A/N: Hello! I think a few of you were confused by my last author's note. I'm not abandoning the side stories, I'm just halting them for the Christmas chapters. Once Christmas is passed (which should be in the next 2-3 chapters), I'm returning to them. Okay? Okay! Carry on!

This is Christmas and

This is home

Peace on earth's been

A long time coming—Curt Smith

Katie hummed happily as she and Michael continued to string popcorn on the twine they had found in the attic. They were sitting around the family Christmas tree, which had until that day remained mostly bare, and were listening to the wireless while sucking on the candy canes Aunt Elizabeth had prematurely stuck in their stockings. It had been a nice day, starting with a huge pancake breakfast at which everyone had stuffed themselves and Liz, Michael, and Katie had meticulously cut snowflakes out of paper that Meda had provided. It was a noisy, cheerful affair in which Liz had instructed the children to disobey their mother's explicit instructions when her back was turned. With a little help from a few handy charms, the three had made beautifully intricate renditions of Father Christmas, holiday hippogriffs, and even a house elf with a wreath around its head. Meda was in ecstasies over her childrens' ability to perform so well without the aid of magic; Nicolas only raised his eyebrows from where he was still flipping pancakes into the air.

Now, their parents were gone to do some last minute holiday shopping and as Elizabeth was out to dinner with Daryl again, the two siblings were comfortably enjoying the fire they had going as they worked. Outside, the air swirled with sleet and rain.

"When do you think it's going to give in and snow properly?" Katie asked her brother, momentarily dropping the popcorn. "It is December 22."

"Never," Michael easily replied. "It's Essex, love. Since when does anything go right here?"

She sighed and after a pause, her brother added hesitantly, "Charlie says it's snowing in Devon, though. Should be a good metre-and-a-half by the time we get there."

Katie made no outward sign that she had heard him except to cast her eyes downward. She reconcentrated her efforts on stringing the remainder of the popcorn onto the twine and furrowed her brow. Michael, after observing her for a moment, did likewise.

"By the way," she said in a tone that made it obvious she was attempting to dissipate the heavy air that had suddenly settled in around them. "How was your last night out with Alicia? You never said. And she was looking daggers when you two left the flat."

"Was she?" said Michael carefully.

"You know she was."

He sighed. "Yeah, she was. I don't know why, though…she seemed upset that I'd bought a new broom."

Katie looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah, I thought it was a bit odd."

"Are you sure she wasn't just taking the piss?"

Her brother gave her a look. "You know she wasn't."

Katie sighed. "Well, she definitely didn't look like she was, you're right. So go on, then. How was the rest of the evening?"

Michael shrugged noncommittally. "It was alright, I suppose. She was still a bit out of it. Didn't seem to laugh at my jokes as much, or want her mates to meet me…"

Katie rolled her eyes. "No one laughs at your jokes," she reminded him. "And that's just Alicia for you—I think she was always slightly ashamed to introduce me and Lee and the twins to her Prefect friends at school. She thought she was a little posh at times, I expect."

He just nodded, still musing. After a moment, he continued.

"I think 'Lic is grieving more than she's allowing herself to believe…" he said sensibly. "She likes being the level-headed one of you girls, I think, and so when she feels shaken, it's that much worse. Probably doesn't help being tucked away in that cabin in the middle of nowhere with just her parents for company either. They don't understand what she's going through."

Again, Katie fell quiet. When Michael looked up, she was staring into the fireplace.

He hesitated. "Kates?" he began. "Katie?"

She turned to look at him.

"Look," he said slowly. "Mum and Dad have asked me to tell you…well…that the Weasleys owled us two days ago. Asking if we wanted to come early on Christmas Eve before dinner to—to visit Fred's grave. With them."

Katie's breath hitched in her throat. It was almost imperceptible, but Michael caught it.

"It would be up to you," he added.

Feigning unconcern, she took up the popcorn string again and was silent for several seconds.

"Katie," he tried again gently. "I know you don't want to think about it, but—"

"It's fine," she answered quietly, dropping her work and drawing her legs beneath her in order to stand up. "We'll go."

