Well, this is awkward... I'm back. Finally.
Mistaken Assumptions
It was just past dusk by the time George finally arrived at the Burrow.
His tall, gangly form appeared with a pop just outside the gate, a scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck and a small travel case in his hand. For as long as he possibly could, he made excuses about why he needed to stay later at his flat - citing his need to fill the last minute Christmas orders before he left, then his need to repack his things just once more... but after most of the day had passed, he could put it off no longer and he was forced to gather up his things and apparate to the house he had grown up in.
As he looked at it now, he wanted to think of it as home. But he couldn't. At best, it was the house his mum and dad occupied alone now that most of their children had grown up and moved elsewhere. At worst, it was a reminder that anywhere he lived would never again be "home."
Even before he started walking towards the house, the front door opened and he saw the plump form of his mother standing in the entryway, framed by the light coming from the kitchen. The ancient clock had obviously alerted her to his arrival.
"George, dear," she greeted, waving him on. There was genuine delight in her voice to see her son.
"Mum," he replied, opening the gate and walking up the short way to where his mother stood. His greeting was calm, but held distinct warmth. After all, he had missed her.
Molly had her hands on his hips when he finally reached her, but her stance was welcoming regardless. "You certainly took your time."
He gave her a half-hearted smile that was not at all like the crooked grin he used to give her. "Sorry, mum. I let the time get away from me."
She returned his smile with one of her own, reaching out to pull him to her, hugging him. Her hold on him was tight - as if she were frightened he would leave her. This was not missed by George, who wrapped his arms around her easily, rest his head on top of hers and just held her. They stood like that for several moments.
Once she had pulled back to look at him, she brushed at a few stray tears on her cheeks. Then the smile that had been on her face faded slightly as she looked him over. He was thin - too thin. And his eyes... he looked like he hadn't been sleeping much if at all. She knew if she commented on it, George would brush it off so she merely smiled and held her tongue - for once.
"Well you're here and that's what matters," she replied instead, a moment before ushering him into the house, which was as warm as he had remembered it being.
Upon entering the kitchen, he resisted the urge to look at the clock that hung just to his right on the wall. It was the same clock that had alerted his parents to his arrival moments ago... and the same clock that now only showed twelve faces when there should've been thirteen.
It seemed to him that the urge to look grew harder and harder to ignore each time he visited. He kept thinking that maybe if he looked at it, he would wake up from this nightmare he'd been living in for a year. But the knowledge that nothing would ever make things how they were kept him from doing so. Nothing would bring his old life back. Nothing.
Before he could delve too far into the thoughts that had been constantly plaguing his mind over the last year, someone spoke to him.
"My, you're deep in thought," the soft, feminine voice commented airily.
George lifted his gaze from the table, where his eyes had been focused for a while; looking, but not really seeing.
The large grey eyes that met his brown ones didn't surprise him - after all, he had expected to see her, but they did catch him off guard. For some reason, he hadn't noticed how similar her eyes were to the patronuses they had spent so much time casting in Dumbledore's Army together.
Luna smiled slightly, looking whimsical as she stared at him, unblinking. "I'm sorry. Did I interrupt you?"
It took a moment, but George shook his head, his lips quirking slightly in the beginnings of a smile that never came. "No, it wasn't important," he began. "How are you, Luna?"
She continued to smile as she spoke. "Your mother has made me feel very comfortable here. Except for the mistletoe. I've warned her about the nargles, but she hasn't taken them down yet..."
Molly briefly looked over her shoulder at them from where she stood, preparing the treacle pudding for dessert. George saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and decided to humor her.
"I don't think Mum understands the damage nargles can do," he informed Luna. "I'll try to talk some sense into her."
Though Luna should've been pleased by the words, her expression didn't change as she looked up at him. It was a bit eerie, really, the way she just smiled and stared. It almost seemed like she could see everything about a person just by looking at them. It was unnerving.
"Thank you, George."
He gave her the slightest of smiles. "It's the least I can do."
Pleased with her son's conversation with the Lovegood girl, Molly turned back to preparing the dessert. She was hopeful that her scheming with Hermione would work out in the end, but it was difficult to tell just yet.
Meanwhile, Luna continued staring at George in her dreamy way until he finally excused himself to go find either Ron or Bill.
Within just a few moments of leaving the kitchen, he found Bill and Fleur in the living room, hanging stockings.
"Finally," Bill greeted, giving his brother an easy smile . "Mum's been going mad. She was about ten minutes from sending us to drag you out of your flat by force."
"If I would've known you were making Ron wait until I got here to eat, I would've gotten here sooner," he began in response as he looked about at the room, which was covered in more Christmas decorations than he had ever remembered. "I'm sure he's been bloody unpleasant."
His older brother chuckled lightly. They all knew their youngest brother often got cranky if he didn't get to eat when he liked. "Hermione locked him in his old room after an hour. It was unbearable."
At the mention of rooms, George remembered that he would be staying in the room from his childhood, the room he had shared with...
"Alright there?"
His attention snapped to Bill. "Me? Fine. Just tired."
Tired. One of his many excuses. Bill knew that, but he didn't press. It was George's favorite thing about his brother; Bill never pressed.
"Your father has zee firewhiskey in zee kitchen," Fleur offered, trying to be helpful as she waved her wand about in order to continue decorating the fireplace. "Maybe it vill cheer you."
George gave his sister in law a slight smile and a nod of acknowledged thanks. "Maybe I'll give it a try in a second. For now, I think I'm just going to go upstairs. Wash up for dinner."
The pair nodded in understanding as he turned and left the room.
He let his feet lead him around the house of their own accord, heading up, but not in the direction of the bathroom. By the time he realized where he was, it was too late. Looking up from the floor, he saw his bedroom door.
The sign that they had put up the summer before their sixth year was still there, warning anyone against sudden entry, and there was still a bit of the door charred off from an experiment gone wrong. It was exactly like he remembered it - as if he had just left yesterday.
Lifting a hand up, he pressed his palm against the wooden door and felt a pang in his chest. "Mischief managed..."
I'm so sorry if it's terrible. I wanted to update so badly... and I tried very hard to make it match the last chapter, but it was hard. I hope you guys like it!