes before the train leaves," he said. "I think it's time we go grab a quick Butterbeer and then get on the train."

"No, wait, please!" Watts looked down at the snow with a sniff. "I… I need to find my toad. She's my sister's, and…" He wrapped his arms around himself. "I need to keep her safe for when my sister comes…" He paused. "When my sister wants her back."

George's heart twinged. He didn't know Watts, and he didn't know what had happened to his sister, but it was pretty obvious she wasn't around for one reason or another. George knew what that felt like. He knew what it was like to have someone important leave him, and he knew he'd do anything if he thought it would get them back. "Can't we look for a few more minutes?" he asked. "I've had butterbeer before anyways."

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Crabtree," he said. "We talked about this, we won't indulge every single one of your humanitarian whims. Remember the spider?" He shuddered. "I remember the spider."

"His name is Webster!"

"I don't bloody care what its name is." Thomas waved his hand. "The point is, we drew the line at the spider. We won't drop everything for every little pity project you find. Just because it's a cute toad lost and alone—"

"This isn't a pity project," insisted George. "This isn't about the toad." He looked at them with huge, pleading eyes. "Please, can't we look for a few more minutes?"

"Yes, Brackenreid, a few more minutes," said Murdoch.

Brackenreid crumpled at George's sad, puppy dog eyes. "Fine," he said. "Five minutes, and then we run over to the Three Broomsticks, understand?"

George nodded, refusing the urge to run up and hug him. "Thank you," he said.

Thomas sighed. "Five minutes."

"Thank you," said Watts to George, about two minutes into the search.

"Don't mention it," said George. He shrugged, slowing down so that the others ahead of them would be further away. "I know what it's like."

"You know what it's like to lose a toad?"

"I know what it's like to lose a person." George looked pointedly at him.

Watts flushed, hunching his shoulders even more than usual. "Clarissa isn't gone," he said. "She's out there somewhere, and she'll come back."

"I know," said George softly. He swallowed. "My parents left one day." His fingers curled around his scarf. "So now I live with my aunts."

"But they'll come back one day," said Watts. He was trying his best to be reassuring. "...Just like Clarissa."

George nodded. "Yeah."

The boys smiled humorlessly at each other. They were silent for a while, Watts scratching his head and George clinging tightly to his scarf.

"You're Crabtree, aren't you?" Asked Watts.

George nodded.

"Murdoch talks about you sometimes in Potions." Said Watts.

"How are you in his potions class anyways?" Asked George. "Aren't you a second year?"

Watts rolled his eyes. "Apparently, I aced every exam in first year, so Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick decided I needed a challenge and put me in third year Potions, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts." He huffed. "I am definitely challenged now, all right. Every Gryffindor in Defense Against the Dark Arts wants to pound me, every Ravenclaw in Potions thinks I think I'm smarter than they are— I don't," he added. "And the Hufflepuffs in Charms act like I'm their little baby brother who needs help with everything and can't think for himself."

"Boy, do I know how that feels," George said. He jerked a thumb at the others. "They're always treating me like a baby."

Watts smiled. "Well, you are sort of a baby," he said. "To them."

George glared at him. "I'm almost twelve," he said, even though his birthday was months away. "And twelve is practically a teenager."

"And Brackenreid is fifteen," he said. "Murdoch and Ogden are thirteen. You're a little kid to them."

George crossed his arms. "I could tell them to stop looking for your toad at any time, you know."

Watts shrugged. "Well," he said. "Maybe it isn't that important."

"What, not that important that I'm a baby?"

He shook his head. "Not that important to find my toad," he said. "I suppose…" he paused, swallowing. "I suppose Clarissa wouldn't exactly know if I got a different Natterjack toad. They do all look almost the same."

"But… the toad… if you let the toad go, then…"

Watts shrugged. "It isn't as if finding the toad would magically make her appear, and leaving the toad wouldn't force her to stay away forever."

George looked down. "I… I suppose."

Grinning, Watts shoved his hands in his pockets. "Oh, UGH!" He yanked his hand out, shaking it in the air in disgust.

"What?"

"Something slimy in my pocket," said Watts, rubbing his fingers off on his robes. "It's all right, probably an apple I left in there too long or something."

George stared at him.

"What?"

"Watts, your toad."

His eyes widened, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a grumpy-looking, Natterjack toad. He stared at it for a few seconds. "Ah," he said. "That's where I put you."

Brackenreid nearly strangled Watts when the toad was revealed, but Julia talked him out of it, and the crew made their way to the Three Broomsticks to grab a quick glass of Butterbeer before their train.

Murdoch leapt in front of the others as they tried to sit down at a table. "You don't want to sit there," he said. "Wouldn't a booth be nicer?"

Sliding into a booth, they drank their Butterbeer. Thomas guzzled his mug down in three seconds flat, Julia sipped hers delicately but quickly, and George drained his glass, sporting a white foam moustache on his upper lip afterwards.

Watts gulped his drink down, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. He rose to his feet. "Well, this has been wonderful," he said. "But I have to go. If I go any later, I'll miss the train, and my godparents will kill me if I miss Hanukkah."

George waved goodbye as he left.

Brackenreid eyed Murdoch. "You better finish that quick," he said. "Train leaves in ten minutes."

Murdoch took a sip from his nearly full mug of Butterbeer. "We'll make it on time," he said. He didn't meet anyone's eyes.

Five minutes later, Murdoch's glass was still brimming with Butterbeer, and the others were growing increasingly anxious, glancing at the clock on the wall, tapping the table with their fingers or bouncing their legs up and down.

William sucked off a thin layer of foam from the surface of the glass.

Brackenreid threw up his hands, sliding out from the booth. "Right," he said. "Sorry, Murdoch, I can't stay. I'm not going to be late for Christmas."

Julia flushed as she stood. "Sorry," she said. "But he's right, if we don't leave now, we'll miss the train for sure, and it's the last train today."

All their eyes turned to George.

He hunched his shoulders, looking down at the floor as he dragged himself to his feet. "Sorry," he said. "It's just… it's Christmas and…" He bit his lip. "Bye," he said. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," said the others, turning around slowly.

Murdoch stared down at his drink. He clenched his fist, shaking his head. Don't. He told himself. Just don't.

His hand reached into his pocket, feeling his wand.

Don't.

He pulled it out.

DO NOT.

He wet his lips. "Avis," he whispered, flicking his wand.

What followed was pure chaos. A massive flock of pigeons exploded from the tip of his wand with a loud blast, spreading throughout the pub like enormous evil snowflakes. The birds got straight to work pecking guests, stealing food and defecating all over the floors.

Thomas and Julia yelped, ducking underneath a table.

George was late to react, and a rather large pigeon with an iridescent purple ruff around its neck dropped a splattering bomb on his head. It looked like cottage cheese. Grimacing, he dove under a table, his hand reaching to touch it but deciding against it.

Madam Rosmerta, the owner of the Three Broomsticks, stood staring at the scene in shock, her mouth agape. A bird landed on her shoulder.

Finally, a short old wizard with a pair of round glasses on the tip of his pointy nose waved his wand and all the birds disappeared with a flash. He looked very stern, his gaze darting around the pub. "Which blithering idiot cast the Bird-Conjuring charm?" he asked.

Julia's eyes widened, and she glanced at William, who was shrinking down in his seat. She smacked Thomas to get him to pay attention, but he was looking out the window in dismay.

"The train," he said.

She looked.

Out the window, the bright, tomato-red locomotive puffed out of the station, a cloud of white steam trailing behind it as it sang a farewell whistle.

Madam Rosmerta was not at all pleased when William confessed to casting the charm. She set him to work cleaning the remaining bird poop off of the floors, and put a formal warning on him, which meant if he ever was the cause of another disturbance again, he'd be banned from the Three Broomsticks for life.

After sending owls to their families explaining that they'd missed the train and that they'd be late coming home, Thomas, Julia, George and William pooled their money to pay for a room to sleep in for one night at the Hog's Head Inn. Julia wanted to stay at the Three Broomsticks, but Thomas told her not to push their luck with Madam Rosmerta.

They only had money for a room with a single bed, but the clerk had been nice enough to give them three extra pillows and blankets free of charge. Their room was slightly bigger than a closet. The walls were a pale vomit yellow, with rough, creaky floorboards and a dusty old sofa that looked like it hadn't been washed since the Middle Ages. In the corner was a large spider's web.

Everyone agreed that, being the youngest, George should get the bed for the night. He pulled up the mattress and the covers to check for bed bugs before sliding in.

"It's not too bad," he said, shifting around to try to find a comfortable position. "The sheets are pretty scratchy, but all in all, it's all right."

"Right," sighed Thomas. "Who wants the sofa?"

Julia folded her arms. "I don't want to sound rude," she sniffed. "But I think that you or I should have it, considering we are the victims here."

William, sitting in the corner, studied the spider web and didn't say anything.

Brackenreid ran a hand down the side of his face. "You take it, Ogden," he said. "Girls shouldn't have to sleep on the floor."

"Neither should boys," mumbled Julia, but she took the sofa.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," said Thomas. The only bathroom with a sink was a two minute walk down the hall. He stopped in the doorway, peeking behind him. "If I'm not back in five minutes, organize a search party."

"I'll go with you," said Julia, getting to her feet. "I'll make sure no one murders you in the hall."

As the door closed behind them, there was a terrible, awkward silence for several moments. George squirmed under the scratchy sheets. They felt like burlap sacks. It was like lying on top of an ant hill.

William poked at the spider web with his wand silently.

George sighed. "Why did you do it?" he asked. When Murdoch didn't say anything, he went on. "Did you just want to ruin Christmas for us?"

Murdoch's eyes went wide, and he leaned against the wall. "I didn't mean to ruin things," he said quietly.

"Well you did." George glared. "Because of you, I'm missing my Aunt Primrose's soup, and they might think I don't want to come back and then they'll send me—" he broke off suddenly, hiding his face in his blanket.

William stared at the floor. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to ruin your plans. I just thought…" He sighed, letting his legs fall to the floor. "I just wanted a few more minutes with you all. My sister's away at boarding school this year and it'll be just me and my father, and…" He swallowed. "I just wanted a little bit more time to spend with you guys before I had to torture myself with my dad." He groaned, gazing up at the water-stained ceiling. "But I ruined everything. I even ruined the time we had together in the first place." He sighed. "I'm a horrible person."

Taking a deep breath, George uncurled his fists. "I lied to you," he said after a moment. "I… I don't spend Christmas with my parents. They don't… I don't live with them anymore. They gave me up when I was a little kid. My aunts aren't really my aunts, they're just my foster family. I didn't tell you earlier because I thought you would…" He bit his lip. "Because you would think it was weird."

Murdoch stared at him with eyes the size of lollipops.

"But," George went on slowly. "You know, it doesn't really matter who you're with. Christmas means whatever you want it to mean. It doesn't have to be the same every year for it to be special. Last year, I went to the movies with my aunts, and the year before that, I was at a different foster home and I didn't even know them." He shrugged. "Christmas is weird. It's the darkest, coldest time of the year but we make it feel warm and happy. Watts and Julia celebrate it and they don't even believe in Christmas."

Murdoch blinked.

"I guess… what I mean to say is…" George smiled. "I don't have a proper family, but, if you want, you can come to my aunts' house for Christmas and celebrate with us."

William smiled. "I'd like that," he said.

"Aw." Julia and Thomas stood in the doorway, watching the scene play out in front of them.

William blushed. "How long were you standing there?" he asked.

"Long enough," said Brackenreid, smiling. "I forgive you for releasing a flock of demon pigeons in a pub, Murdoch. Just don't do it ever again, or I swear I will grab you by the back of the neck and push your head through a Potions textbook."

William nodded. Regardless, he wouldn't dream of doing that ever again, but this gave him extra incentive. That threat seemed way too specific to have been improvised.

Julia smiled. "I'll send you a Christmas card," she said. "And a present. I was going to anyways, but I'll make sure to make it extra nice."

"Thanks," said Murdoch.

Thomas folded his arms. "Oh, well, I suppose if you wanted to, the invitation is open to join the Brackenreids for our Christmas eve feast."

"He's coming to my house for Christmas day, though!" called George. "I already called dibs."

Later, after almost an hour of swapping Christmas stories and sharing traditions, Thomas stretched his back, smiling. He elbowed Murdoch, nodding towards the bed.

George was curled up in the brown blanket, fast asleep.

Brackenreid shook his head, grinning. "I'd almost say that's cute," he said.

Murdoch nodded, watching him breathe gently. He would look forward to spending Christmas day with George and his 'aunts,' and Christmas Eve with the Brackenreids. He'd be watching every single day for Julia's owl.

George was right, Christmas was weird. Christmas was, beyond the religious traditions, little better than a collective delusion that the world suffered from every year. Winter isn't warm and bright, people aren't naturally giving or generous, and candles in trees are actually a pretty big fire hazard, but every year, the world believed otherwise. The weird thing was, everyone believed that delusion, and that almost made it true, didn't it?

William smiled. He wasn't upset anymore about Suzannah not being here for Christmas this year. His old traditions with her were fond memories, but he would have to make new ones this year. He lay down on the hardwood floors, wrapping himself in a scratchy blanket. He looked at Julia, snuggled on the sofa, and at Thomas, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes, looking forward to what the morning would bring.