I went all flashback on you guys! I thought the idea was cute. And clearly I don't know how fireworks work?
And now, we've traveled back in time~ :)

Hit the review buttons, guyz, you know you wanna! :D

"Go on, you try."

I closed my eyes, filtering through all my memories for a sufficiently happy one; I found it after a bit of digging. It may not be my happiest, but it'll certainly work in the current circumstances.

"Expecto Patronum."

The memory worked: my Patronus, a falcon, spread its wings from my wand, making a lap around the room before slowly fading away, sending the room back into darkness.

As I waited for George to find his happy memory, I listened in on the conversations I could hear throughout the house: in the rooms below us, I could hear Ginny going on about wedding plans with Hermione Granger - it was strange, to think of Ginny getting married, even to Harry Potter - and above us, Mrs. Weasley spoke to her husband on the very same topic.

"Okay, I think I've got it," George said, pulling me back to what we were doing.

"All right, go on then."

He recited the spell, flourishing his wand with determination, but found no better results than he had in Diagon Alley.

"I don't understand why this isn't working."

"Maybe you aren't concentrating. Or maybe it's the memory."

"Well, what memory did you use?"

"My first Christmas here."

George smirked to the ground at the mention; he had rather fond memories of that holiday as well. How couldn't he? The twins gave me my best Christmas that year.

"Let me try again."

The winter of our fourth year, I spent my first Christmas holiday at the Burrow; I had grown tired of Malfoy's constant spew of blood-status while my hypocrite father agreed with his every word. Plus, I realised that any time spent with the twins was far better than could be spent at home. I owled my family shortly before holiday, saying I was staying at Hogwarts to finish up some extra classwork. It was a half-arsed excuse, sure, but it got me out of Christmas at Malfoy Manor. My presence would hardly be missed.

The twins had fully prepped Mrs. Weasley for my arrival, though I'd already been at the Burrow countless times in four years, and their mum knew me better than my own.

"Mum will probably go mental because of your hair. You've been warned," Fred told me as we made our way off the train.

"You're overreacting, Freddie," George said, scoffing.

"Have you met mum recently, Georgie?"

Sure enough, the second Mrs. Weasley spotted the three of us, she rushed up to me, playing with my hair.

"What did you two do this this poor girl's hair?"

While Fred said, 'I told you' to his twin, George said, 'it's quite a good look, no?' to his mother.

"It becomes her, doesn't it?"

"She could be a Weasley!"

During a run of experimental pranks, a Colour-Change Charm gone wrong turned my originally jet black hair into the same fiery-red of the Weasley's, and Mrs. Weasley stared at the colour hesitantly.

"I do hope you can change this back. You looked beautiful with your original hair," she said to me. I looked down, trying not to look overly embarrassed.

"Of course," the twins said in unison, but with matching smirks that said they had no intentions of changing anything.

"Now, where's Ron and Harry?"

"Oh, didn't we tell you?" George asked, feigning shock and doing a rather good job of it.

"So sorry mother. Ron was being a right git, so we decided to lock the lot of them in their compartment. They'll circle around on the Express for a while, I'm sure somebody will find them eventually."

"George!"

"I'm Fred."

Mrs. Weasley wasn't amused in the slightest.

For the first time, I spent a holiday without one person slandering every half-blood and Muggle-born family to have ever come into existence, without painfully hypocritical everything, and experienced a family that actually cared for one another, even if Fred did charm a series of spiders to chase Ron up the stairs. I saw a family gathered around a large Christmas tree, opening gifts, talking about absolutely nothing, just being an actual family. A family that, contrary to my hair colour, I wasn't a part of, yet one that went out of their way to make me feel as if I were; Mrs. Weasley even knitted me my own Weasley sweater, in a deep blue, matching the color of my Ravenclaw house. For all intents and purposes, I was the eighth Weasley kid that night.

But, of course, Fred Weasley being Fred Weasley, he couldn't have a quiet, boring holiday, oh no. That was against his very nature in every way. He had to do something to spice it up, to create mayhem, just a little of it. He dropped one of their very temperamental and experimental fireworks from the second floor, and when it hit the ground, it set everything within a mile of where it landed in a magical fire. It didn't ruin anything - the most it did was create the mayhem Fred needed and cause quite a panic amongst the family - but Mrs. Weasley was absolutely furious, driving the younger twin into his room with a loud string of clearly empty threats, with George and I laughing like maniacs while we set off another of the fireworks by their broom shed.

I'd never gotten such a scolding in my life, their mother saying 'I am at the very end of my rope with those two! And now they've dragged poor Camila into this!' as she spoke with rest of her family after locking us in the twins' room.

Fred and George were curled together on one bed, laughing like they've never seen or heard anything funnier in their life, and I watched them, thinking how it was the best Christmas in the history of Christmas.

I hadn't remembered falling asleep, but George shouting his brother's name at an unnecessarily high octave woke me, and I looked around, fully expecting to see Fred's ghost hovering around the room.

"What is going on?"

"I know why I can't cast a Patronus," George said solemnly.

"Why's that?"

"Every happy memory I used to cast a Patronus before was a memory with Fred. Now every time I look to one of those, I can't see past him lying lifeless on that stretcher in the Great Hall. Even your memory..." he trailed off, inspecting his wand. I knew what he was talking about. The reason that memory was happy was solely because of the twins: Fred and George trying their damnedest to actually lock Ron in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express; George holding a twelve-year-old Ginny on his shoulders as we walked through King's Cross, Fred ahead of them, dramatically announcing their arrival to every Muggle in sight; the way Fred had clung to his brother's shirt as they went mental laughing. I knew what it meant to George, I knew that they were all moments he'd never get back and never get again. And I knew it dug him deeper into himself with every passing moment.

It was clear; George was never going to get over Fred's death, not really.

After I sent him off to bed, and waited a decent amount of time, I crept over to where he slept restlessly on the couch, stretching the chain of the Time-Turner so that it was around George's neck as well.

He had made true to his promise, he had tried, but it'd take far more time than George had to begin feeling better about himself. I wasn't going to wait around for him to make another attempt on his life.

I spun the hourglass once, hearing Hermione's voice inside my head, telling me that altering a time-line could have disastrous, even dangerous effects. Could alter the future in a way that would put all of us in danger. How I could just be delaying the inevitable, temporizing until the events that previously occurred came to pass once more, with a more pivotal impact. Turning the hourglass for a third time, the world spun in a backwards cycle around me, erasing everything that had happened in the last year from history. It was too late to change my mind now.

What was danger if it made George whole again? What is a little disaster to the masters of disaster themselves?