Point of No Return
It was an early November evening when George apparated to the Burrow. Night was already draping itself over the land, but the western horizon was still light blue. A few stars twinkled against the darkening sky.
It was cold. An icy wind blew over the fields, and George drew his cloak tighter. He was early for the traditional Sunday dinner. At first, he hadn't wanted to go, but then he had pulled himself together, put on a nice shirt, and Apparated over.
Sometimes, George couldn't handle how his mother still fussed over him, how Percy threw him careful glances, and how Bill's eyes narrowed if he only as much as looked at the Firewhiskey. He hadn't drunk anything for almost a year now. Katie's words, their reprimand, the parting echo of their final real exchange, had managed to wake him up. But when he had realised what he really wanted, it had been too late.
That was him – always too late, always missing the perfect moment. Fred had been much better than him at that.
George opened the front door quietly because he wanted to surprise his mother. He had expected to be the first to arrive, but when he approached the kitchen, he heard soft voices talking. Female voices.
His breath hitched in his throat. That was not Ginny. Carefully, he edged forward, avoiding every creaking floorboard with the ease of familiarity. What was Katie doing here?
George peered around the corner and saw Katie and his mother sitting around the table, steaming mugs of tea before them. Katie's face was covered by her hands, but the quiet shaking of her shoulders told him that she was crying. His chest constricted painfully. One part of him wanted to run to her and hug her, while the other one wanted to hear the exchange.
"Shh, it's all right, dear," his mother was just saying, petting Katie's arm. Molly seemed to always know what to say and what to do when one of her children was in distress. George admired that about her. It almost seemed like magic to him. And, indeed, her comforting skills worked on Katie too because, after a few seconds, her stifled sobs subsided into quiet sniffles.
"I tell you what, dear," Molly continued with a smile, "why don't you spend Christmas dinner with us?"
Inadvertently, a low gasp escaped George's lips, and Katie's head snapped towards him. She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time; then she rubbed her sleeves over her face and turned to Molly. "It's too early to start talking about Christmas," she said in a clipped voice. "Thanks for the tea, Molly." Then, Katie leapt to her feet, her movements jerky and clumsy, and reached for her coat.
"But, Katie …" Molly protested, her eyes wandering between her and George.
"Goodbye," Katie said quickly and made for the door.
"Katie!" George called after her, but she didn't stop. He could kick himself. Finally, he'd had the chance to talk to her and he'd ruined it again. "Katie, wait!"
Frosty air hit his face when he dashed out the door after her. Katie was walking briskly towards the garden gate, her coat pulled tightly around her. His longer legs made short work of the difference, and he managed to catch her before she reached the gate. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around, disregarding the way she tried to tear away from him.
"What's going on?" George asked, his eyes searching her gaze.
She eyed him coolly. "I just needed some advice."
"Is it about …" his voice quavered a little, "Jonathan?"
Her gaze grew even icier. "That's none of your business."
"So you're still dating that jer–"
Katie cut him off. "Yes, I am. Isn't that what you wanted me to do? Find a boyfriend?" Her voice was bitter, almost reproachful, her face blank, a façade. Then, she turned on her heels, stomping towards the gate once more.
"It's bloody not what I want if he makes you cry!" George retorted. Yes, she was right – those words, about her finding a boyfriend, had slipped from his lips one fateful night almost a year ago, but he hadn't meant it. Not really. Of course, he had only realised that later when she was already gone.
"It's not about him!" Katie shouted back over her shoulder. But George knew she was lying. Her voice always skipped a few octaves when she told a lie. Besides, Ginny had disclosed to him that she had found Katie twice in the locker rooms of the Holyhead Harpies, crying her eyes out. Katie wouldn't tell her what it had been about, but Ginny guessed they'd had a fight. George also knew that that Jonathan guy had kept Katie waiting in a restaurant for hours because 'he'd forgotten about it'. Apparently, it had happened more than once. That was all Ginny would tell him.
"Why won't you talk to me?" George's voice cracked. He hated that he never saw Katie anymore, that she avoided the joke shop as if it harboured the plague, and that she excused herself quickly, if he managed to catch her on the street.
Finally, she stopped and spun back towards him. "I am talking to you."
"No, you're not," George contradicted, drawing level with her. "You're avoiding me. Aren't we friends anymore?"
Katie took a small step back. "Of course, we're friends," she said without inflection. It sounded so much like a lie that George flinched.
"Why won't you tell me, then?" he asked, softer.
Katie crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine," she huffed. "Walk with me?"
George nodded, and together they walked down the small garden path that led towards the large field they used as a Quidditch pitch. His breathing was loud in the silence of the night.
Just when he thought Katie wouldn't say anything further, she cleared her throat and mumbled, "Angelina won't visit over the holidays." She paused, letting the news sink in. "She promised me she would, but now she says she doesn't have time. And I understand that. It's just … I wanted to see her so badly." Her voice broke. "I thought I could visit her, but I can't afford a Portkey to New Zealand." Katie picked up her pace, her feet crunching the frozen grass underfoot. "I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up," she mumbled, throwing George a sidelong glance.
"I could –" he began, but Katie shook her head.
"It's okay. I – I'll go another time."
Their steps found a steady rhythm on the ground as they continued walking in silence. Their breath gathered in white clouds in front of their faces. It would have been peaceful, if it weren't for the tension between them.
"Is that why Mum asked you to stay over for Christmas?" George asked finally.
Katie shrugged, her shoulders stiff, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat.
"Aren't you staying with J-Jonathan?" George dared to ask, squinting at her.
"No," she replied primly. "He's staying with friends. They've already booked a flight to Tenerife. I'd told him it was no problem since Ange was supposed to come. But – well, you know. Now she isn't coming."
George looked down at the path in front of him. They had almost rounded the house. "Can't he cancel his trip?"
Katie shrugged again. "Don't ask me about Muggle flight policies."
George stopped and stared at her. She stopped too when she noticed he was no longer following her and turned back to him, confusion painted on her face. Katie looked a little too lost, a little too sad, standing there in the garden, for him to let it lie. "You can come to the dinner, you know," he said. "Don't stay away because of me." He attempted a smile. "It'll be fun. Mum will make enough food to feed an army, and Dad will wear one of those paper hats for the whole day. Percy will engage you in a fascinating conversation about the thickness of cauldron bottoms or the appropriate length of quills while Bill will hide all the scissors before Mum gets the idea to cut his hair." He shook his head fondly at the thought, even if the weight in his chest for Katie's mournfulness still ached. He continued with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. "Then Ron will fight with Hermione about the lines of a Christmas carol, and Ginny will be too cheery and over-excited the whole day to cover up that she'd rather sit in her room crying while Harry will change from being gloomy to beaming at everyone in a heartbeat. Sound exciting?"
Katie took a step towards him, and the light of the house illuminated her face. "What will you do?" she asked, scrutinising him.
"Probably trying to stay away from the eggnog," George said, attempting a laugh that didn't quite work. Katie pulled a face.
"Are you – I mean, should I –?"
"I'm fine, Katie," he reassured her quickly. "No drinking, I promise."
She swallowed. "Okay." She turned and continued walking along the path.
George watched her for a moment, pondering his next step. Then he lurched into motion, hastening after her. "Does that mean you'll show up?" he asked, jogging to catch up to her.
"Christmas is still a month away," she answered without looking at him. "Who knows what'll happen before then."
"Please, Katie. Please come!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Hurriedly, he added, "It'll be no bother. You practically belong to the family."
George felt her looking at him, but he didn't dare to meet her gaze. He feared he might say something inappropriate, like 'dump that git of a boyfriend and date me instead'. It was the last thing he should say right now.
When Katie finally spoke, her voice was so faint, he almost didn't hear it. "I'll think about it."
George nodded, finally looking at her. When he met her gaze, she forced a smile her on her lips. Then she nodded back. "Goodbye, then. Until Christmas."
And before he could say anything else, she was through the gate, leaving him standing in her wake once more, feeling like a prize idiot.
*Written for the Houses Competition, Round 8*
House: Ravenclaw
Category: Short
Prompt: "It's too early to start talking about Christmas,"
W/C: 1, 710
*waves* I know it's kinda pointless, but - please review?