"Are you sure?" he pressed quickly, getting up to join her. "We could just—"

"I'm sure."

It wasn't a short tone, or a particularly angry one. It was simply resigned, touched with a bit of sadness.

Without another word, Katie moved toward the stairs and stood leaning against the rail for a moment to steady her breathing. So there it was then, she thought. It was actually happening. The dull ache that she had been carrying around in her heart suddenly flared up again; sutures that had taken months to put in place were ripped clean without warning, leaving the wound as raw as it had been when she first sustained it. She felt the old grief bubble up in her throat, suffocating her, consuming her. Fred is eight months gone, a small, cruel voice whispered inside her mind. And you're alone.

Alone.

(To visit Fred's grave.)

She grasped for the ring that hung around her neck, her fingers bumbling around the small silver band.

(With them.)

She felt herself falling, fading away. The wave that had swept over her was now taking her hostage, leaving her groundless and groping for land. She waited for the tide to recede—and then Michael put his hand on her shoulder.

"Katie, you've got to let us try and help you—" he began. But he was cut short by the door slamming open, and two couples hurrying inside amidst endless shopping bags and boxes.

"Michael!" Nicolas roared, without looking up at his children. From the hallway where they were standing, only his eldest son's back was visible from the corner of his eye. He hurried to the couch where he set down a rather heavy looking box. "Your mum's got me an early Christmas present, and you'll never guess what it is…"

"It's a keyboard!" interrupted Meda, now crowding around her husband. "Just like in the old days, Mikey, can you imagine? Do you still remember any of your lessons?"

Michael hesitated in the hallway, looking back at his sister. Katie stepped further into the shadows.

"Just go," she whispered. "Tell them I've gone to bed."

"Kates—"

"Please."

"Doesn't matter if he does, Meda my darling, I'm not giving this up for the world tonight," Nicolas shouted from further into the sitting room. "And Liz is going to sing for us all!"

"I'll do no such thing," Elizabeth protested falsely. "You interrupted my dinner date over that silly thing and insisted on dragging us home. The least you can do is let me listen to the instrument in peace."

"Oh settle down, baby," Daryl said in his smooth Chicago accent. "Let's hear that sweet voice of yours."

Katie gave Michael one last look. "I just need a bit of alone time," she said firmly.

He nodded. "Alright," he said. "If you're sure."

With that, she disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom, but not without first gazing down for a few moments over the railing. Only one short inquiry passed as to where Katie was—Michael gave them a significant look, and no one said another word on the matter. Nicolas made short work of opening the box and setting up the new instrument, and within minutes they were gathered together around the keyboard.

"I'm playing your favorite, love," her father said, tilting his head upward to kiss his wife. "It's the best gift I've received in years."

Andromeda blushed a little and looked over toward her sister as Nicolas played the first few chords. Elizabeth began first, and soon all five of them were singing.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on, our troubles will be out of sight."

Katie stared hollowly at her family below her. It was though an invisible curtain had suddenly been drawn between them and she felt for a moment as if she were the one that had died.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yuletide gay

From now on, our troubles will be

Far away."

She'd thought that the pain had ebbed, but she realized now that it had just been hiding, imperceptibly tucked away. In the spaces between people, perhaps. It had still hurt somewhere.

Limbs shaking just slightly, Katie closed her door and sat down on the bed. She stared at the wall for a few more moments (You've got to let us try and help you) before, suddenly overcome by fatigue, she fell across the mattress without bothering to cover herself with blankets. Outside, the sleet thickened. She was freezing cold. Her family's singing still floated through the door, and seemed even to get louder as though there were more than five people down in the sitting room.

"Through the years, we all will be together

If the fates allow

Until then, we'll have to muddle through

Somehow."

The sleet swirled faster and turned to thick snow. Katie contracted into herself as the cold seeped through her bedroom window. The music swelled.

"So have yourself a merry little Christmas now."

"Do you know where that song comes from?" Alicia piped up as the six friends made their way through the snow-laden Hogsmeade high street. She was speaking specifically to George, who had joined her as the small blonde girl struggled to keep up with her more long-legged friends. Lee was leading the way, and Angelina had fallen into place beside Fred, who was carrying Katie on his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It was dusk, and the twinkling lights from the thatched roof cottages were beginning to pop on as residents settled in for the snowy winter night.

"From inside a small wizarding town pub, courtesy of a local, badly-tuned choir?" Fred guessed, beating his twin to it and causing the entire group to laugh as they passed the music that was floating outside of The Three Broomsticks.

Alicia scowled. "No," she said pointedly. "Is everything a joke to you, Fred Weasley?"

"Only the things that matter."

"Tell us where the song comes from, 'Lic," George interrupted genially. "Muggle tradition, I imagine?"

She beamed at him gratefully. "Yes," she said. "From a musical called 'Meet Me in St. Louis.' It was originally very depressing. It moved several soldiers to tears, apparently."

"That's cheerful 'Lic, thanks for that," Katie called, bobbing upward as Fred repositioned his arms that were supporting her weight.

"Quite a way to end a lovely, Dolores-free day," agreed Fred.

"Stuff it, you two," Angelina said abruptly. "Finish your story, 'Lic."

"Anyway, it was about a family that had to leave their home behind and move to New York City. The older sister was trying to cheer up the younger one."

"With a song about 'living in the past?'" Katie continued in her bluntly doubtful way. "No thank you."

"I wouldn't mind living in the past this year," sighed Angelina. "No crackers, no holiday treacle tart, barely any trees…"

"And one large, pink and frilly problem," Lee reminded them, pulling off his glove and holding up his right hand. "'I will respect authority,'" he quoted in a booming stage voice.

"Lee, not again!" Alicia shouted. "I keep telling you all to lay low! There's no point in openly opposing her. Fred, George…don't tell me you two—"

"Never, 'Lic," George said in a sporting voice, while Fred cackled maliciously.

"Katie?" Alicia pleaded.

"Hers says 'I will not talk back,'" Fred laughed as Katie turned her head to give Alicia a look of highly unconvincing repentance. "But that was two weeks ago…let's test her to see if she's learned, shall we?"

"Fred, NO!"

But it was too late. He had already bent low, prized Katie off his back and tossed her into a nearby snow bank. Katie struggled valiantly to fight him off, but he was nearly a foot taller than she was and he soon had snow in her face.

"Admit you were in love with Gilderoy Lockhart!" he laughed loudly. "Tell all your mates."

Katie shook herself free of the snow and shouted back. "I was not!"

He immediately wrestled her back down to the ground and tossed another snowball at her. "Don't talk back," he teased. "You were so!"

This had been the latest topic of conversation for the group, who had been discussing past Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in one of their frequent complaints about Umbridge. Angelina had unthinkingly submitted the fact that Katie had once been in love with Lockhart, something she had reportedly ascertained from secretly reading her diary in their fourth year.

"Was not," she grunted, finally managing to throw off Fred, who was now weak from laughter. She forced herself on top of him and smeared snow in his face. "Angelina's a liar, and you're a git."

"Angelina!" Fred wailed, as if mortally wounded. "Tell Kates I'm not a git."

"I think she's the git for dating you," Ange replied, throwing him a look that none of the others quite understood, and which Fred ignored.

"You're probably right," he admitted, grinning at Katie, who had now curled up against him. "But then again, she doesn't have anyone much better vying for her attentions. The only other date she's had in the last year was with my brother, who nearly bored her to death with his pathetic excuse for dancing."

George rolled his eyes and casually tossed a snowball at his twin, who took it full in the face laughing.

"I can't believe you can bring up the Yule Ball so casually like that," Katie scowled, once their friends deserted them for the warmth of the departing school carriages. "If I recall correctly, you blatantly asked another girl right in front of me. My best friend, in fact."

"That I did," Fred sighed dramatically. "But if I recall correctly, I quite made that up to you afterward."

Kate couldn't help but grin at the mischievous glint in Fred's eyes and relinquished.

"Oh fine," she admitted. "But I'm still glad I'm not living in Christmas past, no matter what Alicia's stupid song says."

"Agreed. We keep looking forward, my love. Gaiety, Kates. Always gaiety."

She welcomed his kiss quite readily, not caring for an instant that the pair of them were snogging in a snow bank to the side of a busy main road. Minerva McGonagall apparently cared, however, as she uttered a strangled little cry when she came upon them moments later.

"Miss Bell!" she said, shocked. "Mr. Weasley! The pair of you are going to miss the carriages, and don't think I'll care one bit if I find out you've frozen to death out here. You know what Professor Umbridge says about displays of affection. Now get on with you!"

"Oh, we wouldn't have frozen, Professor," Fred replied jauntily, as he offered a hand to Katie and pulled her up. "I think we would have found a way to keep warm."

Before McGonagall could reply, however, the couple was running down the snowy street as quick as they could toward the awaiting carriages.

"Bye, Minerva!" Katie cackled wickedly as their professor shouted after her.

"Miss Bell! Really—just because it's Christmas doesn't mean you can say anything you like!"

"I love you," Katie grinned, squeezing Fred's hand. "Can I say that?"

The redhead helped her into the carriage and then joined her, quickly closing any semblance of space between them.

"Whenever you like, my dear. As long as no one's watching."

She laughed and they kissed again as the snow swirled quickly outside.

XxX

From the corner where George was currently slumped in an old armchair, he could easily observe the goings on in the bustling Burrow. Ginny passed him in a rush, her long curtain of red hair fanning out behind her as she made her way back into the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was clearly attempting not to hurt Fleur. Andromeda Tonks, who had arrived earlier that day, was playing peacemaker among the four women who were attempting to simultaneously wash the dinner dishes and get a head start on the holiday baking.

Just outside, Arthur and Percy Weasley were clearly visible, orchestrating the extensive process of hanging fairy lights on the house, while Charlie lay sprawled across the floor attending to Teddy Tonks—a job he had volunteered for straight away.

George watched Charlie give Teddy the end of a Christmas cracker, pulling until the party favor split apart in a puff of colored smoke and the baby squealed with laughter. A nineteenth century Muggle's pilot cap popped out, which Charlie immediately placed on Teddy's head. The baby, who now sported red hair whenever he visited the Burrow, could not have been happier.

George remained unmoved at the display that had caused his brother to grin ear to ear, and turned his attention back to where his mother was obsessing over the Christmas cake. He knew he ought to be up making himself useful somewhere, perhaps in the backyard, but he felt no desire to be part of the charade that seemed to say "I'm pretending not to think about Fred more than you. Take that." And he knew he could get away with it, because his moodiness had successfully kept most of his family at bay since he'd come home two days ago. There were times that Ginny would throw him the odd reproachful look, but he knew she was really too frightened of what might happen if she approached him to go beyond that. Everyone else exchanged glances and hushed words in his presence, pressed him to eat more, and turned a blind eye when he walked away early from scenes of family cleaning or other holiday preparations.

He didn't care. The truth was that George hated this sort of thing—the forced cheer that no one felt, the glossing over of his mother's frequent bursts out of the room to collapse into tears, and even the fact that no one seemed to be acknowledging the darker turn his own grief had taken during the holiday season. His family couldn't have performed better had they been at the West End, in George's opinion.

There were some signs, of course. There was one less Christmas sock on the mantelpiece that year, one less bulky package under the tree, and one less hand on the famous Weasley clock. Fred's sock now sat on top of the hearth, surrounded by pictures and little tokens of things that were his—probably courtesy of Ginny, George didn't know. These were all fine. It was the fruitless attempts to pretend everything was going to be okay that drove George up the walls.

He was dimly aware that he wasn't handling things well. He remembered those first days after Fred's death—the ones where he had been too overwhelmed even to move out of bed. He'd seemed to exist in a separate sphere, one where he was watching the events of his life play out before him without having a participating role. Those days were hard to grasp now, almost slippery in their memory. The whole time seemed half-forgotten and alien to him, submerged in a sort of watery veil. This was different. George was sulky, moody, and withdrawn—and without any efforts from his better angels to curb himself. He could have helped it if he'd wanted to. He just didn't.

Teddy issued another delighted giggle from his game with Charlie, and George was suddenly reminded of a conversation he and Fred had overheard when they were just first years at Hogwarts. They had been spying on their older brothers in the library, a product of a boring, rainy afternoon with nothing better to do, and Charlie had admitted something to Bill that had made both twins collapse in laughter. What was it? Something sentimental…something about a girl. George probed his memory further. He and Fred had been wearing those stupid matching jumpers in an effort to confuse people…but that didn't matter. No, Charlie had said something about his best mate, which, at the time, had been Nymphadora Tonks.

George felt a sudden curiosity to ask Charlie about it, but he couldn't think of a less appropriate question to ask at the moment then, "Hey Charlie, are you attached to Teddy Tonks because you used to be in love with his mother? You watched her marry another man and then die without ever having told her the truth, didn't you? Can't quite remember, the details are a bit fuzzy. I was spying on you with Fred at the time. You know Fred, our dead brother…"

He was entertaining these morbid thoughts when the front door opened and Bill, Ron, and Harry walked in, stomping their boots and sprinkling the floor with snow. The bells on the door handle jingled.

"Alright, Mum?" Bill called into the kitchen.

"Oh, hello, Bill dear," Molly replied, poking her head out for a moment. "How are the chickens?"

"They're fine, just sealed off some of the holes in the coop so it should keep the cold out. Where's Dad?"

"He and Percy are in the back, trying to hang up the Christmas lights. He'd like your help, and Ron's and Harry's as well, if that's alright."

"Sure thing," Bill replied evenly, making to head through the hallway. He noticed George sitting in the corner and stopped. "You coming with us, George?"

He had an expression on his face that George instantly recognized as both reproachful and expectant, and his direct address caused everyone watching to perk up slightly. Molly looked wearily out from the kitchen, and Ginny set down her mixing spoon. Charlie glanced from Bill to George.

"No, I don't think so." He'd answered quickly and without much hesitation, but he still muttered his reply and kept his gaze on the floor. Twenty years of looking up to his eldest brother didn't go away easily, no matter what his temper was like.

The cold silence emanating from Bill eventually forced George to look up, however.

"Come on, George," he said quietly. "It's a big job, we need your help."

Out of habit, George glanced in his mother's direction for an intervention, but Bill sidestepped him.

"No, look at me." His voice was calm and even, devoid of any command, but still reproving. "I haven't seen you lift a finger to help either of our parents since Fleur and I got here this morning, so let's go. It won't take too long with six of us, it might even be a laugh."

George looked him full in the face now and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not feeling up to it, Bill. I'm having kind of a shit holiday, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"So?" Bill returned, apparently unimpressed with his younger brother's answer. "You think the rest of us are thrilled to be here? Because I can tell you, you're not the only one suffering at the moment, little brother."

"Bill." Arthur Weasley's calm voice interrupted the altercation instantly. He and Percy had come through the back door in the last few seconds, and instantly picked up on what was going on. Percy hovered uncomfortably in the hallway, but Mr. Weasley crossed the room and put his hand on his eldest son's shoulders.

"Leave George alone," he said, kindly but firmly. "We can manage just fine between the five of us. Come on."

Silently, Bill, Ron, and Harry followed Arthur and Percy out the back door and things inside the Burrow quickly recommenced. Bill shot George one last raise of the eyebrows, but George turned his head, feeling slightly too ashamed to meet his brother's eye line.

He was grateful for his father's mercy, but he knew Bill was right. Bill usually was. It wasn't enough to get him to change his attitude, but it was enough to make him avoid his gaze for the rest of the evening. George got up shortly afterward and went to bed, ignoring Charlie's friendly call for him to stay for a game of cards. Disgusted with himself and almost physically overwhelmed with the pain he was experiencing from the holiday, George fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

XxX

A/N: Helloooo-oo? I just want to gauge how many of you are actually still reading this story. If you could drop me a quick line (even something as simple as "still here, thanks!"), I would really appreciate it. Cheers!